solid gold, baby

arthur havemeyer, 33 & COO of Havemeyer Investments. new yorker.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

imogene:

Location: The Limelight

Time: 10pm

With: Open

Let them eat their pity, Imogene thought, leaving her prim white coat the door. Let them choke on it, even, until the use of the word reminded her of the last thing she had said to Joel, and the anger became too depressing to cling to.

Why was she even there? She couldn’t chalk it all up to fear of Hugo, though the constant need to manage him had certainly played a part. Perhaps there was an appeal to knowing that it would be a party, that everyone would be far too wasted to pester her with the usual condolences. It was with that thought that Imogene strolled right to the bar, looking into the eyes and flashing an icy grin to the familiar person already ordering their booze.

“Well - aren’t you going to buy the grieving sister a drink? Given the circumstances, I should be something of a guest of honor.”

Arthur was caught off guard, back against the crowd that started to form in the club, hunched over his own drink, taking a break from all the pleasantries he had already gone through in less than an hour since it started. He felt like a fraud, like after twelve years every word that came out of people’s mouth and his mouth as well were completely meaningless. Same old, same old.

The voice that came from behind him startled him, sent a chill down his spine and when he turned his head and saw Imogene Buchanon, he exhaled slowly, his heart beating faster in his chest. “Imogene, I-” he started, pausing to clear his throat and gain his composure. The Buchanons all looked very much alike, the same round face and eyes, and Arthur was so focused on his own thoughts, he let himself believe he was going crazy, hearing things that couldn’t be there. “Of course. What will it be?”

Imogene had always been different from her brothers, though. Unmistakably a Buchanon, but made of something different, she held herself in a way Hugo could never do, and he doubted Joel could either, if he was still alive -- despite being the youngest, she was the one Arthur remembered the most from their time in high school. “My condolences.” He felt weird saying it but, he knew he would regret it if he didn’t mention it at all.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

sloane:

location: the limelight dance floor time: 12am with: open

Bodies writhed around them, twisting and twining into one another until the glitter bounced off limbs that seemed to merge together. The bass thumped against the walls, echoing in the cavity of their chest until it felt fit to stop their heart and restart it at a galloping speed. Sweat dripped down a line on their collar bone and they tipped back their head to take great gulps of air that didn’t taste of salt or the grief that threatened to pour out. One shot to calm their nerves had turned into six and Sloane was rapidly descending into something far more of a drunken haze than they originally intended. At least it kept the burning out of her eyes. 

Their dancing partner excused themselves to the bar with promises of more drinks and they only nodded numbly, pressed into the swarm of people that threatened to consume them. Desperate for a familiar face, as soon as they spotted one they quickly reached out and tried to grab onto their arm to steady themselves. “Hey- Hey! You. You there….where’s your drink? Why aren’t you drinking? Do you have one? You can have mine!” 

“Yes, thank you.” Arthur took the drink they were holding in their hands, away from them, drinking what little was left. “Sloane, you’re having fun.” He wasn’t supposed to be there, amongst that sea of bodies, balancing against each other, colliding like waves against rocks or waves crashing on the shore; he just wanted to reach the bathroom when he felt himself behind pulled in a different direction: Sloane was stronger than she looked.

He searched for her eyes, redder than usual, the sweat in their temples and the loosened up way she danced with everyone and nobody in particular. “Do you want to maybe slow down a bit?” He could already hear Daisy’s voice in his head telling him to Loosen up, take that stick out of your ass. But this was Sloane, and he had always felt a stronger sense of responsibility towards her, ever since he and Daisy became friends and Sloane tagged along, at first hesitantly, a doe-eyed expression that worked like a charm on Arthur and made their sister roll her eyes.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

nina:

The voicemail had surprised her and listening to it at 3am, half drunk and half high, hadn’t help her unease. Hugo sounded, well, he sounded high. It was, after all, Hugo. The Limelight. Of all the place, of all the way to remember Joel, Hugo had chosen this one. Not a first choice, but The Playboy Club wasn’t more fitting anyway. A wake, people gathered where Joel wouldn’t never be buried, not physically, even a simple gathering with the few of them at one of their places, anything would have been better. Instead here they were, gathered but scattered, lost in a sea of bodies. How ironic, really.

