[May 13, 1948]
The earth did not split into two nor did the constellations fall out of the sky after Bobby confessed, but upon hearing the news of his sister's demise, they might as well had.
Three days. He'd spent three deceitful days in fool's paradise, where he sailed the ocean, drowned in it, perused Tennyson or Shakespeare in the arms of his lover before suffering the news. In a matter of one phone call, that easy living came to an abrupt end.
Kick, young and unconventionally beautiful, was the irrepressible debutante of 1938. Her soul was condemned to hell, her mother said, for thinking with her heart than her head. And the hoi polloi called them arrogant fools, and that they were — foolishly graceful, foolishly red-blooded, foolishly shrewd, foolishly opulent. Their mistakes, no matter how big, deemed negligible for the three tongue-tapping syllables.
A loss this big, this close to home, plunged Bobby into the mournful abyss he hated to be familiar with. In his room, with the windows shut, he smoked his last cigarette and crushed the soft pack in his hand.
A bible was laid on the pillow, its holy texts waited to be gazed at by the bluest eyes. He felt sick to his stomach, unable to finish Revelation 21:4 without feeling blasphemous. How could he believe there will be no more death when the only thing left of Joe and Kick were memories that inevitably faded with time?
"Merde..."
Evelyn counted her steps subconsciously as she paced around her room — the sickly yellow wallpaper nearly drove her insane like Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Billie Holiday chanted "I'll be seeing you," repeatedly on mamie Françoise's old victrola.
"What the hell do I even say to him..."
The body hit the bed with eyes glaring at the crystal chandelier suspended in the air — the brain pondered if it was opulent or gaudy.
A goldfinch flew past the bedroom window, its small stature blocked the sun momentarily like a poor imitation of an eclipse. A realization dawned on Evelyn that she wasn't mourning for Kick, but for Bobby.
Kick was barely around. When she was, their eyes would meet but never see the same. Kick'd spent most of her life in London, preferring tea and crumpets over fries and milkshakes; Lords and Barons over Lowells and Cabots. Evelyn was assimilated, wanting nothing more than to be one of them.
They simply had different agendas, thus it never went beyond "Nice weather we're having" or "How's school?" with the other girl.
But she coveted Kick in a way; she'd chosen England over and over again, but her spirit remained American in every fiber — undeniable esprit de corps of a royal clan.
When Evelyn sat on the sideline, she'd observe her next door neighbors. Every one of them: the tallest, the shortest, the biggest, the smallest. And nobody stood out like Kick; barefoot on the summer grass, proudly flaunting the scratches on her knees, flinging a football to her brothers, voice loud as a whistle. She would allow the sun to permeate her skin by the pool or on the hot beach sand, enduring any heat life threw her way — life holds no fears for someone who has faced love, marriage and death before the age of 25.
There was no more goldfinches or brief eclipses, but a sickening thought crossed Evelyn's mind: if Rose thought her daughter was condemned to hell for marrying a non-Catholic, how would she feel if her favorite son married a nonbeliever? The son who had dreamt of becoming a priest as a child.
Kathleen's story suddenly transpired into a cautionary tale.
She closed her eyes merely to see him. Not as he was now, grieving in religious pain, but yesterday when the moon was on his skin and heaven in his eyes.
It was the first and only time they'd spent a night on the town as lovers. Not one soul noticed their absence, and even if somebody did, it was none of their business.
Roy and Dolly were waiting just outside the compound, smoking in a blue Cadillac, wondering if their pal was going to bring his new girlfriend along. 5 minutes later, Bobby hopped in the backseat with her, and the couple weren't surprised to see it was the 'Bellamy girl'.
The harsh wind from the road dried up their mouths as Roy threw around dirty jokes in the fast convertible. There was no grumpy elder to wag a finger at them, but Bobby didn't laugh, in protest. He'd always felt like Roy hadn't changed since high school and wondered how his lover could stand the overgrown quarterback.
Just as soon as he'd felt like a spoilsport, he turned to his right and saw Evelyn didn't make a sound either. He thought she didn't laugh because they were birds of a feather, that their upbringing forbade vulgarity from becoming a norm, but it was anything but. She'd seen the discomfort in his eyes; how he fought libertine thoughts to keep the mind immaculate, and she followed suit into silence as though they were heading up to church and not a Boston nightclub.
When they finally arrived at their destination, Bobby took Evelyn by the hand and led her into the dim dance floor. Roy and Dolly watched from the bar with amusement as the bartender poured 4 pints of beer.
Evelyn had fallen in love with Bobby all over again, but little did she know, it was the beginning of the end of their love story.
"To hell with it." Evelyn reached for the telephone on her nightstand. She tentatively rotated the wheel to dial Bobby's digits, but quickly slammed the handset back to where it belongs.
"How insensitive can you be, crétin?" Evelyn let a long sigh out of her mouth. "Calling instead of seeing him..." She questioned herself before groaning; exhausted with the dilemma reoccurring inside her head. To go, or not to go, that is the question; Evelyn was bemoaning the pain and unfairness of going but acknowledging that the alternative might be worse.
"Evie, puis-je entrer?" Several knocks were laid on the door of Evelyn's bedroom. The girl instantly rose from her lying position to her feet when Maurice's voice echoed through the hallway, he was asking if he could enter her room. It was not the right time, but Evelyn opened the door and welcomed her father.
"Pourquoi, Papa?" Evelyn tilted her head as she asked her father. The grey-haired man sat on the bed. He looked out of the window, the sunlight reflected on his eyes; creating a certain unique color of green and coppery tint, distinguishing them from the rest of his features.
"I cannot believe she is gone." With a heavy French accent, Maurice tried to express his sorrow — hoping that Evelyn would hear his story on Kathleen. "You know, that girl— elle était un tel ange." She was an angel, he claimed. With his hands clasped together, Maurice pressed them against his mouth. He was speechless to hear how a soul as wild as Kathleen's could be reaped from a world that needed her so badly.
"When we first moved here, the Kennedys welcomed us. They sent Kick to deliver us some housewarming cookies." Maurice had a blank look on his face; not like a deer gazing into headlights, but of a man whose soul was sucked out of his body — yet his heart still beat endlessly. "Perhaps they sent her because she was the most genuine of them all." He cracked a smile before it quickly faded.
"She came in, she introduced herself, and asked me to teach her French as soon as she found out where we came from." Wow, she must've been really special for Papa to be fond of her like this, Evelyn thought to herself. Just when she thought Maurice was done, he continued. "I didn't get to teach her the language... Your mother did, for a little bit." Evelyn didn't say a single word, she listened to her father's hymn intently.
One question continued to circulate in her poor mind, how could one be so cruel to their own child? How do they use religion as an excuse to leave their child impoverished and devoid of love? — especially when that has always been the purpose? Evelyn yearned for a clue — she yearned for an understanding behind the family's cruelty and unjust treatment of any individual who doesn't follow their strict, articulate principles.
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P.S: So, this is one of those very long, detailed, and part of the "slow burn" section of the story — please bear with me for these chapters! I'll be sure to always publish exciting chapters after one of these. Thank you for reading, though! 🥺
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𝗜𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝗔𝗳𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘀 | 𝐁𝗼𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲/𝗥𝗙𝗞
Historical FictionInfidelity is plain unremarkable for movie star, Evelyn Bellamy - you'd say the same if you see what goes down in Hollywood where stars are made and scandals are encouraged - but little did she know her own infidelity with the New York Senator, Bobb...