Strawberry Banana #26, Milk Chocolate #8
Author: winebabe
Title: Summer Threw Our Love Away
Story: The Gemini Occurrence
Rating: PG
Flavor(s): Strawberry Banana #26: good advice; Milk Chocolate #8: conformity
Word Count: 2262
Summary: 2018; It's their first summer together after the wedding, and Genevieve really shouldn't be spending so much time at the bar.
Notes: Genevieve Kessler-Downing, Jude Downing, Adelina Garland. Pre-main canon. (Mazz single-handedly takes over RaTs! Oops!)
They move out to a summer home on the beach that June, and Genevieve tries to convince herself that she can be happy with Jude. She sits in front of her vanity, brushing her long, dark hair and watching Jude in the mirror as he walks around their bedroom, dressing himself for yet another business meeting. He's handsome, she tells herself, because she knows that's supposed to matter to her. Conventionally attractive, with a strong jaw, high cheekbones and golden-brown hair, Jude Downing is... Well, Jude Downing makes her the envy of every woman she knows. And, really, that should be enough.
Genevieve's always been rather aimless, difficult to tame, and there wasn't much hope for her after high school graduation. She'd graduated unceremoniously from a private Catholic school, and essentially her only hope was to marry rich and be a pretty young bride. Well, that had been accomplished easily enough, but it left her without ambition or direction. She'd been happy to sit pretty in their last home, back where she actually knew people, but there wasn't much else to do on the beach. After a week, she'd worn every bathing suit she owned and managed to only sustain a mild sunburn.
Jude leaves every day for work, and doesn't return until after the sun's set. Genevieve has a lot of time on her hands.
"We'll go out for dinner tonight," Jude says, kissing her on the cheek before he leaves. "I won't be later than six-thirty. Don't spend too long in the sun." He presses two fingertips to the redness on her exposed shoulder, two white marks standing out on her skin for a moment.
"Have a good day, darling," Genevieve coos after him. She watches as he disappears through the doorway, and remains still until she hears the slam of the front door.
Jude doesn't get home until nearly eight. He saunters in through the front door, oblivious to his wife's sour expression from where she's sitting on the stairs, wearing her best cocktail dress.
"Where have you been?" Genevieve asks. The question comes out quiet, timid, and she grabs hold of the banister with one hand. "I've been waiting."
Jude huffs a sigh, already impatient with her, and locks the door behind him. "We got caught up in something at work. Today was very busy."
It's a lie, Genevieve's sure of it, but she's unwilling to rock the boat. It's getting late, she's tired, and being cooped up in the house has made her restless. If she upsets Jude, he won't take her out for dinner, and all she wants is a nice, strong drink and some comfort food. "Well, next time, could you at least call?" She pulls herself up with the banister and lingers there, on the stairs. "I've been waiting for hours."
"Yes, next time I can call," he replies, but there's more than a little irritation in his voice. "Are you ready? Let's get this over with."
"Where are we going?" Genevieve asks, smiling for the first time since he left that morning, and hurries down the staircase to him.
"An Italian place down the street. I'm in the mood for gnocchi." Jude twirls his key ring around on his finger, and raises his eyebrows at Genevieve's disappointed face. "What?"
"Nothing," she replies. It's not worth the fight. "I was just hoping, maybe, I could pick the place this time."
"Do you even know what restaurants are around here?" he asks. "You've never been more than fifty feet from the house."
"You're right," Genevieve says with a sigh. "Let's go to dinner." Jude holds the door for her as she steps out into the cool night air, and from the their porch she can see the lights of town just down the road. It's not a far walk to get to the main shops and cafes, and there's no excuse for her not to venture out, but she's spent the better part of the month holed up at home. There isn't anyone around her age in the area, and it seems pathetic to have to wander around the shops alone. She's still very much an 18-year-old at heart--just because she's someone's wife doesn't mean she can't have friends.
Jude disagrees, of course, because he disagrees with everything she holds an opinion on. Genevieve knows he's happier when she spends all day inside, waiting for him to return. She knows he may come home later just for the thrill of disappointing her.
They walk in near-silence into town. Genevieve tries to ask Jude about his day, but he doesn't respond with more than a few words, rarely a full sentence. "I don't want to talk about work," he says finally, and so she tries her tactic.
"You'll never believe what the neighbors did today," she tells him, grinning behind her hand. The middle aged couple next door are the only people Genevieve has met since they've moved in, and she knows she shouldn't, but she takes great pleasure in spying on them. "Mrs. Albertson went skinny-dipping in the ocean!"