Whatever Hugo had in mind when he asked them all to come here, Nina didn’t like it. She felt like a fish out of water and her mind was reeling with all the sea and water metaphors that were coming to her. She tried to loose herself on the dance floor, but it didn’t feel right. She had spotted all of them since she arrived, but it would be a lie to say that one in particular didn’t hold her attention more. It had often been like that with him, it was something Nina had observe before. Arthur drew people in, more often without them even realizing it. It was something that always elicited a roll of her eyes, a previsible shake of the head. But now that Arthur was giving her some attention, something that amused her greatly, a part of Nina couldn’t help but feel the pull too, the want to be in his orbit. 

Her visit to the bar was both for a drink, a much needed one, and to be near Arthur. His question took her by surprised, which would be odd if they were just here for the fun of it. A quick glance at the dance floor, at the people out there, enjoying the present, breathing as if nothing existed but the now, it made Arthur’s question seemed even somber. Joel would never get to have a moment like this. Joel would never have anything, ever. A crease in her forehead formed as she searched his eyes for the right answer, if such a thing was possible. “Not really, no,” she said, half laughing at how honest and complicated such an answer was. “I mean, this is…” The sentence wasn’t finished, not in words, but with hands gesturing to the place. “And you? You don’t strike me as the Limelight type, even on a normal night.”

“This is… ridiculous?” Arthur didn’t hold back. It wouldn’t be hard to read in his countenance the distaste of being here, especially after everyone else was starting to get drunk enough to notice he wasn’t smiling his broad smile anymore. Maybe he had had one too many to drink, too. He was one of the first ones to arrive, after all, and to get through this night one needed at least some amount of alcohol not to be completely miserable. Either way, the more he drank and his senses began to loosen up, the more he started to understand the logic behind Hugo’s choice: maybe drinking alone in his upper east mansion would be more depressing than sharing a night out with his friends… and strangers.

“Ouch. Do I come across as that boring?” Arthur laughed and turned carefully towards Nina, searching her eyes for an answer, honestly eager to know her opinion. Getting to know Nina, it was all very new but he liked where it was going, how she made him feel. “I can party,” he started to dance in his seat, a convoluted and over-the-top routine that involved a lot of hip and arm shaking. He noticed the stares it attracted, how quickly they turned into hushed whispers. One would think that, after living all his life beneath that sort of behaviour, it wouldn’t bother him anymore but then again, most people weren’t familiar with the real him, only the idea they projected of him. He stopped, wondering it was perhaps not the best idea to seem so cheerful, given the circumstances. However, also given the circumstances, there wasn’t much else he was supposed to do. “Hugo seems to think this is the best way to honor Joel,” he shrugged, reaching for his drink and finishing it in one gulp. “He knows his brother better than anyone.” Certainly better than me, he thought, the few sparse memories he had of Joel so distant and insignificant before the fateful night of his death, he wondering, for many years, if he had any more right to be here than any of the people whose faces he didn’t know -- complete strangers. It still scared him, baffled him, how one single event could tie them together so completely, for so many years. By the looks of it, forever.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

theo‌:

He didn’t belong here. That was hardly a new sentiment for Theo, hardly something he’d never felt before at one of these elaborate soirées — but this time, he felt it deep in his bones. The very idea that Hugo deemed this to be the proper way to revisit Joel’s death made his skin crawl; over a decade later, it still baffled him that he was invited. Though, judging by the sheer volume of guests at this event, he supposed it was more about who wasn’t invited. 

Somehow, even though the clubgoers were packed in like sardines, Theo had yet to lay eyes on more than a few people that he actually recognized. And so he’d made his home at the bar, letting drink after drink slide down his throat until his eyes had glazed over. The drinks had hardly made him more eloquent, but they certainly made him more personable. He’d spent his night miming enthusiastic hellos, propping up his usual clumsy smile with a touch of such a shame, isn’t it?, loosening buttons on his shirt every time it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Finally, exhausted and half-stumbling, Theo stepped out onto the terrace, breathing the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and sweat deep into his lungs. 

