Here - Chapter 3
Wednesday, 19-Jan-00 18:11:51

152.163.206.193 writes:
Here - Chapter 3

A job... Carly tries to remember what it felt like to work, chewing on her fingernail. Finally, she looks at Bobbie helplessly, "It's been so long..."

"Too long," Bobbie agrees, still loosely embracing her daughter, but not keeping the snideness completely from her tone.

Carly sniffs, "Well, I don't suppose I could go back to the hospital...?" She is asking a question rather than making a solid statement. She knows that, even though she could return to work at GH, she has no desire to run into a random Quartermaine at every turn...unless she is visiting her son.

My son, she almost starts crying again.

"How about Kelly's?" Bobbie suggests pleasantly. "We could always use another waitress!"

Carly closes her eyes, Elizabeth works at Kelly's, "No, I don't think so..."

Bobbie looks at her daughter accusingly, "There's nothing wrong with waiting tables, Carly."

"I know that, Mama!" Carly counters, moving away from Bobbie, not wanting to explain her reluctance. "It's just, you know, Kelly's....bad memories there...Besides," she addes with a shrug, "no way would that Tammy person trust me near the register."

"That 'Tammy person' has pretty good instincts," Bobbie remarks, softening the jibe with a small smile.

Carly takes a deep breath and looks Bobbie in the eye, "I'm just going to have to think about this tomorrow. I mean, right now, I'm having a hard time just breathing...okay?"

Bobbie blinks and nods her head slowly, "Okay."

*****************

It takes two solid days of visiting Michael at the coldness of the Quartermaine household, crying over Jason, beating herself up over Sonny, and constant prodding by Bobbie before Carly finally realizes that she has no choice but to pull herself together.

For Michael's sake.

Carly feels she has only one place she can go. So she does.

****************

"Yeah, what?"

Carly opens the office door slightly and pokes her head inside. "Are you busy?" she asks, despite the open newspaper resting on his legs, his feet comfortably lounging on the top of his desk, and his half-glasses pushed far down the bridge of his nose.

He looks up when he hears her voice. The papers gets dumped on the desk, the glasses are swiped from his nose, and he sits up in his chair with a muttered, "Oh Lord, what do you want...?"

She tries a smile, knowing it will do no good, "Um, a job?"

Luke stares at her for a long moment, his face set in stone. Then he laughs out loud, so hard he has to stand up in order to double over.

Her smile fades and she feels the fear and anger of rejection building in her throat, "Okay...you're not hiring or something?"

He laughs in small fits and starts then, looking at her and waiting for the punchline. When it does not come, he is wide-eyed in amazed disbelief, "You're serious? Caroline Quartermaine wants to work for me???"

Damn. Forgot about that, she thinks when he says her full name.

"It's not that I want to work for you. I have to work for you. And don't call me Caroline Quartermaine. Not anymore..."

He raises his brows, "Huh? Don't tell me...."

She crosses her arms over her chest, "Don't tell you what?"

"Don't tell me that Junior actually grew a spine and threw you out!"

She purses her lips and rolls her eyes.

"What about the kid?" Luke asks her. His voice is hushed and, for once, he is showing the tiniest bit of concern.

She says softly, looking him right in the eye, challenging him, "He's at the Quartermaines." Then she finishes hastily, "Just for now," although she has no idea how or when she will be getting Michael out of that house.

He sits back down slowly, "I'm really sorry about that part..."

"Whatever, man..." she starts looking around the cluttered office, waiting. Then she snaps, "I need a job so that I can pay my mother rent, okay? Maybe if you visited your sister more often you'd know I was living there."

He clears his throat, clasping his hands in front of him. He'd been leaving Bobbie alone ever since the Jerry debacle. He felt for his sister, but he knows that, at the moment, he would have a very difficult time not saying 'I told you so.'

Reading the truly empty desperation on Carly's face, he examines her carefully and erases the fun-and-games from his attitude. "So, what kind of job can you do?"

She coughs, "Well, I was thinking that, you know, maybe I could help you with the books."

He tilts his head at her, chuckling, "Caroline, that's not a full-time job. That's, like, a hobby!"

She closes her eyes, on the verge of angry tears.

Sensing this, and wanting to avoid at any cost the sight of this woman in tears -- only because he does not find Carly crying very attractive -- he offers, "Listen, if you wait some tables for me? And do the books, maybe we can work something out. Start tomorrow. All right?"

She sighs and shoots him a look, not one of gratitude, but one of simple acceptance. This is how far you've fallen, Carly Quartermaine. "All right," she sighs.

He pulls a cigar out of his desk drawer, fondles it with his fingers, then places it between his teeth, his eyes never leaving her. Then he begins a litany of well-enunciated rules through his cigar-filled lips, "No being late. No family discounts. No skipping work because you've got a nail appointment or something."

She nods, functioning, but still numb beneath the surface from the events of the past few days.

"Okay," he says, reaching into the drawer again for his lighter. He bites the tip off of the cigar, holds the old lighter up, then takes a deep drag to get the nicotine flowing. "You know, you can't be like the last waitress I hired, Caroline."

Carly stands up, ready to leave. "Oh yeah?" she says absently, straightening her coat.

"That last waitress," he winks and grins, "she was pretty good. Got great tips. But she called off a lot because of her rich boyfriend. You remember her, right? Your little buddy Hannah Scott?"

Carly rolls her eyes and purses her lips. "Hannah...Hannah...? Nope," she shrugs, "I don't think I know anybody by that name..."

Then she walks out, Luke's laughter and Sonny's intimate whispers still echoing in her ears.

***********

"So, Jason's all right?" Sonny says into the telephone, speaking to Benny.

"Yes. He's okay. Still shaky, but okay." There is an underlying question in Benny's voice that Sonny will never answer.

Sonny sighs, placing a hand on his cheek, "All right." He replaces the receiver and turns a nervous eye around the penthouse.

Every place he goes, every room he wanders into, every piece of furniture he touches brings the ghost of what happened between Carly and him ripping into his consciousness.

He wants to get out. He needs to get out. To do something to feed the pain. He does not even try to soothe it because this pain is different. It is ever-changing, volatile, violent.

It sneaks up on him when he forgets it. It slaps his face when he sees it.

It takes the form of Hannah. Of Robin. Of Mike. Of Luke. Of Carly. Of Jason.

Of Stone. Of Lily.

Of Brenda.

It is so vacuous and full that he is left spinning and screaming and scratching to get out of it. But he knows that he can not get out. At least not yet.

The only thing he can do to feed the pain is to cause more of it. He picks up the telephone again and calls Benny.

"Yeah?" Benny answers.

"We need to meet," Sonny sniffs, his body unable to stand still, "We need to get rid of all those loose ends from the last meeting. Permanently."

***********

Carly is at Luke's after closing, cleaning out the toilets in the restrooms.

Her first week has been spent doing all of the nastiest work that Luke can think up. She knows that He is testing her, seeing if she is serious about holding on to this job, or if she is just passing the time until the next gravy train makes its scheduled stop at the station.

She has no choice but to take the job seriously. She is well-aware that the chances of a gravy train handing her a ladle are nil.

Making a face, she picks up the bucket filled dirty water and heads back out to the bar. "I don't even want to touch these gloves, man!" she calls out to Luke, looking down at her grime-covered rubber gloves.

When she looks up, she is startled to see someone other than Luke standing there.

Staring at her openly. Waiting for her?

She hopes.

She puts down the bucket, peels off the gloves. and tries to fix her matted hair. Her tremulous smile is timid and full of bravado, resigned and hopeful all at once.

She breathes, "Jason..."