problems? what problems?

Her worries are not gone, nor faded, but Minnie has always been able to read between the lines. Never one to push too much when her friends are not ready to share, she keeps her thoughts to herself, concern being wiped from her face with a precise thought. Perhaps this inability to push when she knows it might hurt the feelings someone she cares about might end up hindering her ability to help them, to ensure they are alright, but it is not something she is currently willing to work on.

“I suppose that is true, even the stars need to rest at night,” she says, acquiescing at her distraction, smile fond as she does so. There is no denying that Zosia is a storm of a woman, capable of brightening a room with her very smile. If she must pretend it was the flames that brought tears to her eyes to see her smile, she will. “Of course not, my dear friend. I must apologize for pushing. Shall I accompany you to the powder room? I am in need of a touch up myself.”

.

relief warms her when minnie agrees. it’s such an ugly thing to discuss - feelings and tears both, at a party when no one has had near enough to drink to warrant such discussions. she won’t be the one to ruin the night with unpleasantness. she plans to have a delightful time for hours into the night, going long after her feet having gone numb for her shoes or, just as likely, been abandoned to heavens know where. she won’t retire for the evening until the sun is rising; whether that’s here at the vincelli mansion or elsewhere in the city, who’s to say?

“you flatter me, dear darling,” she says, smiling softly, before linking arms with minnie. together, they cut quite the statuesque pair and draw eyes from both men and women alike. zosia pays them no attention; when she’s with her dearest companions, her attention tends solely to belong to them. “i’d love for you to accompany me. this place is so sprawling i’d like to not get lost in it and miss all the fun. you must be very familiar with it, no?”

there’s a certain kind of grand assumption one makes when one is in league with criminals: you start to assume that every door is open to you, no locked door that can’t be opened with the right key (or, perhaps, the right force) — and in this kindly crescent city where everyone who’s anyone is in bed with the vincellis, perhaps that grand presumption pervades even the water, infecting everyone with its way of thinking, because what else could explain the presence of a socialite here, when the rest of the mansion is supposedly off-limits? 

far be it from connie to play the policeman now, however.

“you’re far from where you should be,” connie remarks, demeanour mostly uncaring, one hand reaching towards the side to take two clean glasses, gripping them rather inelegantly by their rims, caught between thumb and forefinger like a delicate balancing act, before his other hand takes a bottle, seemingly entitled, as if he owns the place and he’s the one footing the bill. “but perhaps we should have some drinks to wash down the delicious canapés you’re making?” he offers, as if to justify the small theft she just witnessed him make — just like old times, connie thinks, albeit somewhat drily. 

.

“well, that makes two of us and i won’t tell if you don’t.” as usual, zosia’s normal tone - two parts playful, one part nonchalance - colors her words. certainly she could be in trouble for having wandered her way down here, but in the world of a socialite there’s no such thing as consequences. and even if there is a genuine fear of such a thing, it’s schooled into people like her from day one to put their best foot forward and pretend such fears are nonexistent. it’s a mentality that’s not failed her once in her twenty-six years.

she follows connie about the kitchen, her work with the food temporarily abandoned, with her eyes and taps the toothpick in hand lightly against the counter. he, like her, is where he shouldn’t be and that’s more than simply being in the vincelli kitchens. new yorkers living their lives in new orleans; zosia, at least and if she were one to care for it, has the pedigree to belong to whatever elite social circles she chooses. connie - not so much, which might be why his rise to relevance entertains her so much.

Etienne had come to the party in a jolly mood, and intended for it to last the night. However, that hadn’t happened. There were plenty of reasons for that - but chief amongst them was the fight he had witnessed between Luciano Vincelli and his own brother. He had seen it coming a mile off, done little to stop it, and now, the whole house felt a little more tense, a little more claustrophobic. And so, he had turned to the kitchens, seeking refuge in a place where no guest would think to tread. 

Or so he thought. He had expected staff, both The Vincelli’s own and those hired in specifically for the event, but not a socialite, standing there preparing canapes like it was the most natural thing in the world. She turns to him, and Etienne cannot suppress a laugh, a small portion of his former joviality creeping back into his expression. 

“Positively starved,” he clutches his stomach dramatically, and crosses the kitchen to stand beside her with a nod of greeting to the kitchen hands - his mother never raised him to be rude, after all. “What have you got for me?”

.