"And seeing that excited you?" Jude says, turning to frown at her. "That's childish, Genevieve. You shouldn't be spending your time spying on the neighbors. What if they catch you?"
"A woman her age shouldn't be skinny-dipping anyway," Genevieve pouts.
"It's none of your business what Mrs. Albertson does," Jude says, and that's the end of their discussion.
Genevieve remains silent and allows Jude to pull her along by the hand, as though she was his child and not his wife. It's humiliating, to be scolded by him for simply trying to entertain herself, and her cheeks burn from the embarrassment. Like I haven't grown up wealthy and privileged like you, she thinks to herself, scowling at him out of the corner of her eye.
When they get to the restaurant, Jude is pleasant again, and he chats with the hostess as she leads them to a table near the bar. A waitress comes to take their drink order quickly after, and Jude orders white wine for the both of them. He gives her a charming, bright smile and half-assed excuse when she asks to see Genevieve's ID, and then slips her a bill that makes her raise her eyebrows and rush away without another question.
Genevieve can't complain, really, because she wants the alcohol. But it's just as embarrassing to have to watch her husband bribe people for her drink. It makes her painfully aware of just how young she is. "Jude?" she asks, after the waitress has brought them their glasses and a full bottle of wine. "Can I get something stronger?"
Jude considers the request for a moment, and then waves the waitress over again. "What did you want?"
Genevieve turns the drink menu around and points to the cocktail section, her finger right above where it says Red Velvet Martini. She smiles to herself, her hands wrapped around her wine glass as Jude apologizes and orders the martini. This time, the waitress doesn't ask for ID, and Jude doesn't shell out any extra cash.
"There," he says and takes a sip of his wine, "are you happy now?"
"I'll be happy once I've gotten a drink in me," Genevieve replies, but she smiles at him over the top of her wine glass.
The martini is stronger than Genevieve expected, but she's used to sneaking drinks of Daddy's scotch at parties, so it's at least somewhat enjoyable. By the time she's finished both her wine and her martini, they've ordered their food and she's loosened up a little. Jude, on the other hand, is just as stiff as he always is, constantly checking his phone under the table.
"It's supposed to be nice this weekend," Genevieve says, running a fingertip along the top of her wine glass. "Maybe we can go on a day trip to the city."
"Can't," Jude says, his eyes down, focused on the phone screen. "There's a company golf game I'd be stupid to miss."
Genevieve resists the urge to tell him he's stupid for missing an outing with his pretty, young wife. "Of course," she mutters instead, because it seems the more diplomatic approach.
The Caprese salad she'd ordered arrives much faster than Jude's Gnocchi Macchinato, and she picks at it while watching the people sitting at the bar, laughing over their fancy-looking drinks. It seems nicer over there, much less stuffy than their silent table, and Genevieve longs for just one outing that doesn't feel like a chore.
"Don't complain to me if you're hungry later," Jude says. He has his phone out on the table now, blatantly texting in front of her. "I can't imagine that's filling."
"I love Caprese salad," Genevieve replies, although she would have preferred a hot bowl of macaroni and cheese or a takeout container full of seafood lo mein.
"If you say so," Jude says and looks back down at his phone.
"I want another martini," Genevieve demands after his attention has dipped once more.
"Then go get one yourself," he replies and passes her a few bills without even looking up from his phone. "I'm not doing everything for you."
Genevieve sighs and crumples the bills in her fist as she gets up from the table. There's an empty bar stool right in front of the bartender, and she climbs up onto it, flashing what she hopes is her most charming smile. "Hi."
The bartender looks up from the glass she's been cleaning and smiles back. "Hi. You must be the girl I've been serving under the table."
Genevieve pales and panics, ready to hop off the stool and return to her table, but the bartender only laughs.
"Relax. I shouldn't be telling you this, but it's kind of a common thing here. There are different rules on the beach." She smiles and reaches out to gently pat Genevieve's hand. "What can I get for you, honey?"
"Something strong but sweeter than a martini, please," she requests, and the bartender smiles.
"Rough date, huh?"
"No, uh, he's my husband." The look of shock on the bartender's face is enough to make her cheeks burn again, and Genevieve wishes she had something she could hide her face behind.
"You're married? How old are you, anyway?"
"Almost 19," Genevieve says.
The bartender whistles. "Young," she says, and Genevieve blushes. "I don't want you getting drunk here, okay? This'll be your last drink."
Genevieve nods and watches as the bartender, finally satisfied, goes about preparing a drink for her. "Is it really that apparent?" she asks.
"Is what?"
"How unhappy we are."
The bartender stops what she's doing for a moment and gives Genevieve a sympathetic look. "No, honey. It's that apparent how unhappy you are."
