Gossip, Never Had

"Did you hear that Miss Winston necked Ralph Taylor last week?"

Francis Moore glanced longways at the cluster of young girls tidying up the kitchen, while wait staff swept away silver trays of dinner for the evening. The girls were new hires and, unbeknownst to the Winston family, had been friends prior to their coming onto the staff. They had conspired to be hired en masse, so they could gossip about the same topics while on the job. Francis never bothered to reveal their elaborate plot, because she liked to hear their opinions on the well-to-do New York family, but this particular subject grated on her ears.

"I heard they're dating," whispered Betty, then leaned in while scooping bits of dough off the countertop, "In fact, I hear Ralph is very fond of Miss Winston. If it goes on any longer, I wouldn't be surprised to hear he intends marriage."

The youngest of the cluster, Dororthy, gasped loudly. "Oh, what grand fun it would be to dress up the house for a wedding!"

The other women hushed her, and broke into a fit of giggles. Francis kept her tongue tucked tight behind her teeth, and put the last of the dishes in the sink before smoothing her hand down her apron with finality. The cook gave her a look.

"You're not abandoning me, now, are you?" he accused.

Francis smiled in apology. "Miss Winston called on me earlier, I've already left her waiting for longer than I'd like."

He rolled his eyes and nodded back at the chittering women. With his expression, he said don't leave me with the harpies, and Francis tilted her head farewell before doing exactly that. His groan was audible, and caught the attention of the young women. Francis heard very clearly how they began to call him out for more details on Ralph Taylor, and shook her head in distaste. It was one thing to discuss what the family did with their wealth, and another thing entirely to discuss their personal lives. Especially Miss Winston's.

It was possible Francis was being uptight. Of course Miss Winston would need to marry eventually, despite everything. They had discussed it between themselves already, and worked out the practicals of what would happen after the matrimony so that nothing would have to change. Still, her heart beat loudly and angrily when she thought of Ralph Taylor. It was her 

opinion that he wasn't worthy of Mildred Winston.  He wasn't very handsome, smart, or charming. He was a deadbeat. A fraud.

Actually, he was the son of Warren Taylor, who owned a successful line of grocery stores, and would be a very good fit for the Winston family. This is precisely the reality that turned Francis' face sour when she entered the young heiress's bedroom, and the only thing that shook her from her scowling was a delighted peal of laughter.

"Please don't tell me you look like that because you've tasted our dinner."

Francis lifted from her reverie, and Millie Winston was sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed in a gown that for all the world looked like starlight. Her hair was in long ringlets, with a half-moon pin keeping it back. Francis felt her throat constrict, and she cleared it twice and tried to maintain decorum.

"The dinner tastes fine," she replied. Then, trying to play it off, asked, "Was I making a face?"

"Like you had eaten something bitter." 

Millie chuckled, a plush and tantalizing sound, and stood off the bed to approach Francis. Summer was mature now, and there was no need for a fire, but Francis felt the heat of flames on her cheeks when Millie arrived in her space and leaned forward to click the door shut pointedly. She then leaned in, as if to say something in her ear, but Francis stepped to the side. 

"Fran," Millie protested, then added playfully, "Don't run from me."

"It's just," Francis began, fiddling with her fingers and hating how her composure broke down whenever they had these moments alone. She used to be quick-witted and eloquent, before she met Millie, and now she fumbled over her words, "I heard the new girls talking, and I suppose it bothered me. It was improper, what they were saying."

Millie nodded with the impression of one who understood. 

"I see."

Flustered, Francis crossed the room to tidy up Millie's vanity. She didn't organize or put away the compacts and makeup brushes, but rather sorted them into a more intentional mess. Millie couldn't stand neat and clean, after all, she always needed chaos. With that in mind, it was no wonder at all that she was drawn to Mister Taylor.

Francis shook the thought from her head. It wasn't nice of her to think that, but her movements still became curt in response to it as she continued;

"They're always on about 'dating' and 'necking.' No propriety about them at all. Those girls work in one of the finest houses in the Hamptons, and yet discuss the Winston family matters with the same cadence as they discuss their own, scandalous lives."

"Very shameful of them," said Millie, draping herself over the bed. When Francis caught sight of her in the mirror, she rolled onto her back and smiled prettily.

"You're due at dinner, Miss," said Francis, warning.

"What exactly did they discuss, pray tell?" Millie replied, sweetly.

"Nothing of importance." 

Francis twisted down a stray tube of lipstick, then capped it and set it precisely where Millie would idly search for it with her long fingers, just on the edge of the vanity. Feigning indifference, Francis sniffed, "They seem to think Ralph Taylor is calling on you. Or, I suppose, that he already has, and you've taken a liking to him. Don't know where they heard it from."

Saying so, Francis felt a sudden bout of paranoia and looked over her shoulder at the door. She searched for shadows under the frame.

"Sneaky," Francis muttered, "They're very sneaky."

Millie sat up in the bed, studying her carefully. A silence fell over them that Francis regretted, but there was nothing to do but continue to occupy herself until the desk was to her liking. When there was nothing left to delay her from speaking, Francis turned to face Millie and swallowed her displeasure like a foul medicine.

"He's a fine man," she concluded with great effort, "I suppose."

Millie looked at her very seriously, and then burst into unexpected laughter. Francis flushed, mouth flapping, until Millie shushed her and raised her hands. She crossed over and hugged Francis, pressing their bodies together, and each nook and curve fit so perfectly that Francis couldn't resist leaning into it.

"What you heard isn't true," Millie reassured, into her neck. Her lipstick likely rubbed off onto the skin as she spoke, but a single kiss in the same spot hushed any protest Francis might have had. "Alright, yes, Ralph likes me. But, no, he hasn't called on me. In fact, I've never been alone with him once, not like…Well, not like you and I have been alone, my sweet Fran."

"Millie," Francis cautioned, glancing at the door again.

"No one's listening," she soothed, then leaned back with a dreamy look, blissfully ignorant to any danger that could be lurking out the door. Millie released such a great sigh. "Oh, how could I even think of Ralph Taylor when Francis Moore wants me?"

Francis's heart pounded for a new reason. When she looked at Millie, she had an inkling of how Icarus must have felt when he first laid eyes on the sun. All reason and fear fell from her, and she found her hands on Millie's hips, striving to contain some of that light for her own keeping.

"I was jealous," Francis confessed, "I didn't want you to kiss Ralph."

"I know, my dearest. You have no reason to be jealous."

Francis glanced at the door, one last time.

"No one's listening," Millie insisted.

Francis glanced skywards, towards Heaven.

"He's not listening, either," Millie laughed.

Francis smiled and put her plain lips on Millie's red ones, and they laughed into each other and somehow made it all feel alright again. Let the girls gossip about Ralph Taylor, Francis decided. They would never hear a word about Millie and Francis.

No one ever would.