[fic] The Love Pawn - "Madwoman's Chess"

[konstantya]

Title: Madwoman’s Chess
Fandom: The Love Pawn (Short Story)
Genre: Drama, romance.
Characters/pairings: Paula Ingram/Red (Jack Delafield)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2,163
Summary: There had been at least a couple times that day where she easily could have broken away or alerted someone about her predicament. The pilot of the airplane Red had chartered, for instance. Or the hotel clerk, when he signed them in after their landing in California. But she hadn’t. And…why? (Or, Paula self-reflects as she gets ready for the masquerade ball. As before, the original short story can be found here.)

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- Madwoman’s Chess -

Freshly bathed and about to step into an 18th century style dress, complete with wig and mask, there was a big part of Paula that couldn’t believe she was actually going through with this.

There had been at least a couple times that day where she easily could have broken away or alerted someone about her predicament. The pilot of the airplane Red had chartered, for instance. But instead, she’d let her captor help her on board and had furthermore kept silent throughout the long, cross-country flight. It wasn’t her first time flying, and she adored the all-too-rare thrill of it, so she considered that maybe it was shallowness that had driven her actions (or, rather, her lack thereof)—that maybe she was perfectly okay with being abducted so long as she got a pretty plane ride out of the deal. But even assuming she was that superficial, she still could have said something to the hotel clerk, when Red signed them in after their landing in California. It was a modest establishment, but surely they would have enough staff on hand to restrain one young man—even if he was tall—and an elderly couple, had she raised a fuss. But again, she hadn’t, instead letting Red lead her to one of the two rooms he’d rented, and then she hadn’t even complained when he’d locked her and his maid inside. And…why?

It wasn’t out of fear, she decided. Despite the gun he consistently carried on his person, despite the way he’d pressed the barrel of it into her side multiple times the day before, she didn’t really believe he’d shoot her, not anymore. It was possible he was willing to take a life, but if so, it wouldn’t be hers. She was too necessary to his plans—he’d practically admitted that, himself. As far as he was concerned, she was the only one who could get the information he wanted out of Eric Kendall, and Paula thought that maybe that was the true reason she was ultimately going along with this whole scheme—maybe she just really wanted to see Eric again.

You don’t love him, Red had said, of her fiancé. You’ll never go back to him. The words echoed traitorously in her head.

His sheer presumption was infuriating, but at the same time, Paula couldn’t deny the accuracy of the statements. She had tried to convince herself that she hadn’t actually fallen in love with Eric last year—that it was just some temporary infatuation brought on by vacation and the comparatively exotic locale—and moreover, had tried to convince herself that a life spent married to Montgomery Lewis wouldn’t be that bad. After all, Monty was young, rich, gentlemanly, not entirely unattractive, and deeply enamored with her. In that respect, it was easy to see why her uncle thought him such a brilliant match; it was extremely unlikely he’d ever mistreat her, and had more than enough money to take care of her for decades to come.

But he was also so, so boring. Getting him to talk about anything other than business was like pulling teeth, and he didn’t even have, say, beautiful dancing skills to make up for it. A part of Paula had started to wonder if she wasn’t dooming herself to a lifetime of affairs, trying to chase the passion and excitement her marriage would inevitably be missing. When looked at in that light, it could almost be argued that Red had done her a favor, stealing her away before she could formally become Mrs. Lewis. And not just stealing her away, but spiriting her towards the man she genuinely wanted. Like he was some strange, villainous Cupid.

Her mind kept going back to last night’s dinner. He’d been dressed impeccably, so very much like Monty and like every other wealthy, well-bred man she knew, which—when combined with the tasteful, high-quality furniture that filled his small, Philadelphia flat—lent some credence to his claim that he was actually Jack Delafield. And she thought of him now, in the adjacent room, a single wall away, donning his stockings and garters just as surely as she was donning hers.

