Archive of Our Own

In the upper foyer, Frank Vernon was situated comfortably — at peace in pine needle leather loveseats — reviewing paperwork.

Depending on how long the kids were staying with their mother, Logan would stay in town and conduct business until Caroline was worn from mothering. This time around, they had only been in Cheltenham a week, and she was already rolling and smoking behind the back garden hedge maze. Half past noon.

Logan was out persuading some European investors to join him in his fight for Bloomingdale's Inc., the luxury department store based in the heart New York City. They were a reliable, family run business — not too different from their own — that has been chugging along strong since the mid-19th Century. Gerri was out pursuing some other lead that Frank didn't get the chance to listen to before Logan sent her on her way.

Frank was left at Caroline's property, the kids plus Connor running around every so often, going over some pitches that Blockbuster and Circuit City were offering on a discreet channel, as well as some other media department businesses, eyeing what they were offering them—or pleading for—on a discreet channel. When work grew tiresome, the traveling aspect of Frank's job always made the bloodshot, number-blinded eyes worth it, even if it was to Logan’s ex-wife’s residence.

Theodore Fernsby, Caroline's fiancé, rounded the banister and made his way into the open room, well-prepared to meddle. For a man who claimed he had no interest in the business or anything else, Ted was quite curious. Frank never minded, as Ted always brought tea when he came to pester, but Logan was set to burst a blood vessel every time he caught Frank or Gerri talking "sweet" to him.

Sure enough, Ted set a cloudy ceramic mug on the ocean swirling coaster — soon to fog up Frank’s wire glasses with mint and lemon — and he smiled down where Frank was situated, not quite looking at him, but in the general direction.

"Francis," Ted greeted in a silky voice.

Frank smiled, swallowing his grimace. "Theodore."

Ted set his own mug down, then faced the record player — running his fingers along each casing before pulling one out, satisfied — he turned a Mozart record on the table before sitting across from Frank. Frank snickered, thumb pausing over a quote on the paper to look up at Ted; it wasn’t that he minded the music, nor the usual chatter — Frank just couldn’t help but laughing a little that the prick had a smooth, really well-fucking-kept Mozart record that he no doubt bought at some prestigious auction.

Catching Frank’s look, Ted took the opportunity to speak, "You never quite stop working, do you?" A smirk.

"I'll stop when I'm six feet under," Frank snorted.

Ted scoffed. "It's a wonder you and Mrs. Kellman aren't already long buried."

Working for the company was not a task fit for all; and what Ted said wasn’t exactly inaccurate, either. Gerri and him signed a contract with WayStar, stuck through and through during controversy — even going as far to be the one tying down an anchor in order to keep something below the surface. Their contracts with the company, like final wills and testaments, did indeed require a notary.

"We might be soon," Frank joked, wrapping an invisible noose around his neck before making a swift jerk upwards.

Ted made a brief choking sound before letting out a laugh, which really didn't sound all that different, then resided to let Frank focus on his work.

He crossed his legs and pulled out a book, "like all the other tarts Caroline dates," according to Logan. Well, it seemed she planned to marry this tart, Frank thought facetiously.

The mere fact that Ted was willing to put up with Caroline was insanity, but taking on the fractured family her and Logan helped create was beyond Frank. At least he wasn't bonded by a ring and a contract. Excluding the ring, Frank unfortunately was bounded by a contract.

Because of that fact, Frank was more than familiar with handling messes that trailed behind each member of the Roy Family. It wasn’t like it was written in the contract he signed at first engagement with the company — and if it was, Frank thought, rather than ink it would be typed in blood — even so, Frank was used to coming in with gloves, disinfectant, and a mop. It was always damage control when dealing the Roys — with Logan and his children. And Caroline.

A small amount of disdain often remained in Frank’s mind toward Caroline, because if he could look after her kids: Siobhan, Roman, and Kendall — and Logan's son, Connor, from his first marriage — Caroline should be able to. Frank had no children, and she had three. Four, technically. She could smoke all she liked, but she would never be able to smoke herself out of bearing children.