He wasn’t alone for long. Of all people, Arthur Havemeyer burst through the doors after him, looking like he’d been chased there by demons. Or Joel himself, perhaps. Theo stared blankly at him, the alcohol in his veins knocking aside any semblance of social graces he ever possessed. Then — I’m glad it’s you. Theo’s heart stuttered as he floundered to respond. “I’m glad it’s me, too,” he said dumbly, feeling his face flame after he’d spoken. He could only hope it was dark enough out on the terrace that Arthur wouldn’t notice. The words themselves were embarrassing enough. He glanced back toward the door, grasping for something, anything, to brush his statement aside. “I feel like I don’t know more than a few people here. How does Hugo know this many people?” He paused, struggling to focus on Art for a moment before he continued. “What am I saying? Hugo knows everyone. God, I need a cigarette. D’you want one?”

The abruptness of the night’s wind against his sweat-stained flesh made him shiver and just as easily he became cold. His chest was still rattled by his quickened breath, slowing down with every intake of the cold breeze. Laughter escaped from his lips as Theo talked and Arthur regained his composure, a low chuckle and a nod of the head, he finally left his place by the door and walked in his direction. “I doubt half these people even know Hugo, let alone knew Joel.” They could know of Joel, it was impossible not to have at least heard of the boy who drowned in the river -- the spectacle of his death was publicized internationally, as if the loss of another privileged white kid was worth sharing with the entire world.

“Yes, please.” Arthur didn’t even hesitate to answer to his offer but then his thoughts caught up with his mouth and he blurted out. “Should I?” He stood still for a moment, looking at Theo as if for permission and then shrugged his shoulders, as if to say Fuck it and took the cigarette. Hanging between his teeth, he waited until Theo light up his own and inclined his head to share the same flame. He sucked it in, the fabric easily lightning. It had been so long since he allowed himself to do something he knew he shouldn’t: the booze, the cigarette. He didn’t know if he felt better for it but he knew he certainly didn’t feel worst -- of course, he wasn’t thinking of tomorrow’s consequences.

Mixing with the music were the sounds of the city, still awake, always awake no matter how late it was; it was both comforting and scary to think of this place, this massive city, his city as a pulsing, living and breathing entity. But that’s what it was, New York, right? If it was a body, a person, he wondered what the upper east side would be. Not the spine, that relied on equilibrium and strength, and he never did think of it in that light. The heart? No, that wasn’t it. He thought it would be something less vital. “Do you ever wonder why Joel died?” He decided to ask Theo, moved along by the lulling liquid courage in his veins. “Do you believe any of this matters?” Arthur decided he didn’t want to specify, searching in the other man’s eyes the meaning of it all. There was a beauty to Theo’s eyes, he felt like if he looked close enough he would find the answers to anything there. He took another puff from his cigarette and finally turned to face Theo.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

susanna:

@arthavemeyer

By the time Susanna entered the club, the music was already at a level that made her feel it in every inch of her body and people were (unsurprisingly) well on their way to being wasted.  She didn’t bother trying to find Hugo. In the days before the anniversary of Joel’s death he grew more distant. On the day of, he was almost unreachable. Susanna had no doubt he was already drunk or high–or both. 

She hated seeing him like that, but knew he was in pain. She couldn’t even imagine losing a sibling, and not just because she didn’t have any. So she left him to his grieving, knowing that by the end of the night–or early in the morning–he would be at her door or in her arms holding onto her for dear life. She didn’t want to see him before then, see the false bravado, his devil-may-care smile. He might pretend this was a party, but really if he wasn’t laughing so hard he would be crying. And in the meantime, she found the display in general vulgar and a little nauseating. 

Instead, Susanna’s eyes sought Arthur out. She hoped he was here already, or if not that Daisy and Orson were. She felt almost out of place at something as wild as this. It seemed like the crowd was getting younger, and it made Susanna wonder just if she was getting old. Or did it to disturb her to be reminded of the youth that would be Joel’s forever? 

She caught a glimpse of fair hair as the crowd parted and Susanna breathed a sigh of relief–or as much of one as she could in her tight black dress. Like a lighthouse, Arthur was her beacon, and she began making her way to him just as he turned and met her eyes.

