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Helen sighs.
She is standing in her bedroom closet, regarding her dress for the evening’s festivities with mild concern.
Is it formal enough?
How long does she have to last at this party before she can politely bow out?
And exactly how many people are coming to this shindig, soon to be traipsing through their home?
Helen really should have asked for more details when she had the chance.
Three weeks prior, Madeline had hand-delivered her invitation, dropping heavy, black card stock with white calligraphied writing onto Helen's desk.
Madeline Ashton requests your presence at her annual New Year’s Eve Bash.
Let’s celebrate a New Year filled with glittering possibilities amongst friends, old and new. Cheers!
Guests are kindly requested to wear formal attire, black only.
~No Exceptions~
“Oh my god,” Helen exclaimed, pitching her voice high and nasal, “I can’t believe I actually snagged an invite!”
Madeline swatted her arm. “Shut up. And if you even try to tell me you already have plans…”
“Kind of difficult when the party will be in our own home, wouldn’t you say?” Helen said, voice back to normal. “Will you be wearing black?” She was pretty sure she already knew the answer.
“Wait and see, Hel. I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.” Madeline reached out to give Helen’s nose a little ‘boop’. “And no complaining; you look great in black.”
Helen was dead. Her heart shouldn’t feel like it was skipping in her chest. She glanced down at the invitation. “Well, so do you, Mad.”
Madeline had smiled, “I know. We’ll be the talk of the town.”
Helen, back in the present, removes her gown from its hanger. As she dresses, she considers her own nervousness. There are the usual light jitters she gets before every social event. Parties have never been her thing, but she has grown to enjoy them to a certain extent, or tolerate them at the very least.
But there are other nerves; a whirl of hideous, hopeful anticipation that has left Helen antsy.
For months now they have been walking this line, she and Madeline. Are they friends? Are they - oh god, she doesn’t even know - something else? Lately, Helen has been feeling like her foot is about to slip right off that line.
Should she let it happen and see where they both land? Or try to regain their regular footing before everything crashes down?
Helen looks at herself in the mirror. Every color suits her these days, but Madeline was right - the black does look striking. She has opted for a long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder gown. It sits nicely, snug along her curves. Clusters of black crystals grow larger and larger along the length of the sleeves and the floor-length skirt. The effect is not overdone, but enough to catch the eye when the light hits just right.
Helen waffles about what to do with her hair. She has patently refused to ask Madeline for her opinion on anything related to this evening’s styling choices. Because that’s another thought that makes her almost break out in a sweat: the prospect of feeling Madeline’s eyes on her. Helen wants it to be a surprise. She hopes that Mad will like the dress.
Helen scowls at her reflection. She hates this, hates feeling like a teenager all over again, anxiously waiting to see her crush at the school dance. Ridiculous.
In the end, she decides to wear her hair down, long and shining at her back, with soft curls just at the ends.
As a tiny bit of defiance, Helen opts not for black jewelry, but for red. No necklace, because that would ruin the clean expanse of shoulder and collarbone that the dress allows. But she wears dangling ruby earrings, a birthday gift from Madeline earlier that year. It was an extravagant gift, as Helen had scolded Madeline at the time, but they are lovely. The woman knows her way around a jewelry store, Helen will give her that.
And she wants to see what Madeline will say upon realizing that Helen has bucked her strict dress code, albeit with a minor infraction. It should be worth at least a pout. Fingers crossed.
Helen gives herself one last look in the mirror. All dressed up and nowhere to go.
She makes her way downstairs. On her way, she overhears idle chatter coming from Madeline’s room where her glam team is hopefully putting together their final touches.
The mansion is decorated to the gills. Twinkle lights and balloons, all black and white accents leading from the main foyer through the formal dining room and out into the expansive backyard, where the majority of the party is to be held. The band is already outside, tuning up. The caterers are set in the kitchen, and Helen can hear noises of busy action as trays are assembled and glassware shined.
“Hel?” Madeline‘s voice floats down from the second story. “Are you still up here?” Helen listens as footsteps make their way along the hallway, pausing at Helen’s bedroom.
“I’m down here,” Helen calls. She hears a quiet "oh!" followed by the patter of quickening footsteps. Helen takes a steadying breath.
Madeline is already talking as she descends the staircase. “So, guests will probably start arriving in twenty-five minutes. Thank god for all of Los Angeles agreeing to arrive fashionably late to events. Are you ready to - oh."
Helen tries not to overtly stare but she gives up; Madeline encourages staring, after all. She is wearing a strapless, white sheath that trails slightly behind her. It is the color of fallen snow and embedded with thousands of tiny crystals. Her shoulders are bare. She’s obviously wearing extensions because her hair is longer than usual, styled in waves and swept to cascade over her right shoulder. To Helen, this has two distinct advantages: (1) it shows off Madeline’s lovely left shoulder, and (2) the hairstyle expertly hides any traces of scarring.
She looks perfect. Helen hates her just a tiny bit, trying not to feel awed by her beauty. It is a bit like trying to swim upstream.
Helen realizes that Madeline has stopped on the third step from the bottom, looking as though she has forgotten how to walk. She is staring, unblinking, at Helen.
“Are you alright?” Helen asks, briefly concerned that Madeline is having some sort of medical episode. She worries about Madeline and stairs, and extends a beckoning hand towards her.
Madeline jolts. “Ha ha. Yes, of course, I‘m fine.” She waves off Helen’s hand, coming down the remaining steps to stand in front of her.
Another thing that has been happening with growing frequency: Madeline giving Helen these lingering stares. Add it to the long list of Things That Madeline Does that drive Helen a little crazy.
“You look very nice, Hel.” Madeline says, looking up at her through dark eyelashes.
So. She likes the dress. Helen could cheer.
Instead, she returns the compliment like it’s not some egregious understatement.
