THIS IS GOSPEL

“Claire, are you admitting to me that you were a slut in college?” Reina can see it — the reserved, nun-like girl coming out of her shell at some Ivy League frat party. The cliche is almost too perfect for the woman sitting in front of her, and Reina feels a smirk coming on as she continues to rifle through more pictures. “You all look like you’re ready to be on the cover of some 80′s ski resort ad. Very posh.” And everything Reina wanted but didn’t have growing up. Her Christmases were spent with Rowan in their shared shoebox of a bedroom, exchanging drawings as gifts with Reina desperately trying to keep up the ruse that Santa must have just forgotten where they lived year after year. She’d have given just about anything to have a dumb as fuck Christmas card tradition at the time. Now, of course, things are different. Reina’s family has expanded tenfold and they do have a tradition of taking silly rich people Christmas photos to send on a card, but looking at pictures of Claire as a kid still manages to put a pit in Reina’s stomach all the same. “And you have a big family. Bet that was fun.”

Evelyn huffed, rolling her eyes as she poked at her nose in her little mirror. “You don’t have to lie, Claire, dear — I know it looks like an absolute disaster. Thankfully, I’ve already made an appointment with my plastic surgeon.” She snapped her mirror shut, folding her hands together as she squinted at the woman with a manic smile. “Oh, sweetheart, with your breasts I think you should go for a full enhancement, don’t you think? Just 200ccs could make a world of difference, you know.”

“Disaster might be...a bit of a stretch. But I’m glad you’re looking on the positive side of things, darling...” Claire didn’t like to lie, but she was trying to be a friend. She watched Evelyn snap her hand mirror shut and the next comments that followed made the other woman twitch. Did Evelyn not understand figures of speech? “...if it’s anything like your nose, I’d much rather be the size I am right now, thank you though. Do you have someone to take you there, Evie?” 

“Ohhh, I don’t know — Marg handled all that shit when we got married. I was like, twenty-four. She also helped me file my taxes that year, ‘cause I had no idea how to do them. Or she hired someone to do ‘em for me. Can’t remember. Shit — how am I going to do my taxes this year?” Nate groaned, putting his face into his hands. “Getting divorced is a huge bummer.” 

With every word, Claire grew annoyed. It was a mild feeling, nothing she wasn’t used to feeling around the Island and her friends. But there is something about a grown man’s naivete that makes her count her lucky stars for marrying who she did, and not a second too late. But as any professional, she kept her annoyance tucked inside, her words showing nothing but concern. She was his confidante, and adviser after all. “Getting divorced is not easy. Dividing up assets, changing your life around....not to mention the emotional grieving one does at the end of a relationship, it’s really not easy. What’s really bothering you, Nate?” Because surely, Claire hoped, she wasn’t dealing with a man child.

“Evelyn honey...” Claire’s eyes were gravitating towards the elephant in the room, or more like the elephant on her friend’s face, and she tried her best to make her disdain behind concern. “I...I heard about the nose. It looks....different.” The last descriptor coming in like a squeak as Claire tried to be nice. “You should give me your doctor’s number. I think I’d like to get a boob lift from him.”

“And what’s wrong with being an alcoholic?” Grace couldn’t help but challenge, a poised brow raised at Claire. After all, the brunette wouldn’t be able to deal with half of the people on this island if she didn’t have some alcohol in her system. “You’re just visiting memory lane, Claire. It’s not like you’re being caught fucking your husband in public. No one’s judging.” A half-smirk stretched across her features, as she peered over her friend’s photo album. “Well, aren’t you a looker?” 

Claire nodded, “Touche.” And just smiled as she leaned back in the patio chair, let the sun warm her legs. She could have made compelling arguments for both teams, but instead, she was taking the day off to just sit in likened company and look at old photographs. At the mention of fucking, the former’s spine straightened and she stiffened. Her sex life, or lack thereof, was never something brought up in discussion. Claire didn’t like to talk about her asexuality, how the thought of being intimate with her own husband, the man she loves so dearly, made her uncomfortable and squirmy, like there was something lacking in her very being. She refused to make a comment, instead breathing out a chuckle at the...compliment? She could never tell with Grace, and she liked that. “Yeah, I was. First born daughter, and looked like they would feature me on a Sears catalog out of sheer principle.” 

