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By the time Caroline approaches Gerri is three martinis in, the minimum number needed tonight to still the shaking of her hands, the maximum allowable number when, for all she knows, she might still have to maneuver out of something.
At Caroline’s wedding, Gerri and Caroline reflect on their relationships, and Gerri thinks about Roman.
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Really, Gerri thinks, the problem was the garden. As she passed, he looked at her and said: “yeah, go jump on that grenade,” and she looked at him and saw Logan Roy. There were, for a moment, two Logans, one shouting her name from the pool, the other at the table, staring at her through shades which obscured his eyes. Twinned instincts to twist the knife, to kick her while she was down. He was seated at the table playing a children’s game, colored paper money in his hand. He was getting into it, trying to win.
fuckkk i think about this fic every day of my life, truly the fumble of the century on roman's part
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this is great
Caroline is a fucking bitch but still 3d, Gerri doesn't take shit and is so correct in her thoughts about Roman
last paragraph is perfect
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pain