“what self restraint you showed in walking past all the freshly laid platters just to reach us here in the kitchen,” she smirks, barely able to restrain her laughter. etienne, like she and vince, seems to be of the rare breed where the moods of everyone else fail to interrupt their fun. he never sours which makes him both extremely likeable and great fun. “are you seeking martyrdom?”

neatly, zosia pierces another toothpick through the tomato, mozzarella, and basil leaves laid before her. it’s an exceptionally easy task, one she understands was given to her for its simplicity, but she doesn’t mind. she’d quite like to not be the one responsible for making something wrong and having vera descend upon her like some sort of scarlet haired demon. with a little shudder at the thought, zosia offers her latest treat for etienne to take.

“you’re absolutely right,” vince agrees; he’d truly never expected their friendship to become this close. over the last few years, he’s got used to the idea of friends as disposable as the previous season’s shoes, that’s about the expiration date for most of his companions. those who stick around for longer only do that until they decide that there’s no longer any room for fun in their lives. you never really know, but vince is almost sure that this will never happen to him and zosia.

it seems like his nose has stopped bleeding but he can already tell how much grief it’s going to give him over the next few days. not to mention how ridiculously awful it’s going to make his face look. or maybe it’ll get him some sympathy points—not that he needs pity to impress someone but why not use the cards you’ve been dealt to your advantage. “we were just talking. but i suppose he doesn’t need a reason, he’s that kind of a man,” vince says with a shrug. “he’s been wanting to do that for a while now, trust me. ever since he’d sprung up around kitty, he’s been nothing but trouble. he should be thanking me for making his dreams come true.”

he turns around to looks in the mirror properly again. now that the blood’s been cleaned away, he’s almost back to normal, save for the stains on his shirt and his slowly bruising face. he’s dreading to see what it’s going to look like tomorrow morning, what a nice shade of purple it’s going to take. “thank you,” he says to her reflection as he presses his fingers to his nose, trying to check how sensitive the are is. very, it turns out. “now, let’s go find somewhere vera-free.”

.

“i worry for her,” zosia sighs and wipes her hands clean. “you really should try to talk some sense into her one of these days. men like him are good for only heartbreak and trouble. or unexpected children- they live together, don’t they?” personally, she hardly cares how kitty and her little cat toy spend their days, but assaulting vince - who, she will concede, could be aggravating if you were of the easily aggravated type - at a vincelli party? incurring bruno’s anger on vince’s behalf but vera’s wrath for misbehaving surely won’t end well for either involved party.

which is why she’s quite delighted to hear vince agree that yes, in fact, it’s time for them to seek greener pastures for the evening.

“of course, darling.” she takes one last second to approve her appearance before slipping from the bathroom with her arm linked with vince’s. “would you believe you’re not the first man i’ve helped clean up tonight? first bruno, now you.” she wouldn’t want to be bruno either. or luciano, for that matter or anyone around luciano. he’d looked absolutely murderous storming out. “there i was, making canapes with floria - you remember her, we met her at my birthday and she quite gamely hung on with us despite being on her feet all day. anyways, we were making canapes and then bruno comes in all garishly wounded. i’d’ve thought he’d run for the hills with how upset both vera and her father looked.”

“Zosia?” She was a glittered miracle, a welcome reminder of home, and a glimmer of hope that New Orleans might not be so horrific after all. Anya had not been involved with the guest list for the event, so to see her old friend and fellow socialite approaching was the most pleasant of surprises, and she pulled her into a delicate hug, kissing the air over her cheek to avoid leaving a lipstick stain. “Oh, yes!” she replied with a smile, proffering her hand to show off the impressive engagement ring her father had been forced to buy in order to sell the fantasy (if you expect me to be convincing, it’s going to have to be bigger, she’d hissed at him). “He works with my family and they needed him here, so naturally I came with him. Couldn’t bear to be left behind.” She ignored the glaring irony of the empty spot where her beloved fiancée should be.

“But what about you? I knew you’d left New York, of course, but I hadn’t realised you’d come here. How long has it been, now?” She plucked another glass of champagne from the tray of a passing server, and tried not to drain it immediately. “You’re going to have to show all the best places here, you know. I’m still clueless, and I always trusted your taste.”

.

delighted hardly begins to cover her excitement over having an old friend - granted, anya and zosia were friends only in having graced similar circles at the same times but a new yorker was a new yorker - here now. and just when she had been feeling somewhat morose over being on her lonesome only earlier in the evening. it is, perhaps, a sign that her attempts of being a beacon of delight are beginning to pay off. or, simply, that her luck is turning and she should perhaps reconsider her vow to abstain from gambling tonight...

“with a diamond like this one let’s pray you don’t fall into a river,” zosia teases, admiring the heavy jewel on anya’s hand. “you’d drown in an instant.” rather than let thoughts of why  the vincelli family is celebrating anya’s engagement weigh her down, zosia simply lets that comments about work slide into the recesses of her mind. her night, having made quite the turnabout now, will not be ruined with uglier thoughts. she won’t allow it.