"Oh. Well, that's not really a surprise." Genevieve sighs and props her chin up in her hand. "Men are never really different, I guess. Jude's ten years older than me, and he's just as bad as the boys I used to date in high school."
The bartender passes her a bright pink drink, and then gently taps the heart on her wrist. "Not your soulmate, huh?"
Genevieve notices that the bartender's heart is just as dull and dark as hers is. It doesn't make her feel good, but it does make her feel a little better. There's a sense of camaraderie underneath it all, and she feels as though she can trust this woman. "No. I mean, I never thought that kind of stuff mattered. Plenty of people had happy marriages before we knew about soulmates."
"I'd agree with you, but it doesn't look like you have a happy marriage." The bartender smiles and goes back to cleaning her glass. "What's your name?"
"Genevieve." It's exciting, actually, to talk to someone close to her age, and Genevieve doesn't want to return to her table. "What's yours?"
"Adelina," the bartender replies. "Listen, I know it's none of my business, but you deserve to be happy, alright, Gen?"
It's the first time anyone has ever used a nickname for her, and Genevieve is intoxicated by Adelina's confident presence. "Can I see you again?" she asks as she slides a $20 bill across the counter.
"I'm here five days a week," Adelina replies, smiling, and leaves to go to the cash register.
Genevieve goes back to the restaurant the next afternoon, while Jude's away at work, and heads straight for the bar. Adelina's there, rinsing out glasses, and she grins when she sees a familiar face in front of her bar.
"Hey, Gen! Long time no see."
"I know," Genevieve says. "It's just, well, I don't know anyone else here and Jude's always at work. I have money, I'm not just going to bother you."
"You're not bothering me. But the money only helps," she adds with a wink.
Genevieve goes back every day that week, just to sit at the bar and talk to Adelina. If Adelina's not there, Genevieve usually returns home, but the other bartenders apparently keep in close contact, because when Genevieve returns that Saturday, Adelina greets her looking concerned. "Why don't you give me your number?" she asks, pushing a napkin and pen in her direction. "We can hang out when I'm not working, you know."
"Oh." Genevieve is sure she's bright red, but she writes her cellphone number down on the napkin and hands it off to Adelina, who makes a show of adding her to her contacts right then and there.
"We'll get coffee tomorrow," Adelina promises, and Genevieve smiles.
"I'd like that."
Title: Summer Threw Our Love Away
Story: The Gemini Occurrence
Rating: PG
Flavor(s): Strawberry Banana #26: good advice; Milk Chocolate #8: conformity
Word Count: 2262
Summary: 2018; It's their first summer together after the wedding, and Genevieve really shouldn't be spending so much time at the bar.
Notes: Genevieve Kessler-Downing, Jude Downing, Adelina Garland. Pre-main canon. (Mazz single-handedly takes over RaTs! Oops!)
They move out to a summer home on the beach that June, and Genevieve tries to convince herself that she can be happy with Jude. She sits in front of her vanity, brushing her long, dark hair and watching Jude in the mirror as he walks around their bedroom, dressing himself for yet another business meeting. He's handsome, she tells herself, because she knows that's supposed to matter to her. Conventionally attractive, with a strong jaw, high cheekbones and golden-brown hair, Jude Downing is... Well, Jude Downing makes her the envy of every woman she knows. And, really, that should be enough.
Genevieve's always been rather aimless, difficult to tame, and there wasn't much hope for her after high school graduation. She'd graduated unceremoniously from a private Catholic school, and essentially her only hope was to marry rich and be a pretty young bride. Well, that had been accomplished easily enough, but it left her without ambition or direction. She'd been happy to sit pretty in their last home, back where she actually knew people, but there wasn't much else to do on the beach. After a week, she'd worn every bathing suit she owned and managed to only sustain a mild sunburn.
Jude leaves every day for work, and doesn't return until after the sun's set. Genevieve has a lot of time on her hands.
"We'll go out for dinner tonight," Jude says, kissing her on the cheek before he leaves. "I won't be later than six-thirty. Don't spend too long in the sun." He presses two fingertips to the redness on her exposed shoulder, two white marks standing out on her skin for a moment.
"Have a good day, darling," Genevieve coos after him. She watches as he disappears through the doorway, and remains still until she hears the slam of the front door.
Jude doesn't get home until nearly eight. He saunters in through the front door, oblivious to his wife's sour expression from where she's sitting on the stairs, wearing her best cocktail dress.
"Where have you been?" Genevieve asks. The question comes out quiet, timid, and she grabs hold of the banister with one hand. "I've been waiting."