Madeline circles a finger at her. “Give me a twirl, come on.” Helen rolls her eyes, but holds her arms out a little and spins. Madeline appears pleased.
“You know, we’re practically matching,” Helen mentions, with a gesture between them. “Or at least, complementary. The crystals, the shoulders.” Helen shrugs, drawing Madeline’s eye to her exposed neck.
“So we are.” Madeline swallows, then sternly glares at her. “Don’t think I didn’t immediately spot those red earrings, Helen.”
“What are you talking about?” Helen turns up her nose, “I followed your directions. Mostly.”
Madeline pokes a finger to her shoulder. “You are such a brat.”
A flurry of footsteps approach. Helen turns around to find Stefan hurrying towards them with Madeline’s party coordinator, Marcel, in tow.
“Shall we do a quick walk-through, Madeline, before guests arrive?” Stefan seems stressed. Helen makes a mental note to book him a spa day in the new year. His eyes flick to her, then rapidly dart between the two women. “Oh. Matching?” He points at them, back and forth.
Madeline arches a brow. Helen grins and says to Stefan, “A happy accident.”
“Let’s do that walk-through,” Madeline agrees. To Helen, she says, “Go to the bar and get yourself a drink - ooh! Try one of the themed cocktails, we worked hard on those.” Helen sees Marcel and Stefan share a look. Someone worked hard on them, sure. “I’ll come find you in a bit?”
Then, they are off. Madeline starts gesturing at table stations, and Stefan pulls out a stopwatch. Helen is grateful to keep out of the fray.
The party is well underway with guests continuing to arrive, mix, and mingle.
Everyone here is famous, or powerful, or rich. Or, in most cases, a combination of all three. Helen tries not to feel too out of place. She reminds herself that she is the author of a New York Times best-seller, and those credentials more than merit her an invitation to a fancy party like this.
Plus: Madeline wants her here, so everyone else can fuck right off.
After doing a bit of mixing and mingling herself, Helen spies that white dress from across the pool - impossible to miss in the crowd of black tuxes and gowns. Which, of course, is entirely the point.
Madeline is chatting animatedly to a trio of very posh strangers. She must sense Helen’s gaze, because Madeline turns and scans briefly, before finding her eyes in the crowd. Madeline winks, mid conversation, and Helen blushes.
See, just like a damned teenager.
A few moments pass, and Helen pretends not to watch as Madeline bids adieu to the little group. She winds her way around the pool, stopping to greet the occasional guest, before she lands at Helen’s side. “Are you having a nice time?” Madeline asks, the perfect little hostess.
“Yes,” Helen answers honestly, “This is quite the event, Mad.”
“I don’t know what Stefan was so worried about,” Madeline looks around the bustling grounds. “We always manage to pull it off. It’s nicer this year, though, having you here." She bumps her shoulder against Helen’s. “Have you found a cocktail that you like?"
“They all sounded sweet. This seemed safest,” Helen lifts the glass of champagne in her hand.
“Oh, haven’t you tried La Belle Mort yet? I specifically made sure Marcel kept it on the menu for you.”
Helen blinks. “That’s very thoughtful.” She pauses. “And very on the nose.”
“Yes, yes. I’m very considerate, it’s true,” Madeline rolls her eyes, then takes the champagne flute from Helen’s grasp and leaves it on an empty table. “Come on, you have to try it.”
Three minutes later and Madeline Ashton is staring intently at Helen’s mouth as she takes a sip from a rocks glass. Helen tries to focus on the matter at hand. The drink is smoky and smooth, with only a hint of sweetness.
“It’s good,” Helen concedes, “Are you happy now?”
“Exceptionally,” Madeline gives her a smug little grin, bringing her right hand up to adjust her hair. A red glint catches Helen’s eye.
“Wait,” Helen says, reaching out to grab that hand. “What is this?” Madeline is wearing a ring on her middle finger. A simple silver band, embedded with square-cut rubies along its circumference. Madeline says nothing.
Helen looks at her. “What happened to no colors except black or white?”
"I wanted to wear it." Madeline meets her eyes. “It matches yours."
Suddenly it is Helen’s turn to say nothing. She is holding Madeline’s hand delicately in her own. The air is still.
A passing waiter bumps into a nearby table and jostles a tray, glassware tinkling. Helen exhales, and drops Madeline’s hand.
Madeline fidgets with the ring, saying, “Plus, it’s my party. And rubies go with everything.” Her cheeks are faintly pink.
“Right.”
“Right. Enjoy your drink, Helly.” Madeline taps her nails lightly on the glass, before turning and walking away.
And that’s okay. Helen could use some space to breathe.
She doesn’t get much time to recover before she hears an unexpected voice say, “Hello, Helen.”
Viola van Horn appears at her shoulder without warning. She looks stunning – naturally (or rather, unnaturally) - in a slinky, black haltered gown. Chagall is beside her, wearing more conservative clothes than Helen has ever seen on him. He is in a full tuxedo with no tie, looking exceptionally cavalier. As Helen takes them in, she notices that the gown and tuxedo are actually not black in color, but instead a very deep, dark purple. Poor Madeline; no one is following instructions. Helen smiles.
“Viola, hello. Happy holidays?” Viola gives her a decorous nod, taking a glass of champagne from Chagall’s offering hand.
He directs an approving glance at Helen’s attire and asks, “Enjoying the party, Ms. Sharp?”
Helen can tell that eyes are being drawn to their little trio. They are a group of strikingly beautiful people, even among Hollywood A-Listers. Helen supposes they make quite the tableau, attributing some of that attention to the preternatural pull that both Viola and Chagall exude with ease.
Helen agrees, “Madeline knows how to throw a party, it seems. I didn’t realize you were coming.”
“I think she wanted to create a little stir by having us here.” Viola explains, “Normally, I wouldn’t join in, but this is en route to our next party.”
“You’re not staying?” Helen asks.