Bruno needed at least an hour or two before the Vincelli’s slowed the chase or even believed he left, and now, having partly cleaned himself off in the bathrooms, he plotted his next hideout spot.

The kitchens were a good call. Busy with staff, who often weren’t paid well enough to care who was in there, and big enough that he had a few decent tight spaces to hide in. Though he really hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to the walk-in fridge.

He slipped in slowly and silently through, just in time to hear being compared to a bear. Then being called handsome. Then horrendous. In fairness, no one sported a swollen eye and broken nose well, but he liked to think he was far from disfigured.

Bruno knows Zosia offers the canape before seeing him properly, but it doesn’t stop him from stepping forward and taking it in his rough, blood-dyed hands. He popped it straight in his mouth like there was nothing startling about his appearance. “Oh delicious, a horrendous bear like me could ask for nothing better.”

The two of them weren’t really friends. In fact, he was fairly certain they’d never even met without Vincent being there as well. Their personalities were like oil and water, and though Bruno was certain that she belonged together with his best friend…he couldn’t bring himself to fully understand her personally. Her world, her life, they were so far removed from his own experiences. Even within the family, he’d been spared most of the luxuries of wealth and continued to live a simple life.

.

while the other girls have the good sense to look equal parts mortified and chastised for bruno’s comment, zosia is not them. her smile remains sweetly friendly and wholly unbothered by his having overheard their conversations. “you know, i had an au pair once who was quite lovely.” she continues with her task of inserting toothpicks into delicately arranged canapes. “she told me eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves and i suppose she was correct. besides, you’ve overlooked the part where we called you handsome, bruno, and every girl loves a man strong as a bear.”

it’s not as if everything they’d said was incorrect either. his face, now that some time has passed, bears the telltale swelling from some well-placed punches. he won’t be altogether pleasant to look at tomorrow, unless one was into the rugged outlaw look.

"yes, darling, i saw it myself. they were like two bears swinging at each other.” unlike many socialites, zosia’s knack for befriending the hired help wherever she goes remains one of her greatest talents. she recognizes many tonight from her own parties or others she’s attended throughout her time in new orleans; they recognize her all the same which is the likeliest explanation as to why they haven’t shooed her from the kitchen so that they can work in peace. that and she, from experience in her youth with her own staff, doesn’t mind helping rather than standing in the midst of everything as useless as a chocolate teapot.

“You’re not wrong there,” Nalini’s experience of Paris was a strange dichotomy of it’s clubs and cabarets, the places she lived and worked and sang, at the beginning of the war and when it was over, and the time in between spent with Luciano. That period had been spent in army camps, trying to make the best out of the worst of humanity. But those are days she does not speak of, and they seem far too long ago and out of reach to bring up now. 

She hums in acknowledgement, letting Zosia know she has heard her. “I can hardly imagine it,” she confesses, and that is true. She might have seen more of the world than most people she knows - but nothing like what she has been told about New York. “Maybe someday, right?” She can picture it in her mind, the buildings, the hustle and bustle, but even in her mind, she can’t see herself there. Maybe in another life. 

“Do you never feel like that? Like the world is just passing you by while you’re stuck in the same place?” Nalini’s attention returns to Zosia, if only to keep a hold of her and keep herself walking in a straight line. There’s something childlike in her expression, a desire to be seen and understood, but then, it doesn’t surprise her that Zosia doesn’t really get it. She’s a whirlwind of a girl, never still, never stagnant. It makes sense that Nalini’s problems aren’t ones she’s experienced in. “Maybe you’re right,” a rueful smile crosses her face. “Though with my taste in men, I’m not sure I’d trust myself to start throwing diamonds around. Still, I guess Charlie didn’t show up tonight. So maybe there’s a chance.”

.

“if i did, i wouldn’t let it leave me standing in the dust for long.” she’d come to new orleans for new adventures, just as she’d taken a dozen trips to europe over the years for no reason other than to see a new part of an old country and meet new faces, just as she’d dressed down as a ragamuffin and raced through the streets of new york with bright eyes intent on seeing what existed beyond the shining safety of the elite’s mansions. “the day the world dances on without me is the day they put me in the ground and vince wails dramatically over it.”

it’s an act she can picture her other half performing dutifully, if only because the thought of growing old and wrinkled feels so foreign to zosia that it only makes sense she dies young and beautiful and vince is there rather than having gone on before her. her parents were older than she is now when they died but still much too young to die when they did; the older people in her life have always been just that. witnessing people march into old age simply isn’t something that exists in her world.

she has no need for a husband when she has vince - unlike nalini who seems to offer her heart so willingly to everyone who might like to hold it.

