cecilia francis

-

Her reaction wasn’t unexpected. Quite the opposite, in fact, given how much purpose he had put into provoking it out of her. The outrage was common, but the laughter spoke of something else. Diego’s curiosity is piqued, eyes narrowing slightly as she tries to weasel her way out of the accusation. Not entirely guilt-free, he has to say. He’d come near the pressure point he wanted to press, but hadn’t found its dead center yet. 

“I’m not asking you about Tommy.” He says calmly, not at all bothered at the prospect of losing a client. Or, at least, he wouldn’t appear to be. “You’ve made it very clear that he’s not your type just by the way you talk about him, and let’s be honest, if you were then your presence here would make you kind of a psychopath, which you don’t strike me as.” Though he had been wrong before about that, he wouldn’t divulge such information. “I meant it as in you must have some personal experience with affairs. Not necessarily with Tommy.” A pause, he shrugs at her like she wasn’t about to leave. “I could be wrong and you just watch a lot of television, but if I’m not… well, then your friend will probably want me working her case, won’t she?”

~ * ~

Considering the way her grip tightened around her purse strap, the subject of affairs obviously agitated her. There was one man, a long time ago, that she (at the time) could’ve sworn was it for her - one man she’d been so ready to start a new life with, a part of her deep in her subconscious that still wondered what her life would’ve been like if he had taken Michael’s place instead and Rhys was theirs, but it was a subject not worth thinking about - not anymore - especially given how much it upset her.

She’d been facing the door when he asked the question and she turned on her heel, sighing exasperatedly when she faced him. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” she shrugged a shoulder as casually as she could, deciding then and there she never wanted to see this guy again. So what if she had experience with affairs? It certainly wasn’t any of this jackass’ business anyway. Besides, she didn’t have to tell him a thing -- this case had been about Elizabeth, not Cecilia.

“Why are you even asking me all this? I’m not even your client. I came here to support Liz, not be scrutinized with twenty questions,” a beat, “and I don’t know. We’ll have to see what she thinks, won’t we? If she even turns up.”

-

He didn’t like her. He’d concluded as much while climbing up the stairs already, but the impression had been fully solidified now. Her type was one he knew too well – she liked being right, liked thinking she was the smartest person in the room. Not qualities he was entirely against, but given that he was usually the one boasting them, it was easy to see that the odds of them getting along were extremely low. There had to be a pecking order to be established, and if he wanted to make rent with her friend’s money, he couldn’t let her stay on top of it. 

Diego listens to the clichés she spews out with a hint of amusement in his eyes – there was always some entertainment when people thought they could do his job better than he did – and even dares to appear impressed by the time she finishes. “Maybe it should be your name out on the door.” It would’ve sounded like a compliment if it wasn’t laced with sarcasm. Ignoring her question, Diego shifts in his chair and rests his elbows over the desk. “You seem to know a lot about affairs, Cecilia. Is this all from watching a lot of TV or personal experience?” Asks the detective, a challenge shining in his eye.

~ * ~

She blinked. It took her a moment to react to his question, taken aback at how absolutely rude he was being and being two seconds away from storming out and telling Elizabeth he was a useless piece of shit. As a matter of fact - she would do just that.

Then, out of nowhere, she laughed.

She laughed and laughed and then she found the fact that she was laughing at nothing funny enough to laugh some more. She took a moment to compose herself before asking -- “are you kidding?” Her eyes bore into his. “I’m sorry, but are you asking whether or not I’m sleeping with Tommy? No, thank you, I am happily married—“ a half lie — “and any way, if I was, he’s not my type,” she said nonchalantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll call Liz and tell her to find a different detective,” she stood, pulling the strap of her purse over her shoulder, “nice to meet you Diego Lombard.”

-

“You’re not my client.” The detective refutes quickly, moving over to the comfort of his desk and the armchair he once upon a time had paid entirely too much for and now would not be able to afford. His appearance was misleading, and sure, the headache could hinder some of his faculties, but even at seventy-percent capacity he judged himself quicker than the average person. Leaning back on the chair, he chews on the inside of his cheek while taking in the woman with different eyes: objective ones. He watches her closely: the way she speaks, the clothes she wears, the posture which she holds herself – tightly-wound, is the first mental bullet point he makes – and the variations of her moods while delivering her speech. 

When she says the word macchiato in an annoyingly accurate accent, he rolls his eyes without shame. Diego had gathered she was the friend who was there to talk the client out of hiring him before she even said as much. “Yeah, you said as much about five seconds ago when you mentioned being with Elizabeth while Elizabeth is nowhere to be found.” He remarks dryly, bringing his hand to rest against his chin. His scrutiny grows then, a purposeful shift. It often made people uncomfortable when they were so blatantly being watched. 

Diego wasn’t interested in making Cecilia feel at home. 

In the interest of continuing the discomfort and milking for that extra hour going into his bank account, he motions silently for the woman to take the seat across from his. Diego only stares for a few long seconds that could’ve easily felt like minutes before speaking up a choice question. “You think he is cheating then?”

