Work Text:
He was not the same as she remembered him. He looked exactly the same, with slick backed hair and a grin that stretched unnaturally, and dark eyes that seemed like pits of void if you stared at them long enough. His outfit consisted of a white shirt covered by an olive green sweater-vest and a matching bowtie, complete with black slacks, coat, and shoes that shined as if he used the product from his hair to polish them. At first glance, he was an ordinary notions salesman. He had Field and Stream, National Geographic, no lipsticks, but he did have a sewing kit that absolutely no one needed. If you knew him, you would know he had nothing you needed. Only that which you wanted to avoid.
But she remembered him for the emotions, not for the appearances. She couldn’t give a shit as to what he looked like because what he did—more importantly, what he did to them—was what plagued her memory. Sometimes it was difficult remembering that night without remembering the morning, when in the midst of a morning glow, a gun was pulled while tapes were on their way to court. She wondered sometimes how further they might have traveled, how much longer they could have remained unaware, before the reality revealed itself. How much damage could have worsened when Carol hadn’t returned to fix it?
The last Therese saw him, there was no grin. He stood in his boxer shorts, glaring at the pair of them as Carol interrogated him. Even with a gun in his face, his expression carried dominance; no matter what his fate, hers was already shattered. He carried the upper hand. When he spoke, his voice was an octave lower. Monotone. I’m a professional, Miss Belivet. It’s nothing personal.
But it was, and he could only see one side of the war, the one that paid him. He didn’t need to see the other side because it wasn’t his job. It wasn’t his business to know the side he worked for was abusive and sought control over someone who wanted to live her own life on her own terms. The idea that two women found love and happiness in each other in a world that would deny them that didn’t fill his bank account. All he needed to know was who he followed and what he needed to record. His job.
For that reason alone, Therese could not hate him. She couldn’t hate anyone, really.
But she was angry. Hurt. Betrayed. Shattered. Sickened. It had been months since New Year’s, and since then visitations had been arranged, and a new relationship had thrived. The present was no longer overshadowed by that morning with its consequences. Were he not there to remind her of it, she would not have thought of it at all. It was just a faded dark spot of memory. He was there, however, and she was reminded of it. A sickness grew in her stomach as she watched him play the act, advertising nonexistent products while all the while what really lay in that case was a recorder—
The realization almost made her double over. She glanced at the company he kept: two women, both young in their early twenties, with glowing faces that to the right eyes, revealed exactly who they were to each other. The sight flashed another image: a roadside hotel with lousy coffee, Carol sitting beside her studying a map, and a traveling salesman chatting to them as he identified them, learning what he could for the man who hired him.
He was on another job.
What happened to her and Carol would happen to these women. He would take a precious moment from them, just as he had taken—no, stolen—that moment from her and Carol. She wanted to run over there to reveal him, denounce him for what he truly was, but she knew that it would only complicate the matters further. He could simply announce why he followed them, tarnishing any reputation they may have had, or announce why he followed Therese, and smear all the fame that she had earned. Excuse me, miss, but exactly how do you know this man and the fact he’s a P.I.?
Therese Belivet. The lesbian who worked for the Times. Her lover, Carol Aird, the mother who gave up custody of her daughter so that she could love a woman. Two women who shared sexual intercourse in hotels, before the divorce was even final, so ladies and gentleman, she could imagine him saying, that not only makes Carol Aird a sodomite, but also an adulteress. And this is the woman for whom she sacrificed her child.
Therese rushed to a table that she was sure was out of his sight. Even if she was no longer his target, she did not need any risk of his recognition. She glanced at his table to see if he had left, while also dodging glances sent her way as to wonder why she was sitting in a café if she wasn’t going to eat or drink anything. She took out a book and pretended to look out the window as if she were waiting for someone.
Finally, she heard him say his goodbyes to the ladies. She glanced his way, and saw him open the door and walk past the front window. The ladies laughed in his absence, undoubtedly at him. They chattered about his assumed hopelessness coupled with his self-deprecating humor. “Sad puppy” they called him. Therese grabbed a pen and napkin as she listened to them talk about afternoon plans. Before they could stand to leave, she rushed past them, discreetly slipping the napkin toward them without looking their way. As she walked out the door, she risked a glance and found them frozen, stone stares fixed on the message she left for them. She circumspected the sidewalk in case he was watching. There was no sign of him. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward back to the Times.