How early are you supposed to arrive at a memorial service? Fairly early, Arthur knew that but, that usually meant the service was held somewhere other than a former-Episcopal- Church-turned-night-club. The irony of it all was either completely lost on Hugo or Arthur had underestimated the man’s intelligence all this time. He suspected it was the first scenario, the second too unlikely. Either way, he was early -- there were only a few club goers sitting around the bar, conversational while they still held their wits, and the music was not as loud as he knew it would be. He walked to the bar, nodding and smiling and being roped into a conversation that, of course, included the words ‘shame’ and ‘loss’ because it was still impossible for anyone to say ‘death’, even after this many years. Arthur had never thought he would be stuck in this endless circle of grief for this long. By now, Joel should be an unpleasant but distant memory and yet, he was a fresh as if he had just died. He suspected it would never change: no matter how many divorces, cheating or financial scandals befell on the upper east side, a murder was still one of the most controversial things that could happen. Especially the death of someone so young.

Engaged in conversation, Arthur almost didn’t notice Susanna walking in, if not for the sudden change in the atmosphere. Eyes darted to the door, following the silhouette of the Queen as she handed her coat to hang. Across the room, Arthur smiled at her, the conversation he was having completely blocked out of his mind. “Sorry, excuse me,” he smiled politely at their current party, patting one of them in the back, ignoring the less than pleasant glances they darted his way for having cutting them off.

He started towards her, nodding at the people he encountered along the way, craftly dodging their desire to start a conversation. When he reached her, Arthur instantly offered his arm for Susanna to take. “Thank god you’re here,” he said through a smile, adopting the usual fake-happiness one is demanded of in this kind of social event -- though, a simple smile wasn’t enough, it couldn’t be too happy given the circumstances, otherwise he could imagine the tabloids in the morning. He walked Susanna back to the bar and ordered a drink to the both of them, his first one already empty. “Are you ready?”

[arthavemeyer-blog]

sophielesaux‌:

location: the limelight terrace time: 01:22 with: @arthavemeyer

Cool air breezed over her skin and the brunette sighed in relief to be free of the hot, sweat drenched air that barely circulated through the club. Slim fingers slid under perfectly styled locks to try and detach them from their new home clinging to the back of her neck. For just a moment she allows herself to twist it up and holding it loosely before taking a few deep breaths in and out.  Feeling her body temperature drop, Sophie released her tresses when the crawling sensation over her skin overtook the need to cool down. If she were being honest with herself ( which she so rarely was ) she was kidding herself to think that the need she was feeling now was ever outweighed by anything else and it was a foolish exercise that she had engaged in attempting to put off the inevitable - especially when she welcomed it so. She had felt her smile dimming, her enthusiasm fading and dancing growing languid to make her a far cry from what she was expected to be. 

So few excuses had been given as she had made for the terrace, a simple elusive smile before she’d slipped away from the group. Heartbeat sped up as fingers shook slightly in their attempt to open her bag to retrieve the ‘dose’ she knew she had tucked safely away in there. After what seems like an age it’s free to toss into her mouth, head tilting back as eyes closed for her to enjoy the real relief that came with knowing she would soon be back on the top of her game. 

It was only once she had collected herself and snapped her carefully selected clutch that she realised she was no longer alone, silently cursing the time she had taken to take in the cold night air instead of focusing on what she knew to be the most important thing. All it showed her was that she was right to be strict with herself and indulgence only brought her into dangerous territory. Brown eyes shifted to her new companion, instantly recognising him as one of the last people she would have wished to witness her break in her claimed abstention from drugs. As always though there was some sort of stubborn refusal to drop her mask and slight smile hovers on her lips as she turned to face none other than Arthur Havemeyer. Smooth steps are taken somewhat closer, heels clicking as she did putting some confidence in her steps.  Silky tones fall from her lips with just the right tinge of wryness and the hint of something bittersweet given what they were all gathered for. “Some night, isn’t it?”

It soon become unbearable, the sultry atmosphere of the inside of the club, packed with “mourners” to the brim, an accentuated smell of marijuana as the hours ticked and it became more acceptable to lose complete perspective over why they were there. All night, since he arrived, Arthur had only seen a few familiar faces -- there weren’t many of them still in the city, others simply didn’t want to think about it anymore, deliciously feeding every tabloid’s expectation with a ‘no show’ status on the entrance list -- but when he did see “the gang” together, he searched everybody’s faces for the same features of twelve years ago. Now, he wasn’t sure if it was better to see everyone again, together in a reminiscent way, or to spend the night with complete strangers who were either too young to remember or too old to care.