Jude huffs a sigh, already impatient with her, and locks the door behind him. "We got caught up in something at work. Today was very busy."
It's a lie, Genevieve's sure of it, but she's unwilling to rock the boat. It's getting late, she's tired, and being cooped up in the house has made her restless. If she upsets Jude, he won't take her out for dinner, and all she wants is a nice, strong drink and some comfort food. "Well, next time, could you at least call?" She pulls herself up with the banister and lingers there, on the stairs. "I've been waiting for hours."
"Yes, next time I can call," he replies, but there's more than a little irritation in his voice. "Are you ready? Let's get this over with."
"Where are we going?" Genevieve asks, smiling for the first time since he left that morning, and hurries down the staircase to him.
"An Italian place down the street. I'm in the mood for gnocchi." Jude twirls his key ring around on his finger, and raises his eyebrows at Genevieve's disappointed face. "What?"
"Nothing," she replies. It's not worth the fight. "I was just hoping, maybe, I could pick the place this time."
"Do you even know what restaurants are around here?" he asks. "You've never been more than fifty feet from the house."
"You're right," Genevieve says with a sigh. "Let's go to dinner." Jude holds the door for her as she steps out into the cool night air, and from the their porch she can see the lights of town just down the road. It's not a far walk to get to the main shops and cafes, and there's no excuse for her not to venture out, but she's spent the better part of the month holed up at home. There isn't anyone around her age in the area, and it seems pathetic to have to wander around the shops alone. She's still very much an 18-year-old at heart--just because she's someone's wife doesn't mean she can't have friends.
Jude disagrees, of course, because he disagrees with everything she holds an opinion on. Genevieve knows he's happier when she spends all day inside, waiting for him to return. She knows he may come home later just for the thrill of disappointing her.
They walk in near-silence into town. Genevieve tries to ask Jude about his day, but he doesn't respond with more than a few words, rarely a full sentence. "I don't want to talk about work," he says finally, and so she tries her tactic.
"You'll never believe what the neighbors did today," she tells him, grinning behind her hand. The middle aged couple next door are the only people Genevieve has met since they've moved in, and she knows she shouldn't, but she takes great pleasure in spying on them. "Mrs. Albertson went skinny-dipping in the ocean!"
"And seeing that excited you?" Jude says, turning to frown at her. "That's childish, Genevieve. You shouldn't be spending your time spying on the neighbors. What if they catch you?"
"A woman her age shouldn't be skinny-dipping anyway," Genevieve pouts.
"It's none of your business what Mrs. Albertson does," Jude says, and that's the end of their discussion.
Genevieve remains silent and allows Jude to pull her along by the hand, as though she was his child and not his wife. It's humiliating, to be scolded by him for simply trying to entertain herself, and her cheeks burn from the embarrassment. Like I haven't grown up wealthy and privileged like you, she thinks to herself, scowling at him out of the corner of her eye.
When they get to the restaurant, Jude is pleasant again, and he chats with the hostess as she leads them to a table near the bar. A waitress comes to take their drink order quickly after, and Jude orders white wine for the both of them. He gives her a charming, bright smile and half-assed excuse when she asks to see Genevieve's ID, and then slips her a bill that makes her raise her eyebrows and rush away without another question.
Genevieve can't complain, really, because she wants the alcohol. But it's just as embarrassing to have to watch her husband bribe people for her drink. It makes her painfully aware of just how young she is. "Jude?" she asks, after the waitress has brought them their glasses and a full bottle of wine. "Can I get something stronger?"
Jude considers the request for a moment, and then waves the waitress over again. "What did you want?"
Genevieve turns the drink menu around and points to the cocktail section, her finger right above where it says Red Velvet Martini. She smiles to herself, her hands wrapped around her wine glass as Jude apologizes and orders the martini. This time, the waitress doesn't ask for ID, and Jude doesn't shell out any extra cash.
"There," he says and takes a sip of his wine, "are you happy now?"
"I'll be happy once I've gotten a drink in me," Genevieve replies, but she smiles at him over the top of her wine glass.
The martini is stronger than Genevieve expected, but she's used to sneaking drinks of Daddy's scotch at parties, so it's at least somewhat enjoyable. By the time she's finished both her wine and her martini, they've ordered their food and she's loosened up a little. Jude, on the other hand, is just as stiff as he always is, constantly checking his phone under the table.
"It's supposed to be nice this weekend," Genevieve says, running a fingertip along the top of her wine glass. "Maybe we can go on a day trip to the city."
"Can't," Jude says, his eyes down, focused on the phone screen. "There's a company golf game I'd be stupid to miss."
