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A car horn beeped outside of Effie's apartment, loud, insistent, and amplified by the brick walls. She ran to the window, throwing it open and waving down at her friends in the waiting car below.
"Two minutes!" She called.
The insistent blaring of the horn continued as she hurried through the flat, throwing her wallet, lipstick, a mirror, and her keys into a small clutch.
"Are you trying to disturb the whole block?" She chided her friends as she climbed into the backseat.
"Everyone's out, Effie!" Calliope glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "It's summer and the games start in two days; there's no one's home to disturb."
"Oh, those boring games," Saphira groaned from the passenger seat as she applied a sparkly pink lip gloss, "I didn't even watch them last year, did you?"
"I did, but only because my roommate was interested," Daphne said with a roll of her eyes, handing Effie a nip of alcohol. The three non-driving women cracked the caps of the tiny bottles and cheersed each other, downing the contents and shuddering at the taste.
"I can't remember the last time I watched, between school, work, or family obligations,” Effie coughed as the liquor burned its way down her throat and landed with a small explosion of heat in her stomach.
"You're such a good girl, working during summertime, Effie." Calliope teased lightly.
It wasn't as though she had a choice. Great Aunt Messalina was happy to cover her and Prosie's education, but it didn't make their home life any more luxurious. Effie's apartment and the newfound freedom that came with it had taken discipline, scraping, sacrificing, and saving. No one knew just how destitute her family had become over the years, and she had refused to let anyone see it on her or Prosie. It had cost her more than just the luxury of time to watch the games—it had cost her socializing, relationships, and forced her to grow up faster than necessary. She had learned to make clothes, do her hair and makeup, studied hard, and kept her nose to the grindstone.
The years of networking had paid off, and she knew everyone who was anyone that she had attended school with. If only the connections would come up with a job! She had so many applications out, but had only heard back from a few with generic rejections. Even her most far-fetched and low-ball applications had, so far, turned up dry. The meager amount she had in her wallet for a night out was going to have to sustain her until she found someone to charm into buying drinks. She was famous among her friends for getting men to foot her bill in her school days, but none of them knew how necessary it was for a night out. Now that she was single for the first time in a long time, she had to return to her old tricks.
The bar was loud, busy, and full of prospective drink-buyers. Effie and her friends spotted a table and perched around it.
"Good crowd tonight, ladies!" Daphne said. "First round's on me!" She returned with a tray of drinks and a round of shots. It was sweet and refreshing, tasting like lemonade. Effie felt a pleasant buzz beginning as she chatted and giggled with her friends.
Slowly, they began to peel off, mingling and chatting with the people around them. Effie was striking out finding drink tickets, which felt unusual. What had happened? Had she missed the memo that said every young twenty-something suddenly needed to be off the market? Everyone, it seemed, had a partner now.
She circled the bar for what felt like the seventieth time when the front door opened, and her chest burst with anxiety. Her ex-boyfriend, Cassio, and the woman he had dumped Effie for—well, the woman he had been cheating on her with—walked in to a raucous greeting from a group by the front street-side windows
Effie looked around for an escape route. She squeezed past a group of people, just as Cassio was sidling up to the bar, trying to get the bartender's attention. Unfortunately, Effie was right in his line of sight. Cassio smiled and held up a hand in a lazy, carefree wave of acknowledgement.
Dickhead, Effie thought as she plastered on a smile and waved back, fighting back the urge to give him the finger.
To her horror, Cassio turned to his girlfriend and pointed towards Effie, then started walking through the crowd towards her.
Effie turned to retreat and collided with a tall man. A hand reached out to steady her. She glanced up, taking in the curls flopping into his grey eyes.
"In a rush?" He asked.
"Are you here with anyone?"
His lips curled in amused interest. "Just some friends."
"Pretend to be my boyfriend for a few minutes," she hissed, "I'll buy you a refill for your trouble."
"That works for me, princess."
"Follow my lead."
"Effie?" Cassio's voice came from behind her.
"Oh, Cassio! Hi, how are you?" She put on her best aloof tone.
"Doing alright, I hope you don't mind that I'm here with Nerissa? I was in the area, and well, we always liked this place."
"Yes, I remember. I'm here with friends, too."