Azure silk hues came in contact with Claire as the blonde lounge in the over-sized patio chair as the sun rays prickled upon her lightly shaded skin. The misfortune of Pandora’s days meant she wandered in keenness in an attempt to find something worthy of her attention. Whilst the female graduated University, there was no effort nor desire to even put her degree to use. It was a growing period whilst everyone in her family enhanced in terms of their career. Matthieu with his hockey. Christopher with being an entrepreneur. Lastly, Claire with being an attorney and recently, a housewife. There was Pandora just aimlessly living off of everyone else’s success. At least she looked good. God bless the designers still allowing her to religiously post on her Instagram feed or else the income would be gaping. “Isn’t that one of the number one rules to being a housewife is to become an alcoholic?” The younger blonde questioned her step-mother. There had been one incident when Pandora accidentally allowed ‘mother’ to dart off her tongue when speaking to Claire. Ever since then, she had been carefully watching what she said next. It was still peculiar to her. Leaning to adjust a glimpse of the photo album, azure pulps dilated in amusement of the women’s younger self. An index finger pointing to the woman in the vintage Chanel caught her fascination instantly. “Where the hell is that look? It screams my name and I feel like it would look incredible on me. Give or take a few inches because of our height differences, Claire.” 

“Don’t even remind me, Pandora. I can feel my liver working double time ever since filming began. They said that lawyers often drink themselves to death, but I’m pretty sure this wasn’t how.” Right now, Claire was more than happy to just reach for the infused water their housekeeper had made for them; refreshing notes of lime and cucumber, and the taste of water was heaven in it’s own right. “I don’t think I drank all that much when I was in college as much as I drink now. And how many weeks of filming has it even been?” Claire knew, but she liked acting like she didn’t give a fuck. With the album placed between the two of them, the older woman thumbed the pictures, almost tasting the nostalgia but that could also be the dust from the attic they were kept in. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, a sudden pang of emotion filling her chest for a life before all this. She was seeing herself, much younger than today, and she could see the light behind the younger one’s eyes. Looking up at Pandora, she could see that same youthfulness. The zest of being young. Even if Claire had never been quite big on affection, she loved Pandora like her own daughter. As her own daughter, because that’s what she was. Before she could give into her motherly instincts, the blonde chimed in and the moment was shattered as the former’s eyes travelled to the picture her pseudo-daughter was pointing to. “Uhh...” The little black dress that Claire had worn to a sorority party, the first time she had met Christopher actually, even though there wouldn’t be any picture evidence until two years, and a Thanksgiving dinner at The Woodrow Estate, of the two of them. “I’m sure it’s probably in....my parents’ house. I outgrew that dress...too quickly. But I’m sure I’ve got some other vintage outfits in storage that you could peruse. I just never thought I’d...” Damn sentimentality. Claire swallowed, “...that I’d be...passing things down to another generation.” 

for → @ofclaireisms​ location: claire woodrow-marlowe’s home time: february 19th, 3pm

Taking a swig of his La Croix, Nate cocked his head, giving Claire an incredulous look. “Wait — so you’re telling me that in a divorce, we both split our stuff equally?” Sighing, he picked at his salad, leaning into his palm. “Because, I don’t really have a problem with that — I just, you know, don’t want to split my video game collection, ‘cause, like, that shit is my life.”

Claire isn’t sure what annoys her more at the moment; Nathan’s immaturity, or the can of LaCroix in his hand. She didn’t get the appeal of sparkling water, flavourless and a farce packaged in colours. But she decides it’s the immaturity, and bites the question back; who the hell would say yes to marrying you? But Nathan was a friend, and most importantly, seeking her legal counsel. “Well, if your spouse decides she wants to stake a claim in your...video game collection, I suppose you two will have to split it. But I have a feeling she’ll be coming for your money, more than those. I do hope, for your sake, you two signed a prenup?” 

