Girl Talk

[Clara Lys Wright]

Time: Immediately after Session II - Rainbow in the Dark.

Girl Talk #1, Preface

Three car doors slammed shut on the Wright estate. Lisa put an arm around Adele, who was still sniffling from the aftermath of her emotional breakdown at the fair. Gerault pulled Felix gently out of the car, cradling his son’s sleeping form against him. When he passed the two other adults in the front hall, he paused long enough to pin them with a direct look, “We need to talk.”

He put Felix to be, then found Lisa and Adele in kitchen. He motioned them towards the study he and Lisa shared, pouring out a glass of whisky for each of them once the women were settled down on the leather couch. The dark wood panels of the room lent any conversation here a weight Gerault found comforting, and the lining of bookshelves and leather furniture around the two executive desks kept the sound from bouncing off the wooden floors. He leaned against his desk, sipping at the whiskey and watching his wife and her paramour. “Lona is going to start therapy. Tomorrow. She will go once a day until Dr. Calon indicates it’s safe to space out her sessions farther.”

“What?” Adele asked, blinking up at him. “She doesn’t need therapy, she needs…” Adele trailed off, then lifted her chin and said firmly, “She needs discipline. After what she did to me tonight, she needs to be grounded. And maybe her guitar, too.”

“This isn’t about you or your hurt feelings, Adele,” Gerault sighed in irritation. Lisa took her own sharp breath; he husband wasn’t an expressive man, so when his emotions leaked through his words, he was far more upset than he seemed. “You are an adult. She is your child and she is in pain.” Grow up was left unsaid, but Lisa could still hear it hanging in the air. “Screaming at you through music has been the only way to get your attention.”

“I’ve been trying to talk to her, and she is the one who sulks away and won’t talk!” Adele started to weep again, cuddling closer to Lisa. “I have tried!”

 “You’ve been more interested in this,” he motioned to the three of them, his tone kinder but still firm, “than in dealing with her grief - or yours.” He moved, crouching down in front of Adele, “That is not an option anymore. Not for her, not for you. She will have daily therapy. You will go see Calon as well and let her determine your needs. Adele, she sang a song about suicide. You lost her husband but she lost her father, her brother moved away, and you told her of a new relationship. To her, she’s lost her entire family in the space of six months. You are her mother and she is a child still. You have to start putting her pain above your own and do what is necessary for both of you to start healing.” 

“She sings all the time about all sorts of things.” Adele sighed. “If you insist on this, then fine. She’ll go. I’ll go. But she and I will be having a very stern talk about what she did tonight, too.” Adele nodded firmly, as if that was all it took to make her words come true. The other two adults knew that Adele would likely have trouble following through on that, or to make the talk as “stern” as she was currently imagining.

Gerault stood up, finishing off his glass and placing it back on the tray with the decanter of whisky. “I will talk to her.” He stared down Adele, making the point that she couldn’t even argue with him over who would argue with her daughter. “Go get some sleep. They’ll be out late tonight at the fair with their friends.”

After a moment, Adele nodded and left the room. She was aware she should be arguing with Gerault, but it was so much easier to go to bed and let him handle it. Lisa went with her and tucked her into bed before returning to the study with a sandwich. They smiled at each other, aware that though Lisa was very much in love with Adele, they still completely understood each other. There was no need to talk.

After a glass of wine, Lisa herself went to bed, while Gerault waited for their children to return home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two cars pulled up to the Wright estate, causing a brow to raise in the study. Gerault texted both of his daughters, one to tell Clara to go the poolhouse for the night and the other to tell Lona to come to the study. Both ended with I hope you enjoyed the evening and you’re not in trouble. Clara hugged Etienne and kissed him goodnight, then squeezed Lona’s hand. “I’ll wait up for you, okay?”

“If you don’t, I’m going to wake you up anyway,” Lona told her with a smile. The two had long had a “if you need to talk, wake me” standing rule. She glanced at her text message again and asked, “What do you think your dad wants?”