"Hi, I don't think we've met," Cassio said to the stranger, reaching a hand out in greeting, "I'm Cassio."
"Haymitch," the other man said, shaking Cassio's hand.
"Are you two—?" Casso glanced between them, looking far too amused for Effie's liking. Sure, this Haymitch wasn't as polished as the men she usually went after, but he was not altogether bad-looking. And he must be nice if he would agree to go along with a stranger's charade without hesitation.
"Dating? Yes," Effie said quickly.
"It's new," Haymitch added, and he slipped his arm around her waist, stroking his fingers over her hip.
"Yes, brand new. We've been taking it slow—"
"She burst into my life, and we've been having a great time. I couldn't resist when she asked me out. Look at her—what a catch!" Haymitch smiled down at her, drawing her closer.
Damn, he was good!
"You asked him, Effie? That's so unlike you. You love a long, slow tease and flirt. Making the man wait, and playing your little games."
"Maybe things are different with different people, Cassio," Effie shrugged.
Nerissa came up behind Cassio with two glasses and handed him one. He threw an arm around the other woman, and Effie's stomach dropped with jealousy when he kissed her.
"Hi Effie," Nerissa said with a polite smile, "it's been a while."
"It has. You look well." She let her eyes roam over Nerissa's revealing outfit, and tried to keep from sneering.
"Thank you. And you look precious as ever. Cassio, I got us a table. Shall we?" Nerissa jerked her head in the opposite directions
"Sure. So good to see you, Eff. Haymitch, treat her well," Cassio winked.
"Will do," Haymitch gave a mock salute.
When the other couple had left, Effie felt Haymitch drop his hand from her waist, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. "Thank you so much."
"No problem. What's that guy's deal?"
"That's my ex, and his new girlfriend… they got together while we were still dating."
"Dickhead," Haymitch said.
"Indeed. Let me get you that refill."
"This one's on me," Haymitch set his glass down on the bar. The bartender came right over to him, which surprised Effie. It was difficult to get served here. "What are you having, Effie?"
"Whatever you're having."
Haymitch gave her a lopsided smile. "Knew I liked you."
He passed her a rather generous pour of whisky and clinked his against hers. The first sip took her breath away, strong and fiery. Haymitch watched her over the rim of his glass as he sipped deeply.
"Since we're now on a date, let me officially introduce myself: I'm Haymitch." He held out his hand to her, and she shook it.
"That's a very unique name. I like it."
He was watching her with an odd expression on his face. "Thanks. So, Effie, what brings you to this bar with your ex and his new girlfriend?"
"I am actually here with friends to celebrate one getting a new job. Lucky her!"
"Well, congratulations to her. What do you do?"
"I'm looking for work, actually. I was working with my ex, but when he and Nerissa got together, I transferred to a different department. It was clear that it was a dead end, so I quit a few weeks ago. I thought I'd have found something by now, but no luck."
"Yet."
"Yet," she echoed, "you're absolutely right! A positive attitude is key." She took another sip of her whisky, already feeling it spreading to her limbs pleasantly. "What do you do? Any open positions where you are?"
"I'm, erm, a government employee." He was looking at her oddly again. "I don't think it's a place that would suit you, and the job I have… well, it's not one that you'd find suitable, nor would you be eligible for it."
Effie found this to be an incredibly arrogant statement. "Really? And why is that?"
"I'm not sure you have the qualifications, is all."
"Well, what are you doing at this job that you assume I am unqualified for?" She huffed. "Protecting President Snow?"
"No," he scoffed. "I'm… an advisor, of sorts. It gets very busy around this time of year. I don't think anyone ever wants the job, honestly. Well, some do, but they’re sick. Money's good, but it's… it's draining the life out of me."
"It sounds like you should start looking for other work, too."
Haymitch let out a hollow laugh. "Would that I could, but I think this is it for me. What are you looking to do?"
"Anything at this point. I have a degree in archaeology and design, so it would be nice to find something in that field. I can sew and make clothes. I'd even do some sort of boring office job. I'm going mad with all my free time."
Haymitch hummed in agreement. "You know what they say about idle hands…"
She cocked her head at him. "No, what do they say?"
"They're the Devil's plaything."