Genevieve resists the urge to tell him he's stupid for missing an outing with his pretty, young wife. "Of course," she mutters instead, because it seems the more diplomatic approach.
The Caprese salad she'd ordered arrives much faster than Jude's Gnocchi Macchinato, and she picks at it while watching the people sitting at the bar, laughing over their fancy-looking drinks. It seems nicer over there, much less stuffy than their silent table, and Genevieve longs for just one outing that doesn't feel like a chore.
"Don't complain to me if you're hungry later," Jude says. He has his phone out on the table now, blatantly texting in front of her. "I can't imagine that's filling."
"I love Caprese salad," Genevieve replies, although she would have preferred a hot bowl of macaroni and cheese or a takeout container full of seafood lo mein.
"If you say so," Jude says and looks back down at his phone.
"I want another martini," Genevieve demands after his attention has dipped once more.
"Then go get one yourself," he replies and passes her a few bills without even looking up from his phone. "I'm not doing everything for you."
Genevieve sighs and crumples the bills in her fist as she gets up from the table. There's an empty bar stool right in front of the bartender, and she climbs up onto it, flashing what she hopes is her most charming smile. "Hi."
The bartender looks up from the glass she's been cleaning and smiles back. "Hi. You must be the girl I've been serving under the table."
Genevieve pales and panics, ready to hop off the stool and return to her table, but the bartender only laughs.
"Relax. I shouldn't be telling you this, but it's kind of a common thing here. There are different rules on the beach." She smiles and reaches out to gently pat Genevieve's hand. "What can I get for you, honey?"
"Something strong but sweeter than a martini, please," she requests, and the bartender smiles.
"Rough date, huh?"
"No, uh, he's my husband." The look of shock on the bartender's face is enough to make her cheeks burn again, and Genevieve wishes she had something she could hide her face behind.
"You're married? How old are you, anyway?"
"Almost 19," Genevieve says.
The bartender whistles. "Young," she says, and Genevieve blushes. "I don't want you getting drunk here, okay? This'll be your last drink."
Genevieve nods and watches as the bartender, finally satisfied, goes about preparing a drink for her. "Is it really that apparent?" she asks.
"Is what?"
"How unhappy we are."
The bartender stops what she's doing for a moment and gives Genevieve a sympathetic look. "No, honey. It's that apparent how unhappy you are."
"Oh. Well, that's not really a surprise." Genevieve sighs and props her chin up in her hand. "Men are never really different, I guess. Jude's ten years older than me, and he's just as bad as the boys I used to date in high school."
The bartender passes her a bright pink drink, and then gently taps the heart on her wrist. "Not your soulmate, huh?"
Genevieve notices that the bartender's heart is just as dull and dark as hers is. It doesn't make her feel good, but it does make her feel a little better. There's a sense of camaraderie underneath it all, and she feels as though she can trust this woman. "No. I mean, I never thought that kind of stuff mattered. Plenty of people had happy marriages before we knew about soulmates."
"I'd agree with you, but it doesn't look like you have a happy marriage." The bartender smiles and goes back to cleaning her glass. "What's your name?"
"Genevieve." It's exciting, actually, to talk to someone close to her age, and Genevieve doesn't want to return to her table. "What's yours?"
"Adelina," the bartender replies. "Listen, I know it's none of my business, but you deserve to be happy, alright, Gen?"
It's the first time anyone has ever used a nickname for her, and Genevieve is intoxicated by Adelina's confident presence. "Can I see you again?" she asks as she slides a $20 bill across the counter.
"I'm here five days a week," Adelina replies, smiling, and leaves to go to the cash register.
Genevieve goes back to the restaurant the next afternoon, while Jude's away at work, and heads straight for the bar. Adelina's there, rinsing out glasses, and she grins when she sees a familiar face in front of her bar.
"Hey, Gen! Long time no see."
"I know," Genevieve says. "It's just, well, I don't know anyone else here and Jude's always at work. I have money, I'm not just going to bother you."
"You're not bothering me. But the money only helps," she adds with a wink.
Genevieve goes back every day that week, just to sit at the bar and talk to Adelina. If Adelina's not there, Genevieve usually returns home, but the other bartenders apparently keep in close contact, because when Genevieve returns that Saturday, Adelina greets her looking concerned. "Why don't you give me your number?" she asks, pushing a napkin and pen in her direction. "We can hang out when I'm not working, you know."
"Oh." Genevieve is sure she's bright red, but she writes her cellphone number down on the napkin and hands it off to Adelina, who makes a show of adding her to her contacts right then and there.
"We'll get coffee tomorrow," Adelina promises, and Genevieve smiles.
"I'd like that."