Clara shrugged. Gerault had never done this before, talking to Lona and specifically not letting her be there. “I have no idea. I mean, if this was about the party or something, he wouldn’t just want to talk to you.”

“Must be mad about me pissing off Mom,” Lona sighed. She nibbled on her lip ring for a moment, then headed for the front door. “I’ll see you after my interrogation.”

Inside the house, she made her way toward the study. As late as it was, she was still awake and bright-eyed. The door was pulled to, so Lona tapped on the heavy wood. At Gerault’s soft invitation, she stepped inside and pushed the door shut. “Yeah?” she asked with teenage bravado.

Gerault had been sitting behind his desk, mulling the evening over and passing the time late into the night with a puzzle game on his phone. He set the phone down and stood up, motioning Lona over the couch and pouring them both small glasses of his whiskey. He held the drink out to her, leaning against his desk. “Here. I think perhaps you could use this, yes?”

Lona stared at him, wondering if it were a trap or what he already knew. He’d never objected to the kids having occasional wines or beers at the dinner table, though the latter had mostly been Dad and Arthur. Something about male bonding that Dad had wanted to do -- one of the things that had been forced to happen earlier than planned. Gerault didn’t rescind his offer and finally she took the glass, mostly to see if it were a trap. “Why do you think that?” she asked after a sniff of the harsh alcohol.

“Your music, Avalon. You were quite clear in your messages, and I am worried.” He kept his eyes on her, his voice soft and concerned. “Sometimes a little bit of relaxing and even a touch of numb can help a person talk.” He took a drink of his own glass, holding it up as if to prove to her that he was being sincere.

For a long moment, Lona stared at him, unsure what to say. “They weren’t for you,” she finally stated, her voice soft. 

He nodded, “I know.” He moved to sit on the couch, setting his drink aside. He slipped an arm around her, pulling her close to him. “I am glad you found a way to tell her how you feel. I am worried about you, my dear. You are hurting.” He turned, kissing her forehead, and murmured, “I miss him, too.”

Lona tried to say something but she was suddenly crying. Gerault took the drink from her, then hugged her as she bawled into his shoulder. She tried to speak several times, but all that came out was, “Why do you, when she doesn’t? Felix does, Clara does, I do, but his own wife has already forgotten about him!”

“She..” Gerault sighed. “She’s trying to not hurt because she knows how much she will once she does. It is not fair to you. And it is not healthy for her.” He pulled back so he could move the longer strands of Lona’s hair out of her face, laying his palm against her cheek. “And it is going to stop. I have called Dr. Calon. You and your mother are both going to start seeing her.” He caught her eyes, making sure he had her full attention. “You will begin tomorrow morning and will go to see her once a day until she says otherwise.”

“I don’t need my head shrunk,” Lona protested, which reminded Gerault of a similar conversation he’d had with Clive about putting Lona and Arthur into therapy before his death. “I need a mom who gives a shit.”

“Well,” he said with the direct honesty he usually reserved for the eighteen-plus crowd, “I am thinking that she can’t right now. So, she needs someone to show her how and you need help until she can. So, you are both going to Dr. Calon.” His tone, while still sympathetic, made it clear that the issue was a closed one. She was being informed, not asked. He handed her back her drink and offered, “You may be angry with me, if you want - or we can have a drink and then you can go to bed. I think it has been a bit of a night, yes?”

In answer, Lona tossed back the shot of whiskey in one go. Making a slight face, she swallowed without choking or coughing. “Yeah, it was something,” she said softly. “Good night, Gerault.”

He stood, pulling her up with him, and gave her one last hug and kiss on the forehead. “Sleep well, my dear.”

[Clara Lys Wright]

“So your dad wanted to tell me that Mom’s useless and that I’m going to therapy,” Lona said as she entered the poolhouse. She set her guitar in its corner and turned to find that Clara already had a tub of ice cream and the Skittles out. Gratitude that they were talking again flooded her as they fell back effortlessly into old patterns of comfort.