“Oh, please. We’re all alcoholics.” Reina cocks an eyebrow as she deliberately takes a sip of her wine to drive the point home. It’s practically a requirement for them, being on the type of show they’re on, and their days usually consist of a lot of drinking with very little food. Alcohol is the catalyst of bad behavior, after all. When Claire brings out a photo album full of old pictures, Reina’s quick to grab at it, eager for the chance to tease the other woman. The two of them are allies — friends would be a stretch and to be fair, Reina doesn’t really like that word — but that doesn’t mean Claire is spared from Reina poking fun at her. “Who would I be if I didn’t judge the hell out of you?” she asks, assessing the picture in front of her with a slow smirk. “God, you were kind of a fat baby.”

Claire shrugged, also reaching for her glass of Reina’s favourite red that was so generously shared between them. “I honestly couldn’t give a shit if we’re drunk or not. I got seriously lucky in that department.” She liked to joke that her Scandinavian blood was the antidote to getting drunk, even though her family didn’t drink. The photo album was a mistake, the woman would soon realise as she looks at Reina leafing through the pages. “Not my friend, that’s for sure.” How the lawyer really felt about these women would be something of a secret, but for now, she needs Reina to believe her olive branch of friendship is real. “I carried those cheeks till my first year at Yale. And then I went through a phase where the East Coast hotties really...got to me. But that’s uhh...a cute picture.” She cleared her throat, deciding on how much she was willing to open up to the other woman. “My parents were the traditional sort. As in the rich people traditions of Christmas cards, family portraits and the works, you know? A lot of these, I look...dressed up. And different from my siblings. Only one who inherited my mother’s features, and inability to take a joke...” Claire offered a weak laugh, hiding her awkwardness behind her wine glass again.

     “Heaven forbid you go easy on me,” Matty mutters under his breath with a roll of his eyes. His unusually moody due to lack of sleep but the ten year old inside of him prays to god that Claire’s too busy nagging him to notice any of his attitude. They may have grown closer now that he was no longer a minor in her care but his aunt turned step-mother still terrified him to his very core. She likely always would. Years of etiquette classes go out the window as the blonde slouches farther and farther into his care partially hoping it would somehow swallow him whole though he knew it wouldn’t. “I’m not apart of an underground fighting ring.” What was this fight club? If he had known joining such a thing was an actual viable option he very well may have done so instead of hockey but fortunately for Claire he had found hockey first. “Some incel decided he wouldn’t take no for an answer from these girls. I stepped in, he didn’t like it and came back with some friends. Long story short security called some cops on us and they lied and said I attacked them for no reason.” Matt couldn’t be sure why any of them thought they could win against him in a fight. He could bench press their combined weight in his sleep, a fact he was sure to stress but they still chose to start swinging. And was he supposed to do? Not defend himself? “I just want this to go away Claire. Coach’s gonna be livid if I get into another scandal.”

Climbing into the car, Claire hadn’t stopped her spiel, but it make her realise that she was turning into her own mother and that thought made her stop in her tracks, stilling in the driver’s seat. I’m becoming my mother. Especially when Claire had made Topher promise her, on notarized paper, that they wouldn’t have any children of their own. A loveless existence surely, but it was much better than stressing about every little detail, like she watched her own parents do. But Mathieu and Pandora, as much as the woman wanted to deny it, were her own children. Legally and in actuality, and she would never have had it any other way. She had zoned out, fingers on her lips as she sat in thought, but Matty’s voice was starting to come to her, his explanation entailing incels (involuntary celibates, that her brother was in danger of becoming on), defending girls and something something something. In the privacy of a locked car, she drops the lawyer act. For once in her life, she could see that Matty didn’t need a lawyer right now, he needed a parental figure. Stopping short of reaching out to touch her son, her face softened and she nodded. “Okay. I believe you.” She sighed, “Matty....” What was Claire supposed to say? It didn’t look good on his record, and he needed a PR manager more than he needed a lawyer. “You’re a good kid, you know? When we first met, I...I thought I saw this fire in you. I saw it in you because it was the same for me as a kid. Always angry and bitter and ready to fight the world. I even took kickboxing just because I could use it to fight someone. But...our world is a different one. That fire, your temper...you need to channel it in other ways.” This moment of mellowness made the woman choke up, and she straightened in her seat. “We’ll talk more about this once you’re fully awake.”

