In Which Molly Chooses Irene
Molly was delirious as the curtains fell, hiding most of the stage and the striking dark eyed actor from view. Her head was swimming, and the scent of Irene’s perfume was everywhere, didn’t help. She felt euphoric, completely embodied but also strangely flung out of space and time.
As the two women got up to leave the box, Molly had somehow managed to take Irene’s hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She tried to make herself think of the handsome mustachioed actor who Irene thought would be waiting for her in the foyer.
He seemed to promise a kind of romance she had never experienced before. The way he had blown a kiss just for her and no one else out of the whole audience would have been enough to have a younger Molly head over heels, but for some reason, tonight all she could think about was the scent of Irene, the feel of her hand as they walked down a long corridor. She shook herself forcefully, as some ambivalence about her complicated feelings for the older woman cast a cloud over her otherwise brilliant happiness.
For a moment, as the two started descending the stairs into the foyer, Molly replayed the cold, vaguely sterilized expression in Irene’s usually delightfully passionate eyes when Molly had brought up the actor. Perhaps Irene was jealous because she herself harbored some sort of crush on the man who had so convincingly played Hamlet? But that was absurd, wasn’t it? Irene hardly seemed like the type to be jealous of anyone, even Molly.
Molly tried to catch the older Woman’s eyes as they made their way into the crowds congregating after the show, but Irene seemed to be purposely avoiding her gaze. For some reason, the Woman’s sudden disaffection chilled Molly’s to the core, and made her feel oddly disconnected from the joy that had taken her over so recently.
“Irene, have I done something? If you want we don’t have to meet with the actor, I’m sure it was all part of some empty gesture.” Molly cringed as she heard the note of distress that had crept into her voice.
“No, Molly. If you like him, you should talk to him. You’re young and lovely, and he’s young and lovely. It seems a match made in heaven, and I absolutely insist that we find him”. Even though Irene’s words were reassuring, her tone retained the same harsh detachment as before. Perhaps Molly was just being stupid. She just wanted to placate the Older Woman. If Irene thought she should talk to the man, than she should do it.
At that moment, Irene’s grasp on Molly’s hand suddenly tightened and became vice-like. Following the older woman’s gaze, Molly found herself staring directly into the comely face of the man who had moments before been the mad King Hamlet. Molly almost unconsciously found herself clinging tighter to Irene by the lifeline of her fingers. Irene shook the younger girl off roughly, before plastering a stunning smile on her face and making to approach the actor.
Molly felt a lump rise in her throat at the Older Woman’s sudden change in behavior. She had grown from warm and engaging to incredibly cold in an instant, and now she seemed to be all charm and soft, feminine laughter and glittering eyes. Molly had to suppress a flare of something like jealousy, as the older woman laid an elegant hand on the man’s muscled shoulder. But who she was jealous of-- that was confusing.
“Moriarty. Jim Moriarty, at your service ”,he was saying in a lilting, mocking voice, and then as his eyes landed purposefully on Molly, his red lips spread into a broad smile, “And yours as well, Mademoiselle. I noticed your exquisite loveliness from the stage, and I must admit that I could hardly continue in my monologue. You are quite a vision Miss—“, he trailed off, raising his impeccable eyebrows questioningly.
Molly found that she could not form a coherent reply. Her eyes were still fixated on Irene’s hand on Moriarty’s shoulder. For some reason it made her feel a little faint, and terribly fragile.
“Molly Hooper. Her name is Molly Hooper, and she was just raving about your performance, weren’t you darling?”, Irene intervened smoothly, her eyes raking over Molly for some answer to her silence.
“Y-yes. I was quite impressed with how you managed to capture his dissent into insanity so poignantly. I felt the horror and tragedy of it in my very bones, I’m sure”. Molly attempted to recover some of her lost poise, but the way Irene had so casually called her darling was making it hard for her to act with her usual eloquence.
Moriarty however, seemed not to notice how flustered she was. In fact, his smile had broadened even more noticeably, and he had taken a step closer to the younger girl, effectively dislodging Irene’s arm. From the way the Older Woman’s eyes flickered with a mix of satisfaction and something else, perhaps anguish, the gesture had not gone unnoticed.
“I’m glad you could appreciate my execution. Although I must say, I owe everything to the Bard himself. The lines are so ingenious even the most terrible actor would have a hard time relaying them without bringing across some of their hidden power”. For some reason, his words came across more unctuous than anything, but Molly forced herself to smile and nod, as though they had appealed to her. If Irene liked this gentleman, than perhaps she ought to try harder.
“How marvelous! Hamlet is one of my favorite of his plays, although I hadn’t seen it preformed until this evening”, Molly muttered grasping at conversation.
Moriarty nodded vaguely, but he didn’t really seem to be listening to what Molly was saying. His eyes slipped over her body in a way that did not seem altogether descent. Molly felt her skin crawl, but she forced herself to keep up some semblance of civility.
Irene piped in, perhaps noticing Molly’s sudden tenseness, “And what about you Jim? Do you have a favorite role to preform?”
“Othello is particularly dear to my heart. I have a certain predilection for playing Iago”, and then he contorted his face into a sudden mask of cruelty and rasped in the villain’s terrifying voice, “I am not what I am”, before reverting back to his easy grin.
“How fitting”, Molly muttered in a terribly curt tone before she could stop herself. Moriarty threw back his head and laughed, apparently amused by her words and taking them as a kind of complement. But Irene shot her a piercing look. Molly met her gaze and it seemed for a moment that it was as though it was just the two of them in the theatre foyer. There was something new in Irene’s look. Something in her eyes that burned and quivered and flickered. It looked almost like hope.
“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’m frightfully tired. I really must head back Molly. Will you be joining me, or –I’m sure Lestrade would be willing to call you a coach back if you want to stay?” There was a sense of vulnerability about the way Irene spoke. Her voice was firm and soft and never wavered, but her eyes were full of a kind of need Molly couldn’t explain.
“No”, the words jumped readily to her lips, “No I’m definitely coming with you. The production was very emotionally draining, I could probably fall asleep standing up”, Molly was lying. She had never felt more awake than when Irene looked directly at her with those pale blue irises. But the thought of parting so early in the evening was enough to make her slightly frantic.
Irene rewarded her by flashing the most radiant smile Molly had ever seen. For a moment Molly could not tear her eyes away from those vermillion lips. She shook herself, and feeling bold, she wove her fingers through the Older Woman’s. She wondered for a moment how she had managed so long without the physical contact between them. How strange this all was. She had never had a friendship quite like this.
Moriarty’s smile had slipped into a kind of scowl, reducing the attractiveness of his face quite dramatically. But Molly hardly cared. Irene seemed taken aback by Molly’s gesture of friendliness, but pleased. Her pale cheeks were suffused with a blush so achingly lovely, that the younger girl was fixated for a moment on the sheer beauty of her.
“Let’s go, darling”, Irene murmured softly into her ear, and Molly let her lead the way out of the theatre, her heart hammering strangely in her chest.