Clara finished off the traditional girl talk food spread with the requisite chocolate and strawberry sauces for the ice cream, bowls, and spoons and sank down into the sofa in the main room. “Good,” she said firmly and shrugged at Lona’s deadpan expression. “What? Therapy’s good for you and your mom clearly needs an entire thesis’ worth of issues.” She popped open the ice cream and served them both up two large scoops, then slathered hers with chocolate syrup. “Therapy’s fine. A little boring most of the time, but think of it as someone you can dump all your problems on they can’t go tattle to the parents about it.”

“I really don’t want to talk to some stranger about my feelings.” Lona drizzled lines of strawberry and chocolate on her ice cream before joining Clara on the couch. “I hate the idea of having to confide in someone just because Gerault said to do it.”

Clara shrugged. “Then you’re going to be bored. I mean, I get it. But it does help. It’s just like going to a doctor because you have a cold or a broken leg or really bad cramps. You may not want to talk about it, but they’re there and they’re trained to make it better.” Clara grabbed a handful of Skittles and sprinkled them over both bowls - it wasn’t a girl talk night without Skittles on ice cream.

Lona sighed and started to smash the ice cream, syrup, and Skittles into a big mess. “It just seems stupid. Like something only crazy people do, and I’m not crazy.”

Clara gave her a long level stare. She’d been in therapy pretty much since the Wilsons had moved in; her parents had seen it as a preventative measure for all the changes she was going through and then later as a means of dealing with Clive’s ups and downs and eventual death. All of the Wrights regularly saw a therapist.

Lona winced. “Sorry. I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Then make it up to me by giving it an honest shot.” Clara pounced on the opportunity in typical Clara fashion.

Lona rolled her eyes. “Fine, fucking whatever. It doesn’t matter. Gerault is making me go, so I don’t really have a choice.”

“Ask for ice cream and hot chocolate,” Clara said with a grin. “She doesn’t offer it if you’re over like twelve, but she’s got it on hand and it’s the good stuff. Also takes her a couple of minutes to make, so you get a breather if you don’t know what to say or just want to stop for a few minutes.”

Lona nodded but didn’t seem to perk up at the suggestion; if anything, she seemed resigned to her fate rather than accepting.. “So… you and Etienne? When did that start?”

Clara flushed bright red and busied herself with a spoonful of sugar and cream before finally murmuring, “This summer. A couple of months ago.”

“Ah. Soooo… Dish!” Lona demanded.

“About what?” Clara mumbled into her ice cream.

“About? About how you’re dating a graduate who is three years older than you?” Lona asked.

The Wright daughter looked out the window towards the pool, sinking into the couch a little farther and keeping up a nice cherry blush. “I would go out running. After,” her expression drooped and she glanced a little nervously at Lona, “y’know. After our fight. And he was running, too.”

“And you ran into each others’ hearts?” Lona sighed melodramatically and faux swooned. “So romantic...”

Clara pinged a green Skittle off of Lona’s cheek. “It wasn’t like that! He just asked if I wanted to get something to eat after our run one night!” She took another bite, one made mostly of chocolate syrup sauce, and added, “And it just sort of became a thing. Running, eating, talking...”

“Smooching,” Lona teased, then shrieked as a handful of Skittles sailed at her head. “Ouch! That was my eye!”

“It’s what you deserve,” Clara said with a righteous smirk. 

Still rubbing her eye, Lona asked, “So is it nice?”

Clara laid her head against the back of the couch, a dopey smile on her face, and nodded. “It’s...scary. But good.”

“I’m glad for you,” Lona said, and a hitch in her voice made Clara lift her head to see a sad look on her face. Before she could question her about it, Lona asked, “So what was the hand-thing with Bannon?”