@ofclaireisms​  “i can’t believe we’ve just sat here for four hours and have done nothing.”

“Well I wouldn’t say nothing.” Although it really has been nothing. Though it does feel like a lot of these put together scenes are a lot of sitting around a dinner table, watching as hair and makeup is touched up and the camera’s are positioned a thousand times and the producers pull people aside and whisper in their ears in hopes of creating an altercation. She wonders if all the waiting is supposed to make the impatient, make them more likely to snap at each other because they’re irritated. After a split second, she decides it most definitely is. Nothing the producers do is pointless, even if it seems that way. “We’ve finished two bottles of wine.” 

Claire is about to say something, but then she closes her mouth again, unable to find the words to describe how restless she’s feeling. Especially because it’s just her and Rowan and things are surprisingly calm, and Claire doesn’t do calm. As much as she loudly proclaims to hate the chaos, she thrives in the middle of it, has to be involved in it. She has notes from production, about the role she has created for herself, and right now, she can’t seem to bring herself there. She actually doesn’t care much about the woman opposite to her, which is much better than being loathed, or liked by Claire Woodrow-Marlowe. “Honestly, this is some watered Moscato and they’re holding out on us! Cowards...” She still took a sip of her Pink Moscato, savouring the sweetness of it and throwing pointed jabs at the production team behind the lights. “Okay, so what do they want us to talk about? Our husbands? I haven’t seen Toph in a day, what do they want me to say? Oh Rowan, I think he’s cheating on me with Safiya fucking Torres. Actually...no, he wouldn’t.” 

“Fuck no, we’re not friends. I have a best friend, and for good reasons she stays away from the cameras. If I had to be friends with any of these insane bitches, I’d have lost my head a looooong time ago. But they make for entertaining dinner parties, and I am constantly bored and in need of some fun. Can you really blame me?”

“Charity is my best friend. Or was, I don’t know how that stuff works out. But we were tight, and I think I knew more about her marriage than her husband does. But ever since Reina’s here...I don’t know. I love some new blood, and I definitely like Reina’s attitude. I’ve been growing close to her, but a girl should never forget her roots, am I right?” 

“Evelyn’s a nutcase with loose morals, and before the plastic surgery, loose everything. And Rowan...hmm, I can’t believe I’m saying this but...I can actually respect her. She seems level headed, but everyone’s got a limit, you know” 

— CUT TO: MATTY MARLOWE & CLAIRE WOODROW-MARLOW

      A sheepish expression etches itself over his boyish features as he climbs into the car of the person who only moments ago paid for his bail from county lock-up. An excuse sits on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it. Unable to quite look them in the eyes yet as they pull away from Catalina Sheriff Station. “Can we just make sure my uncle doesn’t hear about this?” He lets the question linger in the air between them for less than a moment before immediately changing him mind. Callous fingers running through dirty blonde trusses as he shakes his head, “Actually you know what? I don’t care if he finds out. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Was it impulsive to deck a guy in the face because he pissed you off? Maybe but in Matt’s defense the guy deserved it. The dick wouldn’t quit harrassing a couple girls at the bar. It wasn’t Matt’s fault that when he politely intervened to tell the creep to get a hint that he came back with a group of friends trying to act like some sort of mucho man. “Anyway, thanks for picking me up. I owe you one. Well, maybe two if you’ve got a lawyer I can contact. The criminal charges were dropped but the asshole might decide to sue in civil court.”