He tried to blend in with the crowd but there was always someone new to greet, fake smiles plastered on their faces, waving hands and offering drinks (and cigarettes, and everything else), eager to give their two-scents of the tragedy of this anniversary to Arthur Havemeyer. He could see it in their eyes, how much they didn’t care about Joel; not that he did either but, that was a secret he wouldn’t dare say aloud. He wasn’t here for Joel, anyway. For any of the Buchanons, really. He was here because he was supposed to, and he never did fail in his duties, no matter how unpleasant they were.

After the pleasantries of strangers and the hungry looks thrown his way, he needed a break. The sign said ‘closed, for VIP only’ -- he smiled at that, looking around to make sure no one noticed him slipping away from the party into a quieter location. He just needed a second alone. The music still pulsed beneath his feet, muffled now to a more reasonably volume, and he found himself alone with his thoughts, blending with the shadows just in case someone decided to follow him there, or had the same urges to flee as he did.

Lost in his thoughts, he was startled by the sound of the door opening and elegant heels clicking on the concrete. He held his breath, retreating further into the shadows, not ready to interact with people again just yet. He couldn’t exactly distinguish who it was, not right away, the woman was far away but seemed just in need of silence as he was. Arthur stayed hidden, awkwardly trying not to stare, even if she couldn’t see him. When she moved, he finally recognized her. Sophie. He bit his lip, wondering if he should come out of the shadows and say something -- it would be awkward not to. Just when he was about to, one step forward, he quickly receded. She seemed to be engaged in something, hands fumbling, struggling to get it. When she was done, he finally emerged, clearing his throat to make his presence known. “I’m sorry, I thought everyone else was engaged with the party downstairs” he paused for a second, searching for her eyes.

Arthur breathed in deeply, softly, blending in a scoff. “Tell me about it,” he shrugged and turned to look at the view in front of them, not wanting to look at her directly. “Not the first place I would pick to mourn my dead brother but then again, Hugo is known for his peculiar choices.” He hesitated for a second in the choice of words, settling for something far less offensive than he was actually thinking. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, contemplating her demeanour and posture. “Are you okay?” even if everything indicated that it was -- perfectly curated clothes, shoulders back, broad smile on her coloured lips -- something about Sophie always made him want to ask. Especially after witnessing something he was sure he shouldn’t have.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

LOCATION: the limelight club

TIME: 11:12 PM

STATUS: closed for @theninalowell

In Arthur’s mind, there was no cause for celebration. There’s something enthracing about the death of a young person -- it shocks people more deeply, creates a bigger, lingering sensation of pityness, ‘all that life wasted’. If anything, Arthur would rather forget about what happened twelve years ago: not ignore it, but not have to think about it all the time, either. In any case, he wasn’t happy about being here; if it was a normal eulogy it would be easier to pretend, to smile a saddened smile, to politely pat someone on the back, to say ‘what a shame’ or ‘it’s been too long’. In this environment, he didn’t know how to act, so he resigned to the corner of the room (an unusual position for him, since he usually shined right at the centre, people magnetized by his easy laughter and relaxed posture), where he sat at the bar, looking at the rest of the room.

Sipping on his drink, he spotted Nina languidly making her way through the crowd, towards him. Or, well, the bar. He waited until she was closer to him to smile, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music. “Having fun?”

[arthavemeyer-blog]

LOCATION: the limelight terrace TIME: 04:58 AM STATUS: closed for @theovassar

Since the night Joel Buchanon died, exactly twelve years ago, there wasn’t a single time that felt as surreal as the one he was living right now. There was always something mythological about the night Joel died: the loud music thumping in his ears, the impossible warm breeze against his skin, making the night unbearably hot, all the bodies tightening together in a boat, alcohol flowing as freely as the river’s current beneath them. Most of Arthur’s memories of that day are coated in a heavy, impenetrable fog, his brain noncompliant whenever he tries to recall specific details. What was he wearing? What colour were my shoes? How much did you drink? He can’t remember but, over the years, there’s been so much information, so many versions of the tale, he’s no longer sure what belongs to him and what’s been fabricated by someone else.