“Uh, what hand thing?” Clara asked, clearly confused on the change in subject. She started to push Lona on it, but managed to hold herself back. Pushing too hard and too fast with her had led to their estrangement the first time. She might not be emotionally savvy, but Clara did learn.
“Holding hands with Bannon?” Lona asked, tilting her head. “What was that about?”

It took her a few moments to call up a time she was holding hands with Jason Bannon. “Oh! He was just showing me over to where you were set up, after you texted me.”

Lona frowned. “Etienne seemed to think that there was more to it than just showin’ you around. He didn’t ask it directly but he was wondering if you two were together. How long were you guys holding hands?”

“Um, I don’t know? We walked over to the stage and then you started playing?” Clara frowned. Etienne was at the fair? The two of them hadn’t actually had much of a chance to talk before everything went sideways at the party. Clara hadn’t really been at the party, she realized. Between stepping away to talk to her boyfriend and then all the crazy afterward, she hadn’t danced once. “I don’t really remember. I wasn’t paying attention to that.”

“Okay,” Lona said, “I hope that he wasn’t paying attention either. Bannon’s a little extreme, Clara.”

The overachiever frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He thinks sideways at a problem, instead of straight on,” Lona said after a moment, “and while that’s great, he cuts corners that shouldn’t be cut. Not like short-changing people, but like reaching the end result whatever the cost.” She huffed impatiently. “Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m making sense, between the craziness of tonight and the whiskey.”

“Whiskey? At the party?” Clara sounded somewhere between jealous and wistful. She stared down at her melting ice cream and mused, “That sounds pretty nice about now. I wonder if you can make boozy ice cream?”

“Your dad gave me whiskey,” Lona said, stirring her rainbow-vomit mass of sugar in the bowl. “You couldn’t make booze into ice cream, but you could make a whiskey float, I guess. Sounds terrible.”

Clara stuck out her tongue in disappointment at no boozy ice cream, then made a sour face. “Yeah, I think I’ll stick to Coke floats. That does sound gross. And if Papa was handing out whiskey, he was mad at someone. And not you.” She gave Lona a speculative look. “Think something happened with the Bermuda Triangle of Weird and Messed Up over there?”

“No clue, though he did agree with me that Mom’s useless. So maybe a breakup is pending?” She took a bite of ice cream and added with a tremor to her words, “If your parents kick Mom out, do you think I could ask to stay here?”

“I don’t think they’d kick her out. I think they’d make me move back to the main house and put her out here. I mean, your Mom’s never had a job, right? How would she go anywhere else?” She frowned, not liking the idea at all. “Or maybe they can just make her move into our old room. I like it out here.”

Lona relaxed as Clara spoke. She knew the Wrights but she didn’t know the adults as well as Clara did. “Cool. I like it out here, too. Now that we’re talking again.” She paused then said, “I’m sorry it took me so long to reach back out.”

Clara looked down and away. “I’m sorry I tried to make you deal with things my way. That wasn’t fair. Or helpful.”

“No, it wasn’t, but I guess I can see where you were just trying to help.” Lona managed a small smile for her. “So seriously, what the fuck was up with tonight?”

Clara set her bowl aside, sitting up as a remembered flood of adrenaline perked her up. “I know, right? Do you think it was some kind of bad water or psychedelic mushrooms spooring or something?” She bit her lip in thought, “That doesn’t explain the trailer and all the notes and stuff, though. What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think that’s why I asked you!” Lona threw her hands into the air. “All I know is that the big party and all my plans for it were sucked into this weirdness, and that’s several hours of my life that I’m not getting back. I was hoping you’d have some better ideas.”

Clara gave her a big-eyed shrug. “I’ve got nothing. It was just so weird. The woods were all it up like Avatar, there’s impossible creatures running around, and this movie-level of conspiracy nut trailer. If I had to guess, we’re like one episode into some new reality tv prank show.”

“Wait, lit up?” Lona stuck in a spoonful of sugar but when Clara didn’t adjust her statement by the time she’d cleared her mouth, Lona added, “Lary, those woods were as black as a Jauntsen soul.”