"Who's?" She asked, amused.
"It's not important. Now, tell me, princess, what exactly did you see in that guy?"
She was surprised to find herself enjoying her evening with Haymitch. He was pleasant, funny, sardonic, and generously bought her two more drinks. She felt pleasantly buzzed, but he seemed not to feel the effects at all. They talked long into the night. Just as she realized that she should ask his age and why she didn't recognize him from the Academy or University, Calliope came up behind her.
"Effie, we should go. I've been striking out all night, and Saphira looks like she's one drink away from repeating that night she puked in a taxi, and I just don't feel like cleaning my car right now."
"Been there," Haymitch mused.
"Oh…" Effie was surprised at the regret she felt that the time had come to leave. But this was her only ride home, and cabs were expensive. "Right. I'll meet you at the door, Calz."
Calliope nodded, stuck two fingers between her teeth to whistle loudly across the bar at the other two women collecting their bags, and gestured towards the door for them to follow.
"I guess I'd better be going. Maybe I'll see you around?" Effie asked, feeling hopeful.
Haymitch winked. "Maybe. Have a good night, princess."
"And thank you again. You we so kind to help me." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and left some money on the table. "Next one's on me."
Effie had a hangover the next morning. She never drank straight liquor, and she rested her head against the counter as she brewed a coffee strong enough knock out her headache. Most of the Capitol nursed hangovers during the Hunger Games, so Effie wasn't too concerned about spending one day in her pajamas lounging around her house.
As she flicked through the television channels, trying to find something amusing to watch, the phone rang. She picked it up and cradled it against her shoulder as she continued to browse the selections on the screen.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this Effie Trinket?"
"Yes, this is she."
"Oh, wonderful! I'm calling about an application we received."
Effie sat up straighter, heart leaping into her throat. "Really?"
"We need someone to fill in straight away asap. One of our stylists has had an accident and can't make it in. Your resume says that you sew?"
Effie set her coffee cup down, hangover dissipating as excitement took hold. "Yes, of course. Sorry, where did you say you were from?"
"Pardon me, I didn't—I'm so flustered today. This job is with the Games. You'll be filling in for Magno Stift, who has been licking his pets. Yet again."
"Magno Stift? Oh goodness… I thought he had retired."
"If only!" The voice on the other end of the receiver groaned. "How soon could you get to the tribute center?"
Effie showered, dressed, and slapped on a face of makeup as quickly as she could. It would be impossible to create outfits in just a few hours, so she pulled from her wardrobe and loaded her car with the options. One quick stop at Great Aunt Messalina's for a few more selections, and she was pulling up to the tribute centre with minutes to spare.
The elevator opened into a large penthouse, and Effie rolled the garment rack across the marble floor. The sound of her heels echoed loudly, and she gazed around the massive space, looking for signs of life.
"Well, well, well," an amused voice came from the couch, "if it isn't my girlfriend."
Effie whipped around and saw the man from the bar.
"What are you doing here?" She gasped.
"Seriously?" Haymitch asked, lip curling in disbelief. "Are you really asking me that?"
"Am I not allowed to?"
He considered her for a moment. "I guess you could say I work here?"
"You're an escort?"
"Honey, you've either been living under a rock or you are extremely obtuse."
Effie pursed her lips, drawing herself up to her fullest height. "Excuse me, that is incredibly rude, Haymitch. If that's even your real name."
"Sure is—don't wear it out. I heard someone called 'Euphemia' was going to join the styling team. Effie's a nickname, is it?"
"No one calls me that except my mother, and only when she's angry." Haymitch was grinning at her, sipping amber liquid from a cut crystal glass. "It's a bit early to be drinking, don't you think?"
"Not if you never stopped from the night before."
"So it's a terrible habit, then?"
"Maybe you can reform me," he pushed himself up from the chair, slinking towards her in a way that she hated to admit was attractive. His tall, lean frame was impressive, his shoulders broad shoulders, arm muscles defined under his button-down shirt. "After all, aren't you my better half?"
"Abernathy!" A sharp voice barked from a hallway. "Get away from that girl!"
Drusilla Sickle. Effie fought the urge to wrinkle her nose as the older woman tottered towards them on sky-high heels. Effie had never met Drusilla before, but she had heard tales of what a monster she was; taking on a role with her district team was no easy job.