Chagall gives a derisive shake of his head. “This is just our first stop. Ms. van Horn’s presence is desired by many.”
“Where is our hostess, by the way?” Viola inquires. Helen has never seen someone hold a glass of champagne with such poise.
Helen cranes her neck, but there are no glimpses of white crystals to be seen in the sea of black fabric. “I…seem to have lost track of her.”
Chagall raises an eyebrow. “Somehow, I doubt that,” his voice is dry as a bone. “She certainly hasn’t lost track of you.”
“Excuse me?”
He smiles, wide and glittering. “She’s just over there," he juts his chin out in the direction of something behind Helen. His eyes travel up and down, considering. “I must say, she hides it well from the general public.”
Oh. Should they be talking about this? Helen glances over her shoulder to see Madeline several yards away, her hand congenially on an older woman’s shoulder. She still looks flawless, as far as Helen is concerned.
Helen turns back to Chagall and lowers her voice, “The scars, you mean?”
He gives her a direct look. “No. That’s not what I mean.”
Okay. She has reached her limit with this fucking riddler act. “If you have something to say, maybe just say it?”
“Forgive me, Ms. Sharp,” Chagall gives her an overly polite smile, “But, surely, you realize that girl is in love with you?”
Helen almost wishes she had taken a sip of champagne, just to spit it out on his gorgeous face. Instead she says, “What?” with a feeling very much like being hit over the head.
Viola, who has been watching their exchange with vague interest, interjects. “Chagall, let’s not torture poor Helen.” She gives her a light pat on the arm. “Though, Madeline’s feelings are rather disgustingly apparent. Have you two not...” Viola trails off, looking at Helen expectantly.
“No! I mean, no. It’s not like - we’re friends.” It sounds lame, even to Helen.
“Shame.” Viola says, unbothered.
“Pity.” Chagall gives her a look that conveys exactly how much he pities her.
“Why would you even - I mean, what makes you think that she’s-” Helen can’t finish the thought.
“As I said, it’s quite obvious. Maybe do something about that," Viola offers. She raises a hand to her temple, as if feeling an oncoming headache. “Madeline Ashton is one of the most intolerable people I have ever encountered. I don’t imagine that being in love will suddenly prompt her into good behavior." Chagall chuckles and Viola continues, "But happiness might make it easier for the rest of the world to bear her.”
Helen is at a loss for words. “Oh.”
“Viola, we should go,” Chagall prompts, glancing at his watch. “We can say hello to Madeline on our way out.”
Viola takes a final sip of champagne. “Enjoy the holiday, Helen. Think over what we said.” Viola gives her a neutral smile. “Or don't; it‘s your eternity.”
They sweep away, towards Madeline. Helen can’t bear to watch.
She needs another drink.
Thank god alcohol is still an option for them. Not that they will ever feel tipsy again, but the ritual of having a drink is something Helen enjoys. Especially when facing a party filled with celebrities and pointed comments about friends being in love with friends.
Helen wanders over to one of the outdoor bars, set up to abut the pool. Madeline has the whole, expansive backyard oasis decked out in warm lights, and it casts an enchanting glow on the water.
Helen lets herself get a little lost watching the reflections. Chagall’s voice rings in her ears.
Of course Madeline loves her; Helen’s not stupid.
But: in love with her? There is a sudden flare of hope in her, so strong that she absentmindedly reaches up to soothe a phantom pain in her chest.
This is agonizing. Helen can’t take it any more. She has to talk to Madeline - tonight, if possible.
Helen finds a bit of unoccupied space at the end of the bar and leans in to casually rest an arm. The bartender gives her a welcoming nod, a sign that she will soon be over. Helen gazes out at the rest of the party, groups gathered in large circles, chatting and laughing around the well-manicured property. There is pleasant music from the band, and the clinking of glasses. Helen smiles. It really is a nice party. She hopes Madeline is enjoying it.
“What are you drinking?”
Helen blinks and finds a tuxedoed stranger before her. He is tall and incredibly handsome, but in a way that seemed almost engineered, like so much of Hollywood these days.
Helen gives him a careful look, wondering if he is another client of Viola’s. She ultimately decides that he is a regular mortal with an abundance of subtle surgical enhancements. Not that Helen can judge.
She supposes that social courtesy calls for a response. “I’m trying to pace myself on the champagne,” she offers, “but I‘ll take a La Belle Mort, if I can get one.”
“Allow me,” the man offers, waving a hand at the bartender. “I hate to see a beautiful woman empty-handed at a bar.”
I’m sure you do, Helen thinks. He gives her a smile that Helen supposes could be charismatic.
“Sorry,” she asks, “What’s your name?”
“Phil Jennings.” He puts out his right hand.
She takes it with a shake. “Helen Sharp.” The bartender deposits two glasses in front of them. “Well. Thanks for the drink.” She turns to leave.
“Wait,” he says, “I know you! Helen Sharp, the author - right?”
“Hmm. Guilty,” Helen shrugs.
“Cheers,” he says, and clinks his glass against hers. “You know, I loved that book of yours.” A crowd of party-goers descends on the bar, surrounding them. Helen notices at the same time as Phil. He puts his hand gently on her waist to guide her away from the bar. It could be courteous, but all it really does is make Helen want to step on his foot. He asks, “Do you have any plans for a sequel?”
“Thank you. And, honestly, I haven’t decided yet.”
Phil takes a brief look around them then leans in closer. “I hope you’ll forgive me for being so bold, but I have to ask. Are you here with anyone, Helen?”
Okay then. Just what Helen does not need. If a certain blonde sees any of this...Madeline does not, historically, behave well when men come sniffing around. Helen is not eager to have a fight to break out over some man she has no interest in.
“Yes, I’m actually-” There is a sweep of white in Helen’s peripheral vision, and Madeline is suddenly by her side. Phil drops his hand from her waist as Madeline subtly inserts herself between their twosome.