~ * ~

Regardless of his ridiculous (and almost pretentious) scrutiny, Cecilia sits and doesn’t even notice, placing her purse casually against her lap. “Oh, it’s obvious,” she frowns, shrugging a shoulder. She crosses a leg over the other and continues, “every time I visit and Tommy’s there - Tommy’s her husband - he flirts with me and calls it friendly conversation. Then, one time, I was over for dinner, just me and Liz and when he came home - late, mind you - he smelled like Chanel number five.”

She sighs and leans back against the chair he’d silently offered, some dingy ol’thing that should have been thrown out a long time ago. “He’s been distant, never answers Liz’s calls and says he’s got extra stuff to do at work which means he’s usually home three hours - at least - past his usual time. I mean it’s so obvious. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” her eyes met his, “all she needs to do is follow him to work, stay the extra three hours and wait for whatever Nancy, Sue or Becky he’s screwing and there’s your answer,” she says the latter while raising a hand, her gaze now falling to the empty notepad that sat against his desk. “Are you memorizing all of this or are you gonna write it down?”

-

Jesus, could this woman go any slower? He had to wonder why the fuck women would wear heels that high if they couldn’t be agile in them. Already fighting off a hangover from the night before - which had made an early run to the bodega around the corner a necessity - Diego did not have the time nor the patience to wait behind the personification of a slow moving truck on a highway. Growling quietly, he speeds up his pace, not even realizing that he had bumped against her as he did so. It didn’t matter, he had clients coming in an hour, he needed to make some attempt at looking presentable. 

His head pounds by the time he reaches the fifth floor, not in the least aided by the woman’s cutting voice ringing in his ears because she simply could not have a phone call that did not concern the entire building. Diego walks into his office-slash-apartment, which was recklessly always left unlocked, while opening up a bottle of pepto-bismol and downing a generous gulp of it. This was what his mornings usually looked like, though they generally went by undisturbed. The knocking at his door is certainly new. 

Confused and with a frown that speaks more to his headache than such puzzlement, he looks down at his wristwatch to check the time. Okay, so he’d been right. The clients were getting there in an hour, then who the fuck– Diego turns around to be faced with a redhead, the slow-yet-loud figure from before, and blinks repeatedly. “Right.” He says quietly, looking her up and down with unabashed suspicion. Was this a prank? “The meeting that’s happening in an hour?” Oh, he’d charge extra for this.

~ * ~

Why the hell was he looking at her like that!? She was suddenly reminded of her son, Rhys, and the fact that she was a mother to a boy that gave her the exact same expression when she asked him to clean his room for the fifth time in an hour. She felt affronted and -- wait; this was the guy that bumped into her! Wow. Clearly, he was from the city. 

“That’s a nice way to greet your client,” she muttered, her eyes widening as she judged him shamelessly, her gaze falling from his untamed hair to the bags under his eyes. Then she realized what he’d said - happening in an hour? “Wait, what?”

Removing her phone, she found Elizabeth’s text message, scrolling to see the number four and definitely not three. “Shit, god dammit Elizabeth. I totally could’ve had that second macchiato,” the word left her in a perfect Italian accent. She heaved a sigh and shrugged a shoulder, “so, I’m not technically your client, my friend is, but she told me in person to meet her here at three and then she sent me a text this morning saying it was at four but I completely forgot. Honestly, I can just tell you what’s going on, it’s all stupid and I hardly think she even needs you,” a beat, “no offense. I just mean I think the whole thing is stupid and you don’t need a detective to figure out your husband’s cheating on you.”

“Elizabeth! Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you answering my texts or calls?!” Cecilia stood under the awning of a dilapidated building, practically yelling into her phone at Elizabeth’s voicemail. “Look, I’m outside his office and I’m going in there and you better be right behind that door when I go in! I don’t wanna feel awkward standing there like, oh! --” her purse fell off her shoulder and onto the grimy tiled floor after having been bumped into. Really, really nice. The people here were as rude as the building was crumbling. She hated New York. She hated the city, any city, in general and much preferred hills and trees and a big open sky and flowers and nothing but the sound of birds, not the headache of car horns and people shouting at each other and apparently bumping into each other without even a single look of remorse, at least. 

“Jeez! Some guy just slammed into me and didn’t even look back, what the hell! Anyway, I don’t want to look awkward just standing there like an idiot in front of this guy for something I think is so stupid. - her heels clanked against the stone stairs as she made her way up - I told you I could just follow him myself. I mean, that’s what this guy is gonna do anyway. Except he’s gonna charge you for it. I know you and Tommy are like, made of money, but why waste it on a detective for something you can just do yourself, I mean, what a waste of money and time -- god, this place doesn’t have an elevator??” She heaved a sigh, finally reaching a frosted window door with the words Diego Lombard; Private Investigator; 508 etched across it.

“Okay,” she whispered breathlessly into the phone, “I’m right outside his door, you be -” a beeping sound rang through the speaker and looking exasperated, Cecilia pulled the phone away from her ear, glaring hard at the black screen before stuffing it into the pocket of her pencil skirt (thank god they made them with pockets now - a woman’s life was hard enough as it was). “508…” she muttered, finding it unnecessary that his office was five floors up. Five! And the building didn’t have an elevator. She sighed, knocked once, then made her way in slowly. “Hello? Detective Lombard? I’m Cecilia. I’m with Elizabeth, here for the meeting about her husband…”