A sudden realization struck Effie. "Abernathy? You're Haymitch Abernathy?" Effie asked, turning back to him.
"I hope so, or I have the wrong underwear on."
Drusilla shooed him away with a gloved hand, "Well, what do you know, Haymitch, you've fallen so far out of favor that a young woman is unable to distinguish a Hunger Games victor from Capitol rabble. Maybe if you managed to secure another victor as easily as you secured liquor, she would know who you are."
Effie thought this was rather presumptuous: she did know who Haymitch was, she had just never seen him. The year Haymitch won was the first summer she had been able to work.
Haymitch belched in response to Drusilla’s jab and plopped onto the couch. Normally, that act of rudeness would make Effie’s skin crawl, but now she felt the urge to laugh. She stifled it, of course, and stiffened when Drusilla rounded on her.
“Well, let’s hope you’re a damn sight better than Magno. Why I continue to let him work as the stylist for 12, I will never know.”
“Nepotism, Drusie,” Haymitch drawled from the couch.
Drusilla pointedly ignored him and began poking through the rack. “What are these? Looks like pre-war fashions… terribly out of date.” She wrinkled her nose at a black sequin-adorned dinner jacket of Uncle Silius’s. Well, Effie guessed thats what Drusilla was doing—it was hard for her face to move with all of her cosmetic work.
"You'd know, wouldn't you?" Haymitch murmured.
“Some, ma’am," Effie tried to keep her voice light and distract from Haymitch's comments. "I thought it would be nice to revive some vintage fashion. Everything old can be made new again!”
“Except her,” Haymitch said with more volume. Now Effie chose to ignore him for both their sakes.
“These are new!” Effie gestured to the clothes in her closet. “I made some of them. Unfortunately, with so little time to prepare, these older styles are all I have for the boy. If they would like to match, there are plenty that complement each other very nicely. I'm a quick seamstress, and I can alter anything they want to wear for their interviews.”
“They do not choose what to wear; you do," Drusilla rolled her eyes. "I suppose these clothes will suffice.”
The two tributes from 12 returned to the apartment, and Effie began a race against the clock in order to get them ready for the evening. She was hunched over a sewing machine, hemming the male tribute, Oscar’s pants. The girl, Briar, was nearly the same size as Effie, so it was easy to make alterations with a few stitches and a pin or two. Briar had been surprised when Effie allowed her to select whatever she liked and accessorize from the bag of jewellery and adornments.
“So,” Haymitch’s voice came softly near her ear, and she hastily pulled her hands away from the machine, “how’s your head, Princess?”
“Do you think it’s wise to sneak up on someone when their hands are so close to a mechanical needle?”
“My apologies, but you seem pretty adept with that thing.” He slumped into the chair opposite her. His hair flopped into his eyes, and he pushed it back casually. Effie couldn’t help noticing the size of his hand, and the way it sloped into a rather elegant wrist and a muscled and veined forearm. It had been so long since a man had piqued her attention.
She shook herself mentally. She was at work! This was a job! This man, whom she had met in a very different setting last night, was not who she thought he was; he was a victor! She could not let herself admire him the way she might have done if they’d met again in other circumstances, and they were different people.
“My head is perfectly fine, thank you very much.”
Haymitch smirked. “Well, good. I hoped you wouldn’t wake up feeling too poorly after our date last night.”
“That was not a date!” She hissed, glancing around the room to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. There was no doubt a plethora of listening devices hidden around the apartment, seeking out dissent or treason. “I truly appreciate the effort to assist me when my ex came into the bar, and your kindness after, but it was no more than two adults enjoying drinks socially. You seem to have kept the good times going.” She looked pointedly at his glass.
“Yeah, well, being here isn’t exactly fun for me, if you can imagine. The Capitol has its perks, fine liquor being one of them. Beautiful women asking me to pretend to be their boyfriend for the evening is another.”
“Not the evening—just for an interaction. I’m sure you have someone back home who would be very upset to see you being such a cad.”
Haymitch stiffened and clenched his jaw. “Think that’s funny?”