“Philip! How lovely, you made it.” Madeline leans in to kiss the air at the side of his face. She pulls back and gives him a playful frown. “Forgive me for not coming over earlier, you know how it is. So many guests to greet.”
“Madeline! Wow,” Phil’s gaze travels over Madeline’s form with appreciation. Helen almost laughs. This guy, what a dog. Not that Helen can blame him; she allows herself a moment to similarly appreciate the view. “You look incredible.”
“Thank you," Madeline replies generously. She turns to give Helen a private smile. “I see you’ve met my dear friend, Helen.”
“Yes, we’ve been enjoying getting to know each other,” he says. Helen tilts her head, narrowing her eyes minutely. Madeline notices, and grins.
“Where have you been hiding Helen all this time, Madeline? I’d certainly remember her from past parties.” Phil gives Helen a crooked smile; he probably means it to be dashing.
It’s amusing, really; watching this amateur charmer try to stack up against world-heavyweight champion Madeline Ashton.
“You can hardly blame me for keeping her to myself, can you, Philip?” Madeline asks, voice sweet as honey. She slides her own arm around Helen’s waist, who inconveniently stops breathing. Madeline continues, ostensibly speaking to Phil as she says, “The truth is that I was a poor excuse of a friend to Hel, and we lost touch over the years. I was very, very lucky to run into her again recently and have a chance to reconnect.”
Damn her. She can’t keep getting away with saying things like that. What is Helen supposed to think? (That girl is in love with you, a presumptive voice reminds her.)
Someone calls out from behind, “Oh, Madeline!”
Madeline loosens her hold on Helen, and waves to them, whoever they are.
She turns back to Helen and Phil. “Please, do enjoy the party, you two. If you’ll excuse me, I must continue my rounds. Helen.” Madeline clinks her glass against Helen’s, a veiled look in her eyes, and walks on.
That was, Helen considers, surprisingly cordial. Was Madeline trying to behave, for once in her life?
Helen realizes that both she and Phil are staring after Madeline. She clears her throat. “Well. This has been great. But I just remembered, I have to-” no excuse is forthcoming, her mind is blank. “-go. Cheers.” Helen taps her glass against Phil’s one final time, and abandons him.
He’s clearly a movie star or something; she’s not too worried.
About five minutes pass before Helen sees Madeline purposefully walking towards her.
“Hel, come with me. You haven’t met George and Amal yet, have you?”
Helen shakes her head. “They’re here?”
“Yes! Come on,” Madeline grabs her hand, and starts weaving them through the crowd. “I’ll introduce you. Talk about a drop-dead gorgeous couple,” Madeline turns and winks at her. ”Kind of like us.”
Helen decides to poke, just a little. “You know, that Phil was pretty cute.”
Madeline turns away, still tugging Helen along behind her. “Do you think so?” Helen watches a muscle in Madeline’s jaw tighten. “I suppose if you enjoy that generic, middle-aged Ken-doll look, then sure.”
“Not your type, Madeline?”
“No, I’m not really interested in anyone else, these days.” She stops pulling, stops walking, and faces Helen. “You could do better, too, no offense.”
Helen arches a brow. “What, do you think I should go for Barbie instead?” She asks pointedly. Helen wonders if Madeline will call her on it.
“Perhaps you should.” Pointed, right back.
Helen holds her gaze. “Ken was pretty boring, honestly. And he seemed to think getting me a drink earned him points. But when it’s an open bar, the gesture loses something.”
Madeline rolls her eyes. “I told you. You deserve better.”
“Thank you, by the way,” Helen says, suddenly sincere.
“For what?”
“For not immediately pouncing on a man showing interest in me.”
“Helen.” Madeline frowns at her. “I hope you believe me when I say this. I apologize for my past behavior, I really was awful.” Madeline pauses, looking down at their clasped hands. “I want you to be happy. If someone like Ken makes you happy, then so be it.” Her voice sounds tight. “But, I do think we could raise that bar of yours slightly further from the ground.”
Helen decides to take pity on Madeline, and lightens her tone. “I guess you’ll be happy to hear that I’m not actually interested in Ken. I mean, Phil.” Madeline laughs. “But, you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Blue eyes seem to sparkle with pleasure, and Madeline says “I had an inkling, Helen.”
Helen is not sure what the best move is, from here. She knows what she feels for Madeline goes beyond friendship. Talk about the understatement of the century.
But there was plenty at risk if everything went tits up.
What if Helen has misread all of their interactions, those little moments she replays in her head at night? What if Viola and Chagall don’t know what the hell they’re talking about? There is always the chance that Madeline does not share her feelings, and Helen has imagined the entire thing.
In that case, Helen might as well get Viola back here to find a way to finally put her out of her misery.
Because it is a beautiful kind of misery, this in-between that she and Madeline are existing within. Madeline is her person, that has pretty much always been true. But now that Helen is aware of the depth of her own feelings, she finds herself operating with a constant feeling of teetering on the brink.
Yes. They need to talk about this, or the overthinking will make Helen lose any remaining sanity she can still claim.
Midnight is approaching.
The music slows, and the bandleader calls out over the microphone, “Okay, party people! We’re approaching the two minute mark. Get yourselves ready to say goodbye to the old, and ring in the new! We will start our countdown at fifteen seconds!”
Whooping cheers resound from the crowd of guests. There is a large screen set up behind the band stage and a digital countdown appears: 1:55. 1:54. 1:53.
“Ready for this?” Madeline asks, appearing out of the blue, offering a fresh glass of champagne to Helen.
“Oh,” Helen sighs, “I think so. A new chapter sounds good. And you?”
“Honestly, Hel? This last year has been very good to me.” Madeline tilts her head and gives Helen a tiny, sure smile.
A voice calls out, “One minute!” More cheers.
Helen glances around and asks, “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”
“No. I think I’ll stay right here.”