She was thinking about the scene later as she hung more photos in the apartment. While she contemplated which photo would look best by the sofa, a knocking sounded—three quick, unassuming knocks that she assumed announced the landlady. Still, she and Carol were cautious about visitors at the door, and so before she opened it, she left the chain still fastened.
She saw his eyes first. Black pits of void staring her through as if he could kill her right then. With a gasp, Therese tried to close the door, but his foot was faster. As if someone had flicked a switch on him, his face lifted. He was a salesman, making a house-call.
“Ah, Miss Belivet! Thought it might be you! You may not remember me.”
“I-I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“I thought not. Tommy Tucker. I sell notions. We met a few months ago while you were traveling with Mrs. Aird. I heard you lived around here, so I thought I’d make a house-call, see how you were. I finally got Popular Photography! As I seem to recall, you special requested that one. If it’s no trouble, may I come in?”
“No, I don’t think—”
“Are you sure? I have all the latest issues.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Miss Belivet.” His voice became an octave lower. “I think it would be in your best interests if you let me in.”
She stared at him a moment. He stared back, the grin slowly melting into a glare. She closed the door, sighed…and took out the chain before opening it.
“Wonderful! Let me show you what I have!” As soon as the door was closed again, his mask fell away as he towered before her. He was not Tommy Tucker, notions salesman anymore, but Mr. Thomas Tucker, Private Detective. “Wonderful to see you again, Miss Belivet.”
“What do you want?” She kept her distance from him, wary of his movements.
“I thought we might chat,” he responded, walking toward the living room to seat himself. The sight of him so casual on the sofa, as his true self, unnerved her. “Where is your companion?”
“Why. Are. You. Here?”
He sighed dramatically. “I believe you may have recognized me earlier in the café. Of course, I saw you—I’m a detective, observance is a requirement. That was quite a tip you left those girls.”
“You were going to do the same thing to them as you did to her, weren’t you?”
“That’s classified, Miss Belivet. Also none of your business.”
“I’ll make it mine.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “I wouldn’t advise that. I admire your protective nature, wanting to stand up for those like you. But I have a job, ma’am, and your little tip has nearly cost me.”
“Good.”
He was silent for a moment, eyeing her. His arms were crossed against his chest with one ankle perched above his knee. She remained standing behind the armchair, with shoulders back to show that she wouldn’t be intimidated. Without words, a power play wrestled between them.
“You do realize the tapes still exist? And that with such evidence, further consequences than a custody battle can occur?”
“What are you implying?”
“Sodomy is illegal, and with recorded evidence of your tryst with Mrs. Aird, I’m rather surprised neither of you faced charges.” A chuckle escaped as he continued, “And I’m flabbergasted that the House of Un-American Activities hasn’t been informed.”
For a moment, all she could manage as a reply were her nostrils flaring as her hands gripped the back of the armchair. “Are you blackmailing me?” she gasped.
“Only if you don’t do as I ask. Leave me to my job, Miss Belivet, and I’ll leave you to your life.”
“And I suppose if I say no, you’ll send me and Carol to prison or that damn committee?”
He stood, his tone casual, almost dismissive. “That depends on you, ma’am.”
Therese closed her eyes. Once again, he had the upper hand. Her mind traveled to the women…if she helped them, she could help them keep their happiness, keep the darkness away from their perpetual sunrise. But it would cost her own, and Carol’s.
And that was a decision Therese Belivet could not make.
“You have your happy ending. Two women are about to lose theirs. Your choice. Just remember, I know where the tapes are located and I know who to contact. Remember this next time you try to play hero.”
She kept her eyes closed, so Therese did not see her walk in. But when she opened them, she watched Mr. Thomas Tucker, Private Detective, turn to make his exit—
—and walk straight into the fist of Mrs. Carol Aird.
His fall was ungraceful, as if he were still Tommy, and for a moment, Therese almost pitied him. But he recovered quickly, jumping up and baring a fist.