His abrupt change in tone surprised her, immediately halting her own irritation. “I -no? I just thought that… well, you can’t possibly be wanting for female attention. Unless you… don’t want that sort of-“
An odd expression crossed his face. “Let me ask you again: do you live under a fucking rock?”
“No!” Effie said defensively. “My apologies if everyone else seems to know your business, but I,” she stopped, knowing admitting she wasn’t allowed to watch the games would be considered questionable at best, possibly putting her family at risk for further defamation, or worse. She chose her words carefully, “I don’t make it a habit of remembering every victor’s biography—there are quite a lot of you, after all. Why don’t you remind me?”
Haymitch’s grey gaze pierced her, and she noticed something she hadn’t last night; underneath the twinkle of mischief was deep, wounded pain. This man was soft underneath his hard exterior and bravado.
“There’s no one at home who would be upset with me for being, as you say, a cad. My only girlfriend died when we were sixteen.”
“Oh… Haymitch, I’m so sorry.”
He hummed in response, a non-commital sound as he picked up his drink to take a large gulp.
How strange that he hadn’t found someone else after all these years. He had been a victor for a decade now, and he was undeniably attractive—he could have any woman he desired. Surely he wasn’t still under the impression that a relationship he had at age sixteen would be the one and only he would have for the rest of his life? Surely his lost girl would want him to keep living?
Effie resumed hemming the pants, the sound of the sewing machine filling the awkward silence.
The tribute interviews that evening went well enough in Effie's mind. Drusilla, however, seemed to think otherwise.
“It’s a good job no one in the Capitol has any hopes for District 12; that mothball-ridden nightmare that new girl picked for the boy tribute is atrocious," Drusilla sneered, glaring up at the television screen playing a live feed of the interviews.
“Effie's not a girl; she's in her twenties. And do you think that husband of yours does any better?” Haymitch asked from the couch in the green room. “I think Miss Trinket did the best she could with so little time to prepare. She managed to tailor that suit in under an hour.”
Effie had been trying to make herself small in the corner of the room and blushed at both Drusilla and Haymitch’s dichromatic opinions of her work.
She was zipping all of the clothes into garment bags later that evening when Haymitch appeared beside the rack. “I’ll walk you home. It’s the least I can do.”
“That’s very thoughtful, but I drove.”
“Well, let me help you pack your car, then.”
“It seems like you’ve done nothing but help me for the last twenty-four hours,” Effie said when the trunk was stuffed with clothing. “I don’t know how I can thank you.”
Haymitch shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I am truly sorry for offending you earlier. I shouldn’t have teased you.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been teased.” His easy smile was back, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Maybe to your face,” Effie was pleased when he grinned.
“Oh, I assure you, people mock me openly in my face. So, I guess I’ll see you around then?”
Effie nodded and smiled when he opened the driver’s side door for her. “Until we meet again.”
Her phone rang bright and early the next morning. It was her parents’ friend’s son, Plutarch Heavensbee—she hadn’t seen him since she was a girl and he was a teenager who had indulged her and Prosie by playing dolls with them.
“Miss Trinket? I’m calling in regards to a job that has just become available. Our dear Drusilla Sickle,” (it sounded as though she was anything but dear to him), “has taken a bit of a tumble in the tribute center—she says she was tripped by a tribute, but Haymitch says it was her overlarge heels—and she has quit in a huff. How would you feel about taking over? Haymitch has specifically asked for you, if it sways your opinion. Be forewarned, he is not always easy to get along with, and he drinks like a fish, but I think the two of you will make a good team.”
Effie had never considered working for the games, but the state of her bank account was the deciding factor.
“I can start right away!”
Haymitch was waiting for her when she arrived at the tribute center.
“Let’s lay down some ground rules, princess; now that you’re an escort, we can’t be dating.” He nudged her jovially with his elbow, and she rolled her eyes.
“Pity. Now, how does this sponsor thing work? I flirt, you close?”
“I can flirt on my own, thank you very much.”
“Oh, you can?” She laughed.
“Worked pretty well on you in that bar. And you’re not so bad yourself. If we still have tributes after the initial bloodbath, I think we can get them some good sponsor gifts if we work together.” He held out his hand to her.
Effie took it in hers, giving it a shake. “Let’s go.”