The bandleader’s voice reverberates around them, “Here we go, everyone, say it with me! Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen-” a sea of voices grows around them.
Helen turns to Madeline, who is already looking at her. Helen feels her breathing stutter at the openness in her eyes.
What is a woman supposed to do, with that face looking back at her?
“-Four! Three! Two! One!” Helen steels herself as everyone shouts, “Happy New Year!”
There is the sound of fireworks in the distance. Colorful drones light up the sky in an organized display as the band begins to play Auld Lang Syne.
Helen doesn’t hear any of it. She leans in and presses her lips gently to Madeline’s cheek. No air-kisses here. She lingers momentarily, feeling her own face flush as she pulls back slightly.
Her voice is rough as she says, “Happy New Year, Mad.”
Madeline’s eyes are wide. With a slight tug to the corner of her mouth, she whispers, “Happy New Year, Hel.”
Keep going. Helen clears her throat, “Can we talk, Madeline? Once the party is over?”
Madeline nods. “I -I should probably go,” Madeline sticks her thumb out, gesturing to the crowd of people behind them, so unlike herself.
Helen reminds her, “Just come find me later, okay?” She leaves Madeline to her party.
Helen expects she will have to wait a few hours to be found again. Parties like this could go on til dawn.
…How will she pass the time?
After wishing a few people she recognizes a happy new year, Helen retreats to the kitchen. Somehow, it feels more appropriate to hang around with the caterers and waitstaff, surrounded by half-empty bottles of champagne. It’s quieter in the kitchen now, a gentle hum of activity, and Helen finds it to be a welcome change of pace.
She feels strung out and tired. She wants these people out of their house.
Helen sits down at the bar along the windows, slipping off her heels. She glances at the wall clock and starts the mental math of deciding how long to wait around for Madeline to turn up. She’s not sure how long she can stand it: the promise of Madeline appearing, and Helen finally having a chance to say the things she wants to say. She feels like she could be sick. Maybe the alcohol hadn’t been the best idea.
While Helen is busy trying to not give herself an ulcer, Madeline rushes into the kitchen. Her gown is almost jarringly out of place among the food trays and dirty glassware.
She exhales dramatically with relief, “There you are. I kicked everyone out. Well,” she hedges, “Stefan is kicking them out. He’s quite forceful.” Madeline laughs, a nervous little thing.
Helen blinks at her, getting to her feet. “What? Why?”
“You said you wanted to talk to me. They can get the hell out.”
“Uhh,” one of the catering staff interrupts. Both Helen and Madeline jump at his voice. “Would you like us to leave?” He gestures to his two other compatriots in the kitchen, who are obviously trying not to stare at the two women.
“Doesn’t matter-” Madeline starts.
“Yes-” Helen says at the same time.
Helen stares at her. Madeline stares right back and says, “I don’t care if they hear what I have to say, Helen.”
“Okay. Do, um,” Helen swallows, ”Do you want to go first, then?”
Madeline clasps her hands tightly, as if holding something together and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what you wanted to talk to me about. But I told myself that, in the new year, I would stop holding back from the things that I want.”
“It’s not really your style, holding back,” Helen observes.
Madeline gives her a brittle laugh, “Don’t tease me right now, please, Hel. Let me get this out.”
“I’m sorry,” Helen says, a bit surprised at the tone in Madeline’s voice, as serious as she has ever heard. “Go on.”
Then, it is like a dam breaking.
Madeline throws her hands in the air. “I don’t want to spend another year just doing more of what we’ve already been doing. I don’t want to look at you from across a party and see you talking to some other asshole. I don’t want to see you dressed like that and not be able to touch you. And I don’t want to stand around, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, when it’s midnight on New Year’s Eve and I'm not kissing you.”
Helen can’t tear her eyes away. Which is a good thing, because Madeline is still talking.
“I wasn’t lying when I said this was a good year, Helen. I’ve been happy. And you did that.” Madeline takes a breath, and Helen thinks she might be done. But then, nope, she just keeps going.
“I love you, Hel.” She shrugs those beautiful shoulders. “It took me a while to realize that, and maybe I really am the world’s biggest idiot. But now that I know? All I want to do is wake up with you and watch stupid movies and fight and make up, and - all of it. I want all of it with you, Helen.”
Madeline clears her throat. She crosses her arms and taps her foot. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Helen turns to the caterers, all of whom are absurdly young and watching her with wide eyes. ”Fellas, can we actually have the room, please?” They quickly fumble past one another for the exit.
Madeline’s fists are clenched at her side. “If you don’t feel the same way, can you just tell me and get it over with?” She squeezes her eyes shut. “And then you might as well push me down the stairs again. Maybe it will really kill me this time.”
Helen doesn’t hesitate to grab one of those fists. She gently rubs her thumb over Madeline’s skin, hoping it will prompt her to calm down. “I gave you a kiss at midnight, and said I wanted to talk to you. What did you think I wanted to talk about, the economy?”
Madeline sniffles, “Well, it is in a shambles.”
“Madeline.”
She frowns, then says, “I hoped, maybe, that you’d want to talk about something along these lines. But pecks on the cheek can be misconstrued, Helen! They’re ambiguous!”
Helen inhales slowly, “Okay. Then let me be unambiguous about this. All of those things you want? I want them too. With you. Including more than a - very romantic, in my opinion - kiss on the cheek.”
“You do?” There is a very small smile growing on Madeline’s face. She quickly says, “Not that the cheek thing wasn’t lovely, Helen, because it really was.”
“Most importantly,” Helen continues, “- are you listening, Madeline? I love you, you ridiculous person. I want to fall asleep on the couch with my head in your lap, and argue with you over where we parked the car, and wake up next to you first thing in the morning and tell you you’re beautiful. I want all of it.”
“Oh. Okay, great,” Madeline bobs her head, “That’s good.”