It was a challenge, Frank would be foolish to deny it. Roman and Siobhan arguing over Raggedy Anns — when Logan could buy the whole company for them to share. Kendall pretending to smoke the cherry stems in the orchard — don’t get used to sucking on those or you’ll actually start, Gerri joked one afternoon — but Frank knew Kendall had already been smoking almost as much as his mother on the third story balcony past ten. Sneaking liquor too. Connor was lost. Always. But he often substituted for a decent mother; he was soft in the middle and cared for his siblings as if they were his own babies.

If Frank could manage — even without Gerri's feminine, motherly touch — hell, if Connor could manage, Caroline should be able to.

But if a glass or two is snuffed under everyone’s noses on a Sunday evening, Caroline would claim she was never fit to be a mother. But she was, and more often than not, she found herself surrounded by more children than adults.

With Ted bringing two tennis twin daughters from his previous relationship, Elsie and Evelyn, due to turn nine in April — twins — there was no other explanation besides Ted being as much of a nutbag as the Roys. Frank never caught the previous woman's name, the girls' mother, but she may have been trying to escape Ted's own surefire madness. The man was either batshit crazy or delusional to allow himself entangle himself with the Roys — to get stuck between dewdrops and web-swaddled flies in the home of a soul-eating spider — and even more so to, not only to expose, but to subject his daughters to them. He seemed more than willing enough to intertwine him and his daughters' lives with the Roys, crazy enough, even going further than business to spend time with the family.

Frank focused on the proposals piled on spreadsheets stacked on stats. His eyes were burning into the papers, and the papers burned into him — singed edges and all. This business, Frank thought tiredly, this family, even further. Frank often wondered what he would be doing if he hadn’t signed eleven years back; it was bizarre watching someone else be inducted — or indicted — into the family, and subsequently into the business.

Watching Ted get down on his knees before Caroline to propose felt like watching someone at a crossroads just before they shake hands, or kiss, or drink blood with a demon. Make a deal. Secure their fate. Sign off their soul.

Frank shook his head, unsure if it was at his young and foolish self or if it was at Ted. There was no way Frank could truly comprehend what went through his own brain just over a decade ago, after all, numbers were easier understood than the psychology behind human actions. But foolish mistake or not, Frank was stuck with WayStar regardless.

Sometimes Frank thought if he was handed something besides a set of numbers on a graph, or placed him in a situation where he wasn’t required to manipulate, convince, and recruit, he would need someone else to take over. To analyze, to decipher, to decide. Logan often said: “if your brain isn’t about business, you have no business having a brain,” and Frank grew to praise that. He praised that business, as sick and twisted as it could be, it ran through him.

His heart beat for the business, and the business beat him ... with a stick. Frank's finger traced its numbers to the underlying beat of “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.” He was so deep in the zone, he missed the soft clopping of poorly-worn heels coming from the hallway behind him.

Ted set down his book with a thud. "Goodness gracious."

Frank looked up at Ted, then turned — following his line of vision — to see Roman, Logan's second youngest, standing awkwardly at the edge of the hallway.

He had on a powdery blue, bowknot blouse that hung just above his knobby knees like a dress— nearly tripping over himself while standing still in Cinderella-esque glass slippers — milky strings of pearls draping his neck, looping around his wrist, and his face smudged with Caroline's lipstick.

Frank glanced to a horror stricken Ted, then to the stairs to check for anyone who might be on their way up to witness this catastrophe, then back to Roman.

Frank opened his mouth, but Roman fought against the silence more effectively, putting his hand on his hip, before an insistent, shaky: "Do I look sexy?"

Ted took in a sharp breath, then uttered a strained, "Oh dear."

"Oh ... uh, Roman. No, why don't we-" Frank faltered. "Let's um-"

"Shall I fetch Caroline?" Ted interrupted, rising to his feet. "Or- or call for Logan? He may be better equipped to deal with-"

"No," Frank said quickly, watching Roman's bottom lip begin to quiver. "I- I will take care of it."