“and he’s not well missed,” zosia scoffs, disgust briefly coloring her expression before she brightens - a brilliant idea occurring. “i could introduce you to a few people. i’m sure they’d be delighted to meet new orleans most divine songbird, don’t you think? and they’d happily give you diamonds to throw.”

he’s grateful for the rescue and he has to try his best to remain polite—even if his savior isn’t—and not laugh at the pointed comment. he thought it would’ve been enough to make the woman leave but surprisingly, it isn’t, she’s still here, though now doing a lot less talking, a lot more astounded staring. she remains in her spot when zosia poses the question and it seems like jacob has no other choice but to play along and continue the performance. it isn’t particularly easy, not when the levels of his discomfort haven’t stopped rising since the beginning of this entire conversation and then additionally amplified by the hand on his shoulder; he knows it’s just for show—one he’s very grateful for—but it does not change the fact that the touch makes him uncomfortable. 

“for you, of course,” jacob replies and pairs it with a smile. cecily—which jacob realizes he’s only found out thanks to zosia, not because the woman introduced herself to him—finally gives up. she leaves the two and finally, jacob can relax, free of the undesired attention. “thank you. i suppose i should learn how to become more assertive. you’d think i should be  capable of dealing with things like these considering the job but—” this is different, he thinks but doesn’t finish the sentence out loud. “is, uh—cecily always this…relentless?”

.

the moment cecily retreats, zosia removes her hand from him with an apologetic smile for jacob. she’d felt him tense beneath her touch and it bothers her to have someone uncomfortably because of her. he’s always been someone she enjoys at the speakeasy though their interactions tend to be limited to whether she’s coming or going and not much more. still, that’s always been enough for her to define a friendship. regardless of whether or not the party considers her in the same light hardly matters. she finds acquaintance to be an ugly word.

“well, you’re not on duty in here. she’s likely been eyeing you up for ages now and tonight presented the perfect opportunity,” zosia answers. it feels odd to make jacob out to be the unassuming gazelle and cecily the starving lioness, but it fits finely. the rules of the speakeasy don’t apply here and he’s no longer protected by the nature of his station. “you won’t have to worry about her for the rest of the night at least. insinuating she’s poor is the worst thing i could have done to her.” she takes a sip of her champagne before swirling the glass with lazy circles of her wrist. “have you been sat here in this corner all night? it’s hard to enjoy the party from here.”

evening, the reception room. open.

he wonders if his face says it all but then perhaps if it did, then the woman chatting him up would’ve got the hint and realized how uninterested he is in the way she’s trying to coax an invitation to dance out of him. he’s impressed with her determination but he wishes she’d given up after he briefly and simply explained to her that he just doesn’t dance. jacob truly thought he was safe, tucked away in the corner of the room, mostly watching and definitely not participating in the scene. he was so, so wrong. he has no idea how to let her down gently but what would be even worse in consequences is saying yes to the dance. and she’s not trying to make him ask anymore, she’s actually asking him.

he makes brief eye contact with someone in their vicinity, someone who’s undoubtedly witnessed this entire conversation. at first, jacob worries about how pathetic it must look to them but more than that, he hopes that this is exactly what’s going to make them take pity on jacob and intervene. 

.

zosia’s quite proud of herself for having avoided being lured in by the siren call of the gambling in the other room thus far tonight. it means she’s drank a bit more than she ought to have - bubbling over with bubbly but who could very well blame her? it’s a party, first and foremost, and a gathering of the who’s who of new orleans. the society pages will be overflowing with what everyone’s wearing and who was seen with who and she can’t not be a part of it all. but she’s found herself in a lull and, apparently, in need of rescuing someone.

“well, obviously. i’m just kidding. she’ll be looking for me the second she hears about this. threaten to cut my balls off or something,” vincent says. he leans over the sink and very ungracefully spits into it, spots of red staining the porcelain. he wonders if he’ll be able to spin the story in his favor, should vera come knocking. technically, he did not start it—never threw the first punch, barely threw a punch, actually, he’s way too inebriated to have been able to do that. but vera knows him and she knows how easily his mouth runs and to her, a verbal provocation, such as the one vintent admittedly committed, is probably just as valid as a slap to the face. he’s hoping for some leniency, though. for old time’s sake.

