Rest of Her Clouded Mind, The
by Laura Blaurosen
From: "Blaurosen" <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Subject: [glass_onion] Fic: (AtS) The Rest of Her Clouded Mind (1/1) Laura Blaurosen Date: Saturday, June 08, 2002 4:39 PM
The Rest of Her Clouded Mind
by Laura Blaurosen
Spoilers: Not really, but maybe through Tomorrow Summary: The secret life of Lilah Morgan. Thanks to Rachel, for everything and to Cynthia, for reading it anyway...
One by one, she pulls the hot rollers from her silken strands. She imagines him behind her, watching, waiting for her to finish making herself perfect.
"Are you quite finished?" he would ask, a hint of a smile on the corners of his lips.
"Depends on what you mean by finished."
He would sit on the edge of her bed...
He would sit on the edge of their bed and watch her brush out her hair. She would watch him through the mirror of the antique vanity they'd picked up on their last weekend getaway trip. She had seen it in the store, and it was ridiculously overpriced, but it was in such fine condition, and it reminded her of the one her grandmother had and the look on her face when she saw it made him aroused...
the look on her made him fall in love with her all over again, that he bought it on the spot for her.
"You are an exquisite human being, Lilah."
"Careful, too much talk like that coupled with that look in your eyes is going to make us late for the...
that look in your eyes is going to make me late for my concert. I still need time to warm up, you know."
Her concert, yes, because tonight she is the oboe soloist in the concerto the Philharmonic will be performing tonight. She knows this piece forward and backward, and she is fantastic, best the instrument has ever heard. She is in demand all over the world, her albums all platinum, and she didn't need to sell her soul to get it.
"You will be wonderful, love."
"Of course I will be," she smiles. He eases her creamy white silk robe off her shoulder and kisses the smooth skin there. "I am the best," she adds.
"You are," he agrees wholeheartedly and lays kisses up the side of her neck. "I can almost envision the reviews now," he whispers. And your mother and father will be there to cheer you on, seated side by side, and I'll watch you from the audience with them, holding my breath until the very last note. I'll greet you outside your dressing room with flowers and an intense, deep kiss, filled with longing for only you. Then we'll slip out of the post concert cocktail party and take you back here...
...slip out of the post concert cocktail party and take you on the jet to Monaco..."
"Where we'll make love on the beach until we can no longer stay awake," she says out loud to the mirror, just before the phone rings. She sighs and downs the rest of her Scotch.
It is the escort service. They were able to send Julian over instead of Trace. Julian has brown hair, per her initial request. He will be there shortly to pick her up for the concert. She speaks an unappreciative thank you and immediately pours herself another drink. She takes two quick swallows, then holds her breath.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not.
"Darling, don't be nervous," he'd say.
"I'm not nervous. I don't get nervous."
But he knows better. He knows her so well, better than anyone ever has, or ever will. He knows that as the performance nears, she closes up and her breath flutters in her chest, making it more difficult for her to quip with him. So he brings her a single glass of white wine to calm her nerves, slips his arms around her waist and nuzzles her neck.
She's not nervous about performing, though. She's anticipating that moment, that singular moment before she steps out on stage. When all lie in wait to see her, breath bated. When the applause begins, and she takes that first breath before delivering a flawless performance.
She drinks her Scotch-
She sips her wine and turns around in her lover's-
...and turns around in her husband's arms. "Well, maybe a little," she assures him, "but it's necessary, you know that." He kisses her nose, then softly on her lips. "And it's thrilling," she adds in a whisper. "Absolutely."
And he smiles at her and tells her, "I love you, Lilah Morgan. Fully, deeply, and completely."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she counters teasingly, though inside he's melted her. "More importantly, don't I look fabulous in this dress?"
Before he can answer, the doorbell rings.
She pours the remainder of her bottle and takes a healthy gulp. The doorbell rings once more before she answers.
"Lilah Morgan, please."
Brown hair. That's it. Otherwise he just looks like a gay model.
"I'm Lilah," she answers, irritation in her voice.
He gives her a money's worth smile. "You look love-"
She sticks a long finger in his face. "Shut it. I don't need you to speak. I need you smile and offer your arm and tell people we met at the Natural History museum."
Ugh, this theatre. Leave it to Los Angeles to end up with a Hall named after Walt Disney. And the structure of this beast - talk about your Walt Disney throwing up metaphors.
"What, you don't care for the new Hall, darling?" he'd ask her from the backseat of the limousine. "It's supposed to be a musician's dream to perform in. I'd have thought you'd be thrilled to be a part of the maiden performance."
She would shrug indifferently. "It's just so goddamn ugly," she'd complain as they pull up to the performer's entrance. Then he'd kiss her, careful not to smudge her make up and tell her to break a leg.