"I could- if you're pressed for time ... go on with your work, and I could take care of this?" Ted offered, what seemed like concern was etched into the lines of his face.

"No worries, Ted ... thank you, though. I thoroughly appreciate that, but I can handle this."

"Are you sure? If you need help, I-"

"Nope. No, I got it," Frank said, waving him off with a nervous laugh, "Just keep this on the down-low, alright?"

"Of course," Ted spoke quiet.

Frank turned back to Roman, eyebrows raised. "Roman," he said in a low voice, but he was unsure of how on earth he should continue.

Frank missed the look Ted and Roman shared before he fled to the stairs, but he noticed how Roman's eyes followed Ted out of the room.

Approaching him like a spooked animal, Frank led Roman back into his mother's main bedroom. Roman followed willingly.

Frank ushered him in the bedroom, and cast one more glance behind him to make sure no one else had seen Roman, then shut the door behind them.

He locked it for good measure.

Frank took in a deep breath before turning around to face Roman, who was watching him with cautious eyes; kid looked anxious as hell.

Roman fiddles with the frills of his mother's blouse. "Do you want me to get undressed?" It didn't even sound like a question.

Frank paused, mulling over Roman's words. "How about we get you changed, okay?" He told him carefully, and Roman nodded — shifting uncomfortably on his feet, while Frank scrambled to find his clothes.

They were rumpled on the peach skin tiles of Caroline’s bathroom, and Frank was about to grab them, but froze when he caught a glimpse of the vanity. The tube of Estēe Lauder’s matte Velvet Ribbon shade was mashed in at the tip rested next to the soap dish on her sandy-grained, marble sink top.

Caroline’s mirror — round, gold-frosted spirals framing it — was marked with the very same rubied lipstick that was lazily dragged over Roman’s lips. Frank stopped to look at it, and the red smears glared back at him from the glass.

It was perfectly innocent; surely because Roman went too far, reached too high, and he was far too short to smudge Caroline’s vanity with more grace. But something about Roman’s little mess that he so generously gifted his mother left Frank unnerved. Frank put a pin in it, pushing any thoughts aside, and gathered up gathered up Roman's clothes before returning to him.

Roman was right where Frank left him.

Frank laid out the clothes on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, then turned to Roman with open palms. "We don't want to break your mother's jewelry, do we?"

Roman shook his head, insistent. Frank helped untangle the string of pearls with ease, and Roman cringed as he did so.

Frank hung the pearls in Caroline's open chest, missing the moment when Roman began to undress in front of Frank. The moment Frank faced Roman, he quickly spun back around. With no warning, Roman had already began stripping himself of his mother's clothes, eyes turned down toward Frank's shoes. Frank half expected Roman to take his clothes back into the bathroom, where he changed in the first place, or tell Frank to give him a moment in private. But he didn't.

He's a kid, Frank reminded himself. Would he really think to do or say those things? He should. Frank focused on the pattern of Caroline's quilt covering her bed, fit for a queen-sized bitch, trying not to read too much into Roman's odd behavior, even though he was sure Siobhan would squeal for someone to turn around or get out. And Roman was older than her. Granted, not by much, but he should know these things. Did no one teach him any boundaries? How to act in public? Tips on being socially acceptable? Did he need a fucking manual because his parents were too emotionally stunted to raise children of their own?

Though Frank shouldn't expect anything less from Roman.

This weird fucking kid.

The other kids seemed more well-adjusted, while Roman was more than a little strange.

"A little touched in the head," was how Caroline worded it one evening over some tea. Maybe it was because Logan had knocked him upside the head one too many times.

Gerri had joined them around the table later that evening, toward the end of Caroline's tangent. She came to Roman's defense the moment Caroline had went up for the night, "He might be a bit ... off," Gerri said, erring on the side of caution. Frank noted how she lowered her voice before saying, "I just hope he's not..." Gerri's words fell short of her, but Frank could guess how she would've finished even as they were left unspoken. Frank wondered how much Gerri knew. A little touched in the head and being a bit off felt like sore understatements in regards to how Roman acted.