She glanced sidelong at the costume that was splayed out on the bed. It was a stunning gown, even if it was merely from a rental agency—a Dresden-blue taffeta confection, trimmed with gold and decorated with panels of floral lace. For a brief moment, upon first seeing it, she’d been baffled as to how Red had known which size to get for her—but then the answer became obvious: He’d no doubt spied on her clothing, just as he’d spied on seemingly every other aspect of her life while under the guise of Benson, their substitute butler. Had he rifled through her closets, her drawers, when she wasn’t around? Had he seen her underthings, in all their soft, silky glory? Even Uncle Jerry had never dared to breach her privacy like that. Monty Lewis certainly hadn’t. The closest any man had come was probably Eric Kendall, in the Peyton’s solarium last summer, when he’d kissed down her collarbone and—

Well. That was different, she supposed.

Still, was Red really as disinterested in her as he professed? Paula wasn’t so conceited as to think every man would be attracted to her, but there was occasionally something in the way he looked at her… Something that belied his otherwise cold, impervious demeanor, and the possibility brought a conflicted blush to her cheeks. And the fact that it was conflicted at all only made the color deepen. Honestly, what was she doing, being even slightly flattered at the prospect that her abductor might find her physically appealing? She should have been grateful he ostensibly had no carnal fascination with her, and was furthermore honorable enough to do everything in his power to preserve her reputation.

He hadn’t had to book two hotel rooms, it bore remembering. He hadn’t had to bring his servants along so they could act as chaperones and, if need be, witnesses against allegations of untoward behavior. But despite such acts of decency, there he was, still hell-bent on robbing a bank, and still determined to have her—an unwilling participant—assist him in the endeavor. It was all very confusing.

Something of her warring thoughts must have shown on her face, because Yugi-san said, as she was smoothing the large skirt into place over the petticoats, “He good boy, at heart.”

Paula blinked as the maid began doing up the laces in back. Yugi-san and her husband had spoken so little English in her presence, she had simply assumed they didn’t know the language very well—a mistake, she now realized, with a touch of chagrin. It appeared Red and everything associated with him were forever surprising her by defying expectations.

“He kidnapped me,” she said stiffly, reminding herself just as much as she was reminding the other woman, and at that, Yugi-san made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

“He also stupid boy. But that men for you.”

Paula let the words sink in. After a few seconds, she tentatively asked, “Why…why do you and your husband continue to work for him?” It was curiosity as much as anything that drove the question.

“Because he need us,” Yugi-san quietly said. Again, it wasn’t what Paula was expecting, and it pointed to a certain loyalty the couple felt towards the man. He needed them, not they needed the jobs, as one would have suspected.

Paula worried her lips together as the bodice became more and more fitted, and decided to push her luck. “How long have you worked for him?”

“Since he was boy.”

No real surprise there, but it was suddenly odd, to imagine him younger, smaller, running around and wreaking havoc as boys so often did. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been as stern and serious as a child as he was as an adult. She again thought back to their dinner the night before, and wondered about those moments where his defenses seemed to drop and an amiable relaxation took over. Much as she hated to admit it, he was a marvelous conversationalist when he wasn’t trying to intimidate. “And…what was he like as a boy?”

“Happier,” was all Yugi-san said, and with that, the discussion ended. The older woman patted her waist, the bodice now fully cinched and secure, then rotated Paula around, fishing out a powder-puff and some other sundry bits of make-up from the bundle that had been with the costume. In a matter of minutes, her skin was near milk white, her cheeks carnation pink, and her lips ruby red. Yugi-san carefully placed the styled, platinum wig on top of Paula’s head, helped her tug on the elbow-length, satin gloves, then stepped back to survey her handiwork.

“Like princess,” Yugi-san declared, positively beaming, and Paula moved to regard herself in the long mirror that was mounted on the wall. The only thing left was the mask, a lavish gold thing that went around her temples like a pair of eyeglasses. It was all so seductive and mysterious—indeed, like something out of a film or a fairy tale. Would Eric even recognize her? She barely recognized herself.

A knock came to the door then, and Yugi-san sharply called, “Hai!” Paula heard the click of a key in the lock, and turned just in time to see the door swing open. Red stood there, resplendent in a plum-colored frock coat and breeches, complete with black buckled shoes and his own powdered wig. His mask was tucked in his hand, and Paula’s breath started coming quicker as an abrupt anxiousness overtook her. Because this now felt like an honest-to-goodness date? Because she was now one step closer to potentially seeing Eric?