“So,” Helen raises her eyebrows, “will you let me?”
“Let you what?” Madeline is staring at her mouth.
“Let me kiss you.”
“Uh,” Madeline says, ”Yeah. Yes.”
Helen smirks. “I can’t believe I ever thought you had game. Aren’t you supposed to be the one charming me?”
Madeline huffs, then looks her up and down. “Give me a second, Hel, and I’ll charm you out of that dress.”
“That’s more like it,” Helen says as she steps in. She wraps an arm around Madeline’s waist, and pulls her close. Madeline is still wearing her heels, so Helen has to lean up as she presses her lips to Madeline’s. It’s soft, and Helen is kind of glad she’s holding on Madeline because otherwise she might be swooning. Madeline’s hand cradles her face, and Helen presses in to deepen the kiss. Madeline makes a sweet little ‘mmm' noise at the back of her throat.
Helen pulls back just enough to say, “Happy New Year, Mad.”
Madeline grins. “Now, that was a proper New Year’s kiss, Hel.” She leans in again.
The caterers decide it's safest to clean up the outdoor tables first, before they dare try the kitchen again.
“By the way,” Madeline says slyly, as they walk out of the kitchen towards the staircase. Helen has her shoes in one hand, Madeline’s hand in the other. “You were the talk of the party.”
Helen blinks at her, “What?”
“Oh, yes. Should I tell you about every person who asked me about the bombshell redhead, dressed to kill, with a grouchy look on her face all night?”
“I did not!...Did I?”
“No, you looked lovely. Believe me, I had to spin quite a yarn to keep them all away from you,” Madeline frowns, “Although somehow Philip slipped through.”
Helen grumbles, “If I looked grouchy, it’s because you were driving me crazy all night.”
Madeline flings a hand over her heart. “Me? You’re the one who came in wearing that dress. It’s practically indecent; you should cover those things up.”
Helen glances down at her chest, confused. “I am covered, Mad.”
“I meant these.” Madeline leans in to kiss Helen’s shoulder. Helen shivers. Madeline’s mouth travels delicately along the line of her shoulder, where it curves into her neck. “Hel,” her words vibrate into Helen’s skin. “Would you be terribly opposed to having sex in the foyer?”
Helen pushes her away, not at all trembling. “Do you think we can make it through the night without scarring all of the staff?”
“You’re no fun,” Madeline pouts.
Helen feels a little twinge of guilt. “Mad. As much as I want to do bad things to you right now, I’m so tired. Can we just go to bed?”
Madeline sighs theatrically. “My old lady,” she teases, pressing a quick kiss to Helen’s hand. “I think it still counts if I get you out of that dress and immediately into pajamas,” she muses.
“I don’t know if it does.”
“Shh, Helen,” Madeline lays a finger over Helen’s lips. “You just said you want to do bad things to me. Let me enjoy my moment.”
When Helen wakes the next morning, sunlight filtering into her bedroom, she finds Madeline lounging against the headboard, casually inspecting her manicure.
She glances down, sees Helen’s open eyes, and says with delight, “Finally! I was wondering how long I was going to have to wait for you to wake up.”
“Time is it?” Helen asks, still groggy.
“Who cares?” Madeline settles back, snuggling under the sheets so they are face-to-face. She’s grinning, and entirely too awake.
“Hello,” Helen mumbles.
“Good morning. I seem to remember someone saying they wanted to wake up next to me and tell me I’m beautiful.” Madeline smiles beatifically. “I aim to please, Helen.”
“Lord almighty,” Helen groans, flopping her head face-down on the pillow.
A moment passes before she feels Madeline’s fingers lightly playing on her arm, nails tracing vague patterns on the skin. It’s very pleasant. “Apropos of nothing, Hel; are you feeling well-rested?”
Helen cracks open an eye to look at her. “Well enough,” she replies.
“Oh goody,” Madeline leans in and quickly kisses her. Just for a moment, to gauge Helen’s response.
Helen pulls her back in with a hand on the nape of her neck. Madeline hums, seemingly content to let Helen lazily drag their lips together. Helen takes her time in exploring this new territory; she lingers on Madeline’s top lip for long moments. Her skin, her mouth is so soft beneath Helen’s. Helen feels like she could do this forever.
But then she feels Madeline’s hand on her hip. It’s innocent enough, but still makes Helen jump a little at the sudden sensation of that warm hand on her body. She nibbles down on Madeline’s bottom lip. Madeline opens her mouth with a quiet gasp. Helen takes full advantage and teases her tongue along Madeline’s lips. She licks into her mouth, and that tiny gasp gets a bit louder as Madeline wraps her arm over Helen’s shoulder, trying to bring them even closer. Helen can feel their bodies touching, breasts moving as they breathe, and Helen slips a leg in between Madeline’s. Madeline draws Helen's tongue in, gently sucking and - Helen pulls away from her. She needs a second, heat building low and heavy.
Madeline does not seem to mind. She brushes her hand through Helen’s hair, traces a finger along her eyebrow. She asks, “Did you sleep well?”
Helen ignores her. She has to say something, first, or she’ll never hear the end of it. She clears her throat, “You are very beautiful, you know.” It’s true, and it’s nice to say it freely. It makes Helen happy.
And it obviously makes Madeline happy, who appears bashful. “Hmm. Well.” Then, she scowls at Helen, “Stop making me blush. I’m trying to feel you up.”
“By all means,” Helen acquiesces.
Madeline maneuvers them, slightly, so that she is leaning over Helen. Her lips move slowly, teasing Helen’s mouth open again. Helen whines at the feeling of Mad’s tongue slipping past her teeth. She brings a hand up to run through Madeline’s hair. It’s so long; she is still wearing the extensions.
