Chapter Text
He only ever made it out to Oakwood for two reasons—when he was coming out here to bust someone's head open on their glazed wooden floors, or when he was driving Olive home. Today he was driving past those manicured lawns and picket fences for the latter reason.
Like she always did when she was the passenger, Olive was seated next to Paulie, her eyes closed as she reclined back as far as the seat in his car would allow. He looked over at her every time they stopped at a red light. There was no heater in his car—who could afford a heater in their car these days?—so she had her coat pulled tightly around her. He knew she wasn't actually sleeping, she just hated driving, but she could pass for it. More than a few cars honked at him when he couldn't pull his eyes away and put them back on the road.
The first several dozen drives she had to remind him of the way, but it was six years now since he first drove her around and it was muscle memory. The other guys drove her sometimes, or she just took a cab, but Paulie took the chance when he could—when he wasn't drunk in someone else's backseat, anyway.
Like she always did, once they turned onto her street her eyes fluttered open and she sat up straighter.
"Cold today," she said quietly, more to herself than to him. Their drives were rarely quiet. One of them typically had some tale to tell, and even if Olive was usually sitting in the passenger seat with her eyes closed, she was a good listener. Paulie didn't like the silence, but it was better than saying something stupid.
Speaking of stupid; he didn't respond to her comment about the cold because the only thing he could think to say was off color. He spoke crassly around her in the restaurant because he never minded himself around the other guys, but he couldn't bring himself to be crude when it was only the two of them—even if she acted similarly when she was around the others.
Paulie parked in front of her townhome and got out of the car, circling around to open the passenger door. She stepped out and looked at him for a moment.
"Why don't you come inside? Warm up a little." It seemed to be more of a statement than a request, because she was already heading up to her doorstep by the time Paulie registered what she said.
Every day for the past six years he drove away thinking about what might have happened had she invited him up for the night. They were stupid daydreams which were usually more obscene than he would ever admit, at least never to her. Now she actually was inviting him inside, and he could barely get his shoes to unstick from the ground.
Paulie followed her to the door, picking up his pace to catch up. "Yeah, it is pretty cold out here, huh?"
Olive hung her gaudy coat on one of the hooks in the entryway—her maid would take it away later—and Paulie did the same. The only times he saw the inside of her house were when he was walking her to the doorway—at his insistence—or during the few holiday parties she had thrown. He was usually hauled out of those early and was too drunk to remember the details. But the nautical decorations, the loud light fixtures and rugs; all of it screamed Olive. She started down the hall, no doubt leading him to some sitting room larger than his entire apartment; then she abruptly stopped.
He nearly walked into her because his eyes were fixated on the glamor shots of herself that she kept in the hallway. He would mock any other dame who did something like that, but Olive had so much gall in such a natural way that it made him grin. He wouldn't mind having one of those in his own place.
"I've been thinking—" she said as she turned to face him, wanting to explain why she invited him in. "Well, as of late, I..." she trailed off, her eyes flickering between his and the wall he was staring at before, and then briefly to the rings on her own hands. She wasn't so good with words when it counted. She could walk the walk, but talking the talk was something she could do only when she wasn't being genuine. In that moment, genuine was all she felt.
Paulie on the other hand talked more than he walked, and even then he never succeeded.
"What's the problem?" he asked, concerned but confused. He felt like grabbing her and pulling her closer to him, but that wasn't a thought to even bother entertaining. They were already standing only a couple steps apart, and she had yet to turn the lamps on, so only the evening light reflecting through the windows let him see her face.
Olive's cheeks flushed and she laughed, somewhat bewildered—in all of six years she never could have guessed this would be happening in her hallway. The entire ride there she envisioned how it would play out, but the plan was already falling apart. If anyone knew how scatterbrained she really was about things like this…
"Oh, there's no problem at all," she said quickly. Instead of trying to confess anything or explain herself, instead of stuttering out some other half-baked thought, she decided to do what she did best. She took a bold step forward, closing most of the gap and setting a hand on his arm with a smile. "Why don't you just kiss me?"
"Olive…" he whispered, looking at the hand on his wrist in disbelief.
She put her arms around him at once, clinging tightly to the back of his suit jacket. "We'd have a perfectly stupid time."
Wasn't that the truth… He didn't know what to say, his gaze fixed on hers—and then her lips. She was wearing that wine-colored lipstick he liked, the one that was a little out of style now but that she insisted would come back around. Before he could do anything else, her grip on his jacket tightened, and she pulled him forward—guess he was taking too long on that kiss. His hands trailed down her neck and arms to find a resting place on the small of her back. He could feel the warm skin beneath her dress—if they were cold outside, they weren't now.
They stood embraced in the hallway for not nearly long enough, and to his own surprise it was Paulie who pulled away from the kiss. She rested her head against his chest, and he kept his arms around her shoulders. He could feel some nagging voice in the back of his head, something he rarely experienced. This moment, this thing he always dreamed of, and all he could think about were her previous rejections. How did he know she wasn't simply bored with the cookie-cutter society boys she toyed with? Maybe that was true, and something else was, too. He was afraid to ask tonight.
He wanted to stay and kiss her again, kiss her a hundred times. Instead he closed his eyes, taking a second more to hold her against him and dream. "I better go, Olive," he mumbled. "Wouldn't wanna disappoint ya." It was more himself he was afraid for.
Olive looked at him, lost in her own thoughts. She didn't know what he meant, but she didn't want him to let go. It felt nice in his arms; too nice. Nicer than she'd felt in a long time. She could've fallen asleep in them, if he let her.
He pulled away, her fingertips slowly tracing the span of his back in reluctance. "Goodnight, Paulie," she said quietly back.
He grabbed his coat and put it back on, already dreading heading back outside into the cold and regretting what he had said. Too little, too late for that, so he nodded to her and left. Back to the couch and his dreams.
Olive kept watching the door long after he closed it. You could never disappoint me, you idiot.