“Ready?” he asked, impassive as ever, and before she could respond, Yugi-san had picked up her mask, deposited it in her hands, and was steering her towards the door like some doting grandmother. Red stepped back to allow her out, and the voluminous costume caught on both sides of the doorframe as she exited.

Paula sent him a glare as she straightened the gown—after all, this was his fault when it came down to it—and caustically asked, “Are you certain I’ll fit in a car?” It was too much to hope, she knew, that he’d call the whole thing off if by some chance she didn’t.

“If I have to push your skirts in, myself,” he shot back, unaffected. Paula was about to retort that he wasn’t going to go anywhere near her skirts—not least because he probably already had been near them, in the comfort of her own home, while they hung in her wardrobe—but he turned to Yugi-san too swiftly.

“Koti-san has the other key,” he informed her. “Don’t feel you have to wait up for us.” At that, Yugi-san said something to him in Japanese, rather severely, that Paula couldn’t even hope to catch, but Red apparently just found the admonishment amusing. “She isn’t a pumpkin,” he said, a dry fondness tinging his voice. “She’ll be fine.” And then he gave the maid one last nod goodbye and escorted Paula down the hall.

They were descending the stairs to the ground floor, her hand on his arm, when curiosity finally got the better of her and she belatedly asked, “‘Pumpkin’?”

“She told me to have you back by midnight,” Red relinquished. “Like Cinderella.”

“Oh,” Paula said. He understood Japanese. Maybe from early exposure as a child. Could he speak it, as well? It would have been a lie to say that she didn’t find the idea intriguing. But more than that, the exchange spoke to a familiarity between the two of them, even greater than what one typically saw with long-standing servants. If his story really was true, Paula considered, then perhaps reduced circumstances had caused them to become more like family as opposed to mere employer and employees.

They swept into the lobby, then out into the cool evening. Red hailed a taxi, and as he opened the door for her, Paula slid her mask over her eyes so as to free up both hands and make maneuvering her dress that much easier. Once she was situated, though, she chose to leave it on. It somehow felt safer, especially when Red climbed in after, brushing her side and radiating body heat. He gave the driver the address, and with that, they were off. Paula, meanwhile, turned her head to look out the window, focusing on the feel of paper mâché against her face and resolutely not on the man sitting next to her.

Masquerade, she thought, as they made their way through the streets of Santa Barbara. The very word was dangerous and bewitching. It meant she could be anyone that night. Not just some languishing lady on a handsome cavalier’s arm, but anyone.




-----

A/N: Yugi: Listen, I know he’s being a big dum-dum with this whole robbery business, but he’s my surrogate son and I love him, okay? In other, totally unrelated news, would you believe I’ve always wanted a daughter?

Anyway, I wrote this because, even within the madcap context of the original story, Paula still develops feelings for Red, like, freakishly fast. I mean, I’m not saying it isn’t possible (especially since Red turns out to be nowhere near as dastardly as his initial actions make him appear), but it was still something I wanted to explore. (That said, the dude truly is a weird creeper in a lot of respects. Like, he wouldn’t have been doing it for wank material, but it’s almost a guarantee he did look through Paula’s underwear at some point. Tfw you accidentally become obsessed with the person who was only ever supposed to be a means to an end, oops. These two really are made for each other, what with Paula being like, “Hmm, my kidnapper is pretty hot…” and Red essentially being a stalker, pfft.)

Also, I will never get over the sweet found-familiness that I’ve decided Koti, Yugi, and Red/Jack now have. Headcanon that not too long after they moved into a smaller place together, Yugi was like, “Right, I’m going to at least teach you the basics of how to cook, because you’ve been a privileged prince all your life, but we’re all you’ve got now, so if we die, you’ll be fucked when it comes to feeding yourself.” As a result, he can now make a perfect pan of rice, among other things. <3

All other fics can be found here.