Her fingers lay on Helen’s waist, thumb tracing lightly over her pajama top, over the ridge of scarring on her stomach. Madeline kisses down to Helen’s neck. Her other hand pulls down the neckline of Helen’s shirt, giving her mouth new skin to mark up. Helen cradles the back of her head, encouraging her with little noises at the feeling of Madeline’s tongue and teeth and lips.
Madeline moves a bit, sliding a leg between Helen’s and propping herself on her knees for better leverage. Her hand trails down from Helen’s neck, before resting at the center of her chest. Her thumb traces the underside of Helen’s breast.
Helen inhales sharply through her nose. Madeline lifts her head to watch her reaction. Emboldened, she firmly moves her hand, stroking and massaging her breast. After a few moments, Madeline bends down to put her open mouth over the still-covered flesh. She nibbles and sucks, and her mouth is so warm. Air hits patches of the shirt damp from saliva, and the immediate cooling effect has Helen arching her back.
“You keep-” Helen moans, “-driving me crazy.”
“Good. I like you crazy,” Madeline says, coming back up to smile at Helen. She leans in quickly to silence any impending bitching with her mouth, dragging her tongue against Helen’s in a way that leaves her panting.
“I want to see you,” she whispers into Helen’s mouth, pulling back with a questioning look. Helen nods.
Madeline lifts the hem of her shirt and Helen sits up briefly to pull it over her head. As she lays back down, Madeline’s eyes are very wide. It’s not like they have never seen each other in various stages of undress before. But this is different.
“I mean-” Madeline coughs. “Jesus Christ, Hel.”
“Yeah?”
“Holy shit, yeah.”
That look in Madeline’s eyes - Helen will remember that look for a long time. “You gonna get busy, or what?” she asks, propping an arm behind her head.
Madeline noticeably swallows, but does as she is told. Her lips reconnect with Helen’s neck as her hand runs over her bare chest. Her long hair tickles as Madeline licks her way down, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses along Helen’s clavicle, between her breasts, before taking one in her mouth. Helen’s hips jerk up on their own, chasing friction. Madeline notices and moves her thigh to press up against Helen. The pressure is so good, but Helen fights the urge to grind against her. It’s divine torture.
Madeline seems fixated, like she can’t get enough of Helen. She moves her mouth back and forth, dedicating time to each breast. One hand palms at Helen, rolling, and teasing with her fingers while she takes Helen’s other nipple between her teeth, tugging gently before laving her tongue over that peaked skin.
Madeline’s other hand traces along Helen’s side, nails scratching - not enough to mark, just enough to make her lose her mind. That hand comes to rest just under the waistband of Helen’s pajama bottoms.
Madeline almost reluctantly removes her mouth, licking her lips, and rests her head on Helen’s chest, looking up through her eyelashes. Helen is immediately reminded of the previous night, when she had been so tied up in uncertainty. Somehow, this is real life? And not just another figment of Helen’s imagination?
“Hey,” Helen smiles down at Madeline, a sudden burst of affection abating her arousal for the moment. She cards her hand through blonde waves again.
“Hey,” Madeline echoes, “You know, you’re pretty sexy.” She presses a kiss to the skin pillowing her head.
Helen brings her hand down to Madeline’s face, tracing a thumb along her jaw. “I think you should keep going.”
Madeline tilts her head to take Helen’s thumb in her mouth. Her tongue swirls, licking over her knuckle, before she hollows her cheeks slightly to draw her in. Helen feels like she's on fire, Madeline's eyes burning into hers. There’s a strangled noise from Helen’s throat, a throbbing heat of desire. Madeline releases the digit with an obscene ‘pop’, smiling at the glazed look on Helen’s face.
Her fingers tickle Helen’s hip, plucking at her waistband. “Can I take these off?”
“Yes.” Breathing, Helen notices, is becoming a challenge.
Madeline kneels again, pressing her lips to Helen’s stomach, leaving delicate kisses on the perimeter of her scars. She tugs the waistband down only slightly, exposing Helen’s lower abdomen. Madeline drags her tongue, scrapes her teeth and gently nips at the sensitive skin. Madeline is so close to where Helen wants her. Helen rolls her hips, needing pressure, needing her touch.
Helen doesn’t want to rush but she actually can’t stand it. It's only been about thirty years worth of foreplay. “Please, Mad,” she whimpers.
Madeline smiles into her, then leans back and hooks her thumbs into the waistband to pull. Helen eagerly lifts her hips to help move things along, shimmying off her underwear at the same time. Madeline laughs, throwing the clothing behind her, and runs both hands on the outside of Helen’s thighs. Her hands are possessive, roving over Helen’s hips, slipping beneath her legs to grab at her ass.
She looks up at Helen, and gives her an angelic smile. “I already told you, Hel. I aim to please.” Madeline strokes a hand up the inside of Helen’s thigh and she twitches.
Madeline bends down to press a kiss to Helen’s knee, and then up and up her leg until she reaches the top of her thigh. She kisses and licks along the crease where Helen’s thigh meets pelvis, rubbing her nose into soft skin with a quiet groan. Helen spreads her knees, knowing her arousal is on full display. Madeline bites her bottom lip. “I want to touch you everywhere,” she whispers, almost to herself.
Madeline leans down, and Helen thinks she might actually combust. Madeline’s tongue licks through her once, twice. Her touch is light at first, testing. She swirls her tongue, edging close to Helen’s clit, before retreating. There are rhythmic, alternating short laps and long stripes. That tongue - christ, Madeline is putting that mouth to good use.
Helen feels surrounded. She’s entranced, watching Madeline’s head moving between her legs. One hand is cradling beneath her left thigh, keeping her spread wide. The burn is so good. Helen’s right leg is bent over Madeline’s shoulder as her mouth and tongue consume. It’s too much. She has to look away.
Helen lays her head back with a groan. A sound of displeasure from Madeline vibrates right through her. Helen gasps, head snapping upright. Madeline, mouth full, just shakes her head, nails digging slightly into the flesh of Helen's leg, pushing her wider.