“oh, you’re a godsend. the second we get out of here i’ll be needing another drink and that smoke,” he says with a heavy sigh. he wonders if he should consider the night finished, at least as far as this party is concerned. chances are that if he doesn’t leave, he’ll get kicked out soon enough, especially when he’s looking this rough. he can’t wait to toss his shirt and wear something clean.

he lets zosia dab at his face—he lied, he can definitely feel this. he tries not to squirm but he has to let the tension out somehow so he just ends up throwing swear words left and right. then a sharp laugh escapes his mouth when zosia misnames—his step-nephew-in-law? catherine, god rest her soul, truly  left him with a mess to deal with here. sure, why not, he can blame this whole thing on his dead sister. “hugo. his name—actually, what do i fucking care? hugo, hubert, horace, whatever. i think his brother works for the family. at least that’s what i’ve heard. or kitty helped him worm his way in. i truly do not care at this point.”

.

“you’d be lost without me.” as if he needed reminding. she’s got an idea, a drink, a drug - whatever he needs to feel as young as her or to, at the very least, project the image of unadulterated youth - at the ready always. in this case, it’s to keep the night from ending on a sour note. with every moment that passes zosia expects to hear someone pounding on the washroom door with a demand that they vamoose off the vincelli property.

she can’t say she’d mind leaving it behind, especially if they make it out the door without having to face down a potentially irate vera brandishing a pair of shears.

zosia tries to be gentle as she can though vince’s swearing leaves her in more than a giggle fit or two. they’ve found themselves in lots of strange situations, but never crammed into a washroom after vince got into a fight. “well, i’ve never met a respectable hugo either. it’s such a phlegmy sounding name.” dampening the cloth again, zosia resumes cleaning vince’s face and takes extra care around his swollen nose which seems to have quit leaking for the time being. if she didn’t have his blood on her dress before she certainly does now. “what even started it? i can’t imagine he’s innocent in this situation. or any situation. i never hear anything good about him and i’ve even heard good things about vera which says something.”

Zosia says her words with affection, but Nalini grimaces at them anyway. There’s enough truth in them that it nibbles at the sense of anxiety she’s carrying in the pit of her stomach, turning it to guilt. This time, it’s the guilt of being a bad friend that gnaws at her. “My true soulmate,” she jokes, covering it all with a quip and a little giggle, but the smile on her face fades fast. “I’ve been a terrible friend lately, I know. But I promised you a good night. We can still have it.” 

At least, she can make sure Zosia has it. Her own is more than likely to be a write-off. 

She allows Zosia to bring her to her feet, squeezing her hand as she does. Pushing all thoughts that are making her blue from her mind, promising herself she won’t let them plague her again, and devoting all her attention to Zosia. “I’ll try and live up to that,” she raises her own glass, clinking it against Zosia’s before taking a sip of the champagne inside. “The drink helps too, though. Champagne always reminds me of Paris.” She’s been missing France more than usual lately, but thinking of France always leads to her thinking of Luciano, and she can’t break the pact she’s made with herself already. 

“I don’t know,” They move through the mansion, Zosia looking at the decor, Nalini looking at the structure of the building, how many doors led off each room, where the stairs were locations. “Slowly?” she repeats, a crease appearing between her brow. “It’s a little faster than India,” she reasons. “But things are different there - another world. I suppose it’s faster than Paris - but it’s Paris.” Granted, she had only seen in in the grips of war and the period of rebuilding afterwards, but it was enough to get to know the city intimately. “But I don’t know. Time just seems to move horribly fast for me. I only have to blink and another month has gone by and everything is still the same.”

.

“they’re practically synonymous with each. paris, champagne. champagne, paris.” zosia is no stranger to it. it’s one of her most favorite places to visit though she can’t imagine living there. living somewhere, putting down roots and settling in, took away some of the shine of places. it’s why she prefers living in the hotel monteleone. new faces every day coupled with the feeling that she could up and disappear tomorrow - off in search of new adventures in new cities.

she might not have the funds for it, but so long as she doesn’t think about that, her spirit remains free.

taking a long pull of champagne, zosia flicks her dark hair behind her shoulder. “no one cares about hurrying up here. things will happen as they come. in new york, it’s all so fast.” she snaps her fingers for emphasis, brown eyes slipping over to find nalini’s wandering in the way her own are. maybe she, too, has a taste for interior design that zosia’s been, as of yet, unaware of. she loves to learn new things of her friends. nalini’s comment, however, makes her brow furrow.

“how can everything be the same? people come and go in a month’s time. your hair grows. something new gets invented.” zosia twines her fingers with nalini’s, keeping the singer close to her as they meander through the vincelli mansion. “it sounds as if you’re stuck in a rut, my dear, if that’s how you feel about life. maybe new orleans is too small for you now. or, maybe, you could find someone else to share your time with? there’s plenty of eligible young men here. throw a diamond and you’d surely hit a good one.”