"Quite an interesting structure, isn't it?"
He doesn't listen. He's got at least that much in common with Wesley. Maybe she will fuck him tonight.
"I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut," she scolds the pretty boy.
The lobby looks like the setting for a Doctor Suess book or Tim Burton film. And here comes the freak show now...
The voice of a twit. Makes even her skin crawl.
She turns to face Gavin and his latest L.A. Barbie doll. She's twenty-one if she's nineteen and taller than Lilah herself. She takes comfort in the fact that Lilah's own features are completely natural, aside from a brown rinse that keeps the gray hairs properly hidden, and that she won't ever experience the kind of back pain this girl will most certainly have before she's twenty-five.
"I'm a little surprised to see you here," he says with shameless affectation, that ever present evil cat-that-ate-the-canary smile on his face.
"Why?" Come on Gavin, dammit. Say it. I goddamn fucking dare you.
"Well," he starts, and then lets out a long breath. His eyes dart around quickly and he says instead, "Oh, excuse me, I want to introduce Serela to Linwood."
Yeah and maybe the two of you can squeeze in a quickie behind the... the... the...
"Your mother is here," she could hear him say to her in-
"Your parents are here," she could hear him say to her in the green room. "They've taken their seats. They're beside themselves with excitement."
"Anyone else, Wesley?" she asks and he runs down the list, as though it were This is Your Life. Old Mrs. Tyler, her first oboe teacher and band director from grade school. Then there was "You're gonna be a star, Lilah Morgan" -Mister Phelps from junior high. Then, "I need you to stay after school and help me file music and help me pick out lingerie for my wife" - Mister Tasner from High School. Doctor "I need you to schedule office time so with me so I can bang you after your lesson" O'Dell from the University, the one that tried to keep you from bothering with law school...
"I love this piece they're doing tonight, it has to be one of my all time favorites..."
Her train of thought is accosted by the grating voice of the twit again, impressing the moisture into his girlfriend's panties.
She can't stop a reflexive sigh. As though he knows the first thing about classical music. She's not sure what she'll do if she has to endure listening to the ignoramus question and answer session behind her for the entire concert. Between that and the dirty looks from the entire Wolfram & Hart section of the theatre, she may just have to invoke some evil power to swallow up the entire place.
"Do you think they'll play something from Beauty and the Beast tonight?" she asks Gavin. "I love that movie!"
I can't take this.
"What do you say we ditch these bluebloods and make our own music?" he'd proposition her, sliding his fingers discreetly in the back of her dress and running them lightly over and over her skin.
"When does the plane leave?" she asks, leaning into his chest.
"Whenever you're ready..."
But first, he pulls her aside and places a velvet box in her hand and it would have an emerald bracelet or amethyst earrings or a sapphire necklace in it. And she would stare at the box and her eyes would smile brightly with surprise and appreciation. And love.
"It's because you're a wonderful woman, and I am a damned lucky bastard to have been bestowed the honor of being your loyal, adoring husband."
He helps her put on the item and she tells him, "I am so ready..."
"Oh, are you ready to go, Lilah?"
She sighs yet again. Taking one final look around the crowded lobby, for an instant she believes she might see him, but it's only the alcohol wearing off. She washes down a valium with the rest of Julian's Vodka Martini.
"Yeah. Let's get the fuck out."
He lingers at the door and she makes a split second decision not to invite him in. He's not him, and she doesn't have the energy to pretend he is. She could probably bring herself off more enjoyably than this guy.
"Send me a bill," she says and shuts the door in his face...
"Now that wasn't very nice, love. He was merely doing his job."
She'd lean against the door and give him an evil smile. "What about your job? I'm more concerned about it."
She removes her five thousand dollar dress, and tosses it away. She steps out of her designer shoes and Wesley stops her before she can take off her stockings. He wants to do it for her.
He slides them down her legs and returns to her thighs, kissing them and running his nose all around the tender skin. "You smell divine, Lilah," he growls.
"Mmmm, Wes," she moans, "Please, more."
He eases her body to the floor and parts her legs. He buries his face in her and she is the happiest woman on earth...
She makes herself come, calling his name over and over, a hint of moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.
It was intense, that's all.
She manages to haul herself into bed, naked, sweating, and wasted. He body hums, the room spins, yet her eyes won't stay shut. She considers rolling over to grab another pill, but a vision of Marilyn Monroe passes through her clouded mind and she decides against it.
She hugs one of her pillows, but there is no more comfort there. Wesley has left her building.
God damn you to hell, Wesley Wyndham-Price.
thanks for reading!
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Laura Blaurosen
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