“Go on. Hit a lady,” Carol mocked.
Thomas stared at her for a moment before straightening up and adjusting his suit. He spoke cautiously, “Mrs. Aird. Wonderful to see you again as well. I was just telling your friend here…”
“Mr. Tucker, I think you know as well as we do Therese is more than a friend. You certainly seemed eager to share that with my ex-husband last time we met. Therese is my wife!”
“Two women cannot legally marry.”
Carol just smirked. “Not yet, anyway.”
Thomas laughed this off. “Well, as I was telling Miss Belivet, that’s none of my business as long as she stays out of mine.”
Carol glanced at Therese, but did not ask for an explanation. Both knew that could wait until Thomas left. As he picked up his case, he resumed in that same casual, dismissive tone from earlier. “I am sorry about what happened in Waterloo. I am a professional, you understand, and romantic sentiment isn’t what I’m paid to sympathize with.”
“I don’t care where your sympathies are,” Carol snarled. “You gave my husband what he needed to keep Rindy from me. You stole that night, so that I…” She could not find the words to continue. Because of this worm before her, she had to sacrifice Therese to fight for Rindy. Because of him, the most beautiful night she ever shared with someone became a bittersweet regret, and for this, she never stopped being angry with him. Therese could not hate, but Carol could.
With a swift, fluid motion, she pulled the gun she had hidden in her belt, cocked it, and aimed it straight at his head. There was a pause, and she aimed it lower. “So,” she resumed, her voice calm and quiet, “if you do not leave this apartment right now and stay the hell away from my wife, I will shoot you straight in your fucking balls. And I can promise the gun won’t jam this time, you sonofabitch!”
There was silence. Therese listened closely and realized that no one was breathing. Carol’s hands remained steady as her eyes stared straight into Thomas’s. He glared back, his black pits of eyes boring into hers—only for hers to bore right back into his. Once again, there was a power play until at last, Carol and Therese watched him slouch slightly. He once again donned his salesman grin, but it was too tight to be convincing. Nothing was said as he turned toward the door, Carol’s gun still trained on him.
The door closed behind him, and both women exhaled.
“Carol…”
“What the fuck was he doing here?”
Therese told her as succinctly as possible the events of the afternoon. At first, Carol stared at her in shock, as if Therese had left half her mind at home that morning. When Therese told her about the conversation before her arrival, Carol was still shocked, but her features softened, as it became less about Therese’s recklessness and more about her safety.
“What would you have told him?” Carol asked.
Therese sighed, and covered her face with her hands. “I would have agreed. I can’t risk us and Rindy to save two strangers, not after all you suffered.”
For a moment, neither said anything. Then Carol sighed audibly, tossing the gun on the sofa, and walked toward Therese to take the younger woman in her arms. When her head rested against Carol’s chest, Therese released the tears that she had been holding. Because she remembered what Tommy Tucker did to them, but she could not prevent it happening to others without it repeating itself to her. Because to the world, a love like hers and Carol’s was abhorred, and to keep it, they had to hide it. Because she had no idea now of whether, after being attacked, Thomas wouldn’t simply decide to reveal the tapes to courts or the HUACC, even if Therese stayed out of his way.
Carol comforted her as best she could, stroking her hair, hugging her as tightly, but still comfortably, as she could. When the tears subsided, Carol lifted Therese’s head so that they could look at each other before placing her lips firmly against Therese’s.
“I feel selfish,” Therese whispered when they parted. “Like I don’t want to help them.”
“Therese, listen to me. You can’t save everyone whose lives are threatened. It’s not your fault. Bad things happen even when you can’t do anything to prevent them, or stop them, or make sure they don’t happen at all. Because they will happen. And you cannot take the blame just because of that. Now, what will happen to those girls, no one knows. But you helped them know that slime for who he truly is, and it’ll be a lot harder for him to get what he needs from them. Did you think of that?”
Therese looked at her, her expression altered. Carol continued, “They’ll be a lot more careful. Which means he’ll be working for a while. With luck, he won’t get anything at all.”
Therese smiled, looking at the situation from that perspective. Carol smiled in return, and leaned in to place a kiss against Therese’s forehead.
“My little angel,” she whispered.