Helen whines, her hand scrambling over the sheets, before Madeline reaches up with her free hand, interlacing their fingers.
Madeline lets out an approving noise; again, the vibrations traveling right up Helen’s spine until she can just about see stars. Madeline dips her tongue inside, pressing close so her nose can bump up against Helen. Helen’s hips grind down instinctively, she can’t stop. She’s so close, holy shit.
Madeline’s pace quickens. The noises coming from them both are indecent; Helen panting heavily and moaning, Madeline lapping and groaning up into Helen. Her eyes are focused on Helen’s as she sucks, long and hard. It’s - it’s - “Oh, fuck,” Helen falls back. The orgasm is a surprise, cresting unexpectedly and Helen cries out. She rolls her hips into Madeline’s mouth, again and again. Madeline continues laving her tongue, eagerly focused, and lets out another satisfied hum that has Helen sobbing, arching away from her, completely overstimulated.
Madeline seems to recognize this, and eases her grip on Helen. She presses a few chaste kisses to the inside of her thigh, then pulls herself upright to sit back on her heels.
Helen just stares up at her. Madeline’s face is glistening.
"Will you come up here, please?” she asks, and Madeline does, crawling over Helen’s body. She lays down beside Helen, wrapping an arm across her stomach.
“Okay?” Madeline asks.
“How is it,” Helen asks, catching her breath, “that you still have all your clothes on?”
“I think you were distracted,” Madeline answers. She casually wipes at her mouth. That smug little face.
Helen kisses her, immediately licking into Madeline’s mouth to taste herself. Helen’s hands start unbuttoning the satin pajama top that Madeline is wearing. As soon as she loosens the last button, Madeline yanks it off her body and takes Helen’s face with both hands to kiss her hard.
Helen wants to take it slow, but Madeline is too keyed up for that. She's already breathing heavily and Helen doesn't want to deny her anything. Helen puts her hands on Madeline’s breasts, palming them, pushing them up. She takes one nipple in her mouth, using her tongue and teeth. Madeline’s responding groan makes Helen clench. Shit, it won’t take much for Helen to come a second time, not if Madeline keeps making those noises.
“Helen,” Madeline breathes, “oh, fuck.” Helen drags her hand down Madeline’s abdomen, then pushes underneath her pajama shorts, not stopping until she is cupping Madeline over her underwear. Madeline’s hips jerk, and she makes a choked sound.
“You want it fast?” Helen asks, voice rough, and Madeline closes her eyes. Helen slides two fingers back and forth, immediately feeling Madeline’s arousal through the cloth. “Jesus, Mad.”
Madeline whimpers. Then, inexplicably, she opens her eyes and smiles. “See what you do to me?”
Helen moves the heel of her palm, just a bit, and Madeline’s breathing stutters.
“Later, I want to take my time with you,” Helen says, adjusting her hand to slide beneath Madeline’s underwear. Madeline gasps as Helen’s fingers finally touch her, slick and ready. She moves her fingers, spreading that wetness in teasing circles. “Later, I’m going to lay you down, and draw it out, and make you beg,” Helen moves two fingers to trace Madeline’s entrance. Madeline whimpers. Helen presses her nose into blonde hair, mouthing at her temple. “I want all of it, Madeline, remember?” She slips her fingers inside.
Madeline exhales, still for a moment, then rolls her hips. A little roughly at first, but she finds her rhythm. Helen moves her fingers to match Madeline’s pace. The angle is murder on her wrist, but Helen absolutely does not care. She can’t decide where to look; Madeline’s face, brow furrowed, lips parted and panting; or her hips chasing Helen’s hand.
Madeline reaches down to grab onto Helen’s wrist, urging her to push harder. Helen does, and Madeline grinds against her palm. “Helen,” she moans, resting her head on Helen’s shoulder. Helen twists her fingers with a particularly firm thrust. “Hel, oh my god.” She’s so slick, and so warm. Helen watches her with amazement fused with desire, a little unbelieving that Madeline’s body - Madeline. It’s Madeline - is responding so strongly to her. Helen presses her mouth to Madeline’s face, laying desperate kisses to her skin as her fingers continue driving in, out.
“Come on, baby,” Helen murmurs into her ear. She curls her fingers, and presses her palm against Madeline’s clit. Madeline cries out, and Helen can feel her clench around her fingers. Madeline’s hips jerk and she moans, nails digging into Helen’s skin. Helen slows, but continues her thrusts. Madeline is panting heavily into Helen’s neck as her hips eventually still. Helen gently removes her fingers and Madeline gasps, hips twitching with an aftershock.
Madeline releases her grip on Helen’s wrist and collapses flat on her back, hair everywhere. A hand is drawn over her eyes. She breathes deeply, in and out.
They are silent for a moment. Helen leans on her side to face Madeline, her head propped up on a bent arm. She faintly traces her pointer finger along Madeline’s side, who shivers at the touch. “Okay?” Helen asks.
Madeline removes the hand from her eyes. The look on her face is - well. Stunned is the word that comes to Helen’s mind. “You can have it all. Jesus Christ, you can have whatever you want, Hel.” A laugh bubbles out of her.
“Thank you,” Helen says, feeling pleased as punch.
“What the fuck,” Madeline states, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t even -” she shakes her head.
“What is it?”
“Can you believe…we could have been doing this,” she gestures at their bodies, “this whole time?”
Helen contemplates this, feeling much too blissed-out to be philosophical. “Well. Timing is everything. And, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling pretty happy about how it all shook out, right about now.”
“You mean, starting the new year off with a bang?” Blue eyes blink up at her innocently.
“I hate you,” Helen says. She throws a pillow at Madeline’s face. “You are the worst.”
Madeline throws it right back at Helen. “Nope, you already said you love me. No take backs, sorry.”
Happy New Year, indeed.