Clara snorted and flicked a red Skittle at Lona. “Good one, point to you. And no, it was. I mean not like lightbulb lit up, but there were all these glowing bits. Some flowers and little critters. Patches on the trees. Moss, maybe? It was super pretty, just weird. Like Avatar. Maybe not the way you guys came?”

“Not the way anyone came, ‘cept for maybe Charlie.” Lona retrieved the Skittle from a wrinkle in her shirt and tossed it into her mouth. She grew thoughtful. “I wonder who else had weird stuff happen that they didn’t mention in the Big Circle Creepy Cabin Sharetime.”

“Who knows? I mean, there were so many people there and most everyone was drunk, high, or both. Even if weird things happened to them, how many would remember? Or think it was anything other than being drunk or high? I’m still not completely sure we didn’t get slipped something or breathed in something and ended up with a mass hallucination.” She tried to fight it, but the yawn managed to crawl out of her mouth. She stretched, then laid back on the couch. “Wanna get a blanket and make fun of horror movies until we pass out?” 

“Um,” Lona nibbled on her lip ring a second and then said, “I have to tell you one more thing. I… saw something weird at the fair.” As Clara sat up a bit, Lona said, “When we were hugging and I was crying, I had a… vision, I guess. I saw some weird stuff, and the reason I ran off was because one of those was Luis getting attacked by Chet and his thugs.”

Clara frowned. Her mind ticked through what had happened at the fair and her frown deepened. “What else did you see?”

“I saw Dad sick again, but my tears made a mirror on the floor, and I saw our moms hugging. I saw Courtney Adams and Stacy Collier having sex. Luis. A Native American crawling out of a crater with glowing blue eyes.” Lona thought for a moment. “That’s it, I think.”

Clara’s mouth pinched together. “Maybe it wasn’t at the party. Maybe we got dosed with something long-acting at the fair. Maybe there’ll be something on the news tomorrow. Also, Stacy and Courtney? You think she’d be a bit less of a Marissa if she were getting laid.”

Lona snorted. “I think Marissa would be a bit less of a Marissa if she were getting laid. Honestly, I don’t know what to think. And I’ve felt weird since arriving at the party. Maybe tomorrow your dad will ask us to piss in a cup.”

“Did he say something?” Clara looked concerned now. “About the party? I didn’t think he knew.”

“No, he didn’t, but if something comes down the news about a mass en-druggening at the county fair, everyone’s getting tested.” Lona pushed her bowl away. 

“Yeah, but in a ‘concerned for your health’ kind of way.” Clara switched how she was laying, plopping her head down on Lona’s lap where the bowl had just vacated. “Not a ‘never see the light of day again’ kind of way. That would explain...some of it. Not the trailer, but that could just be a crazy person.”

“Yeah.” Lona looked down at her. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I’m ready for those horror movies, but let’s do romcoms instead. I’ve had enough weird or possibly supernatural shit for tonight.”

Clara snorted and fumbled around on the coffee table until she found the remote. “Bland romcom coming up.” She didn’t even make it through the credits before she was snoring on Lona’s lap. 

Sleep was slower in coming for Lona, and she picked up her phone and considered sending a text. Finally, she put it down without doing anything and was soon sleep, too.

[Clara Lys Wright]

Time: Immediately after Interim - Ep 2 - The Great Roadtip (aka: Devin, the Fifth Horseman)

Girl Talk #2

The door slammed behind Devin and Lona turned to face her wrathful mother. “How dare you cavort around with that Jauntsen boy--”

“You are the last person who gets to point fingers about cavorting,” Lona said icily. 

“I am your mother, and you are grounded!” Adele shouted.

Gerault cleared his throat loudly, and the two Wilson women looked at him. He glanced meaningfully at Felix, watching them with wide eyes, before he said, “Lona, do you need dinner?”

“No, thanks, Devin bought me dinner,” Lona said, shifting her new guitar case a little higher on her shoulder. “I’m tired, it’s been a long day. I’m going to my room.”