Hell, the kid played in a dog cage and that wasn't even the weird part. Roman would cry until someone would put him in there. Caroline's German Shepherd, Henry, would stare back at Roman anxiously, licking his tiny hands that gripped the cage's rungs as Roman took up space in a place he shouldn't. That started when he was four, but Frank was sure Roman only got weirder. The kids played along with him, while Logan observed like a hawk — when he was actually there — trying to figure out the hierarchy of his business twenty years down the line. The notion that Logan may have enjoyed the game and encouraged it, fanning the flames, made Frank itch. A joy turned a punishment.

The shuffling behind Frank stopped. Roman sniffed heavily, and uttered quietly, "I put them back on now."

Frank looked him over. "Good, let's clean you up." Eyeing the remnants of the makeup.

Roman's eyes were glazed over as Frank ushered him into the bathroom; Roman kept giving Frank an odd look he couldn't quite decipher.

Frank dampened the edge of a cloth with lukewarm water, while Roman's eyes flitted back and forth between Frank and the lipstick on the mirror. Frank began to wipe Roman's face gingerly, noticing the faint tint of eyeshadow standing in for blush. Roman's eyes watered as Frank pressed the cloth with a little more force, trying to rid him of the stain.

"You ... can't do things like this," Frank said quiet and hurried, running the rag under the faucet again. "It's-" wrong fell flat on his tongue, "-it's very ... dangerous, Roman. You must keep these kind of things to yourself from now on."

He chided the boy as gently as he could, hoping to get through his head to save him the trouble of having to face Logan, but Roman still cried anyway.

"Shh, no, no ... none of that, Roman," Frank chided, hushing him at the same time, "Chin up."

Frank dabbed away his tears and the last of the makeup, giving Roman a supportive pat on the shoulder.

Roman followed him from the bathroom like a duckling with no direction. "Are we staying in here?" Roman asked softly.

"No," Frank began — turning out the lights in Caroline's bathroom, giving the face Roman drew one last glance — but Roman spoke before Frank could finish his thoughts.

"Then, where are we going?" Roman asked even softer.

"Let's go outside." Frank gave Roman a look, feeling something close to a pang of sadness in his chest. "Get some sun."

Roman gave him a silent nod.

Frank walked with him to the yard, where Kendall, Siobhan, and Connor played with Ted's daughters. Siobhan and Evelyn were shoving each other back and forth; she smiling wider than she usually did — it wasn't often Siobhan got to play with girls around her age. Mock older sisters pulling out a bubbling post-toddler laugh from Shiv, her cheeks rosy. Connor — running around with his brother and sister as if he was a kid too, when he was approaching being a young man — never truly grew up. Frank supposed that had something to do with Logan; some part of Connor, still childlike, grasping at the childhood he never got to have. Kendall narrowly avoided Elsie's flailing arm as she reached for him in an intense game of freeze tag. It was a bit too chilly to swim the day away, and a bit too warm for any of them to focus on using their brains for anything other than swatting — leaving schooling and manners, as well as any recreational activities like horse-riding or tennis; they just liked saying 'no' to things, always causing a fuss even when they got what they wanted.

"Let's keep this between us," Frank spoke in a low voice, before he ushered Roman to play with his siblings, "Go on."

And he did.

When Frank walked back to the house, he pulled one of the maids aside — pulling out the soiled cloth from his dress pants' pocket. "Siobhan seems to have gotten ahold of Caroline's makeup," Frank said in a hushed voice, gesturing to the upstairs bedroom. "Would you mind?"

She gave a quick nod, and Frank nodded to himself as if to say job well done.

When he returned to the upper foyer, his papers remained on the loveseats, and the record was still spinning — whispering a soft static rhythm — the final track had finished. And Ted, strangely, was nowhere to be found. Frank straightened his tie and returned to his work, sipping at the — now, cold — tea Ted had made him earlier, flipping through his paperwork as if nothing happened.