“We are going to talk!” Adele demanded. Behind Lona, Gerault went back to his meal, casually eating as if the two weren’t fighting in front of him. Only Lisa noted that his attention was not fully on his meal.

Lona spun on her. “About what? The fact that you’re so much more qualified to make choices about my life than I am?”

“I’m not running around kissing the worst boy in town!” Adele snarled. 

“If you knew anything about anything, Mother, you’d know that Devin is far from the worst,” Lona told her. “I’d explain but you have to have a basic understanding of human decency to get it.”

Adele stared at her daughter in shock as Lisa exclaimed, “Lona!” After a moment, Adele turned and ran from the room, her sobs already carrying back to the others. 

“I’ll be in my room,” Lona said, not sure she was able to keep all the smug off her face. Hefting her new loot, she stalked out of the room. As she exited, she heard Felix say, “Delly is crying again.”

“Yes,” Gerault agreed before the door slammed shut behind her. 

Lona headed to the pool house, feeling good. New guitar, new camera: the night was looking up.

Devin had kissed her.

She pressed her lips together so she didn’t squeal but she wasn’t able to stop grinning. You’ve got to get that under control before Clara gets over here, Lona thought as she entered their shared house and headed for her bedroom. As she was rearranging her guitars so that the new one was on the stand and putting down her bag, she heard the familiar sound of the front door behind her.

At the door Clara just stood, still clearly in a bit of shock. She was holding a plate with a sandwich and chips piled on it. “So. . .” she stepped inside and put the plate on the dresser, trying to hold her incredulity in check. She failed the roll. “Devin? I mean, seriously?”

Lona opened her mouth as she turned scarlet. For a second, nothing came out, then she said, “I got caught up in the moment! I… I was kissing the motorcycle!”

“I’m pretty sure that was Devin.” Clara retorted archly. “And that boy will take a mile and then some even if you meant to kiss the motorcycle.” Her tone left no question about where she thought Lona’s affections actually laid.

Lona sat down on her bed. “I… It was like a CW movie, where you can feel the tension and-- Why am I tell you this, Ms. Dating A Graduate Guy! You know what it’s like when the hormones get going and Jesus, the vibrations on that bike, and he thinks I’m hot, and too good for Cade, and he was super nice, and you should see my new guitar-- Oh, and the camera he got--”

“So, you kissed Devin’s fifty-thousand dollar vibrator?” Clara arched a brow, crossing her arms and trying to hide a grin. “‘Cause I’m sure telling Adele that would just help so much.” The one thing the two of them could agree on was what a waste of a parent Adele had been for the past several months. 

“Ew, don’t say vibrator and Adele in the same conversation again, or I’m going to return the favor.” Lona paused and said, “You know one thing, though. It was a dare, a One-Night Spit-Trade.” Clara made a gagging face. “Stop it! He doesn’t like me that way. So you’re still the one with a boyfriend. Lucky bitch.” She was grinning when she said the last.

“Adele doesn’t need a vibrator,” Clara said with not a small amount of venom. “She has my mother.” She couldn’t help the smile that pushed its way through, though. “And true. Let’s not talk about the ‘rents anymore at all. It’s just dumb. I brought you some dinner, just in case you hadn’t actually eaten.” She gestured at the plate. 

“He bought me steak,” Lona said, smiling a coy little smile that signalled to Clara that her near sister needed to be careful. “I’ll say this: he’s a jackass, but when he treats a pretty girl, he treats her right.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “That’s why they call it a switch and bait, Lona. You think you’re get steak dinners and vibrating motorcycles, and you end up with Devin Jauntson.” She held her mock-stern lecture expression for a half-second after her words, then dissolved into giggles. “Is he at least a good kisser?”

Silently, Lona nodded solemnly. “I swear, I forgot my name for a second there.” With mutual giggles, the two girls fell naturally into a gossip and giggle session for the ages.