Arthur rarely drinks but since Hugo announced this impromptu memorial service (in a club, like there was some cause of actual celebration) and hundreds of people with unfamiliar faces crowded the dance floor, chanting along at full-force, bodies balancing to a, quite frankly, very unrhythmic tune, he decided this night would be the exception. It didn’t take much for his cheeks to become rosy, his speech slightly slurred and his walk less than straight. He didn’t care. If remembering someone’s death could be done at a club, then Arthur Havemeyer getting drunk should be the least ludicrous thing happening at that very moment. By his fourth shot, his body was starting to burn, sweat starting to form in beads on his forehead. Excuse me, he told the people he was with, nobody he knew, wondering where his friends were.

He walked away from the crowd, trying to control his breathing as it became more and more accelerated, his heart thumping violently inside his ribcage, so fast Arthur feared he would spit it right out of his mouth. He didn’t slow down though, running towards the stairs, climbing them to the place where he knew he could get some fresh air. Arthur threw himself against the door, opening it with his shoulder, letting the frigid air of the night take over him. The sudden shock of the two environments made him gasp for air, fists curled on his side, fingernails digging into flesh. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. One, two, three… he counted to ten, his breath slowing down. When he opened his eyes, still slightly blurry and reddened, he saw a silhouette of a man in front of him, a quizzical look on his face. “The terrace really is a busy place,” he looked around, making sure there was nobody else lurking in the shadows. Arthur ran a hand through his face, up to his hair and let a smile take form on his lips, a ghostly smile. “I’m glad it’s you.” I’m glad it’s you and not a ghost. But that remained unsaid.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

quinsrose‌:

@arthavemeyer

“Wait.” Quin held out a hand and closed his eyes tightly, thinking. When he opened them, Arthur looked as guileless and handsome as ever. This was going to be difficult. “You’re saying that literally no one organised something for Joel’s anniversary? Isn’t that kind of, like, your job?”

Arthur didn’t forget, of course he didn’t. How could he? How could any of them? However, for the first time in twelve years, he thought it would be different, that ‘celebrating’ such an occasion was not on anybody’s minds, that certain wounds should not be reopened again. He held out his phone, the message playing out, Hugo’s voice the only sound in the room. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the embarrassment from reaching his cheeks and turning them red. He gesticulated, shrugging and throwing his hands up in the air at the same time. “Why exactly is that my job?” Yes, he had helped organize Joel’s memorial before, helped out Susanna when she volunteered and the kid had irrevocably become a huge part of his teenage life and consequent adulthood, but he still felt like he didn’t know him. It was a feeling he had never confessed to anyone, the thought that he didn’t even know Joel, didn’t care about him before the tragedy, before he died and was canonized as a saint all over New York. When the message stopped playing, he sucked air in between his teeth, exhaling a bit more loudly than he wanted to. “The Limelight?” His mouth opened in disbelief. “That’s a fucking night club.” Arthur rarely sweared. When he did, you knew something was seriously wrong.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

thefortunatesusannahadani‌:

She knew him well enough to see when his thoughts tripped off somewhere else, knew him well enough to also know just what she had said to bother him. Poor love, it was hard for him to be so adored and looked up to. “And there’s no one I’d rather have there,” she replied truthfully, lowering her hand from his cheek after another moment, releasing him from her gaze. They could say just as much nonverbally as they could with their mouths. 

“She doesn’t like to be left behind and it’s warmer than it has been, so I figured I wouldn’t cause too much of a ruckus bringing her along to sit on the patio.” Truthfully, her standard poodle went with her almost everywhere. Some might say that the dog was nothing but an accessory, a symbol of Susanna’s status, bu the truth was that she loved her dog. Malkah was a steady, well mannered, good natured creature, and she reminded Susanna to be the same. “Besides, she missed you,” she added teasingly. Despite Arthur’s allergies, the feeling was mutual between man and dog. 

Quickly, she had Malkah lay down again on her other side, away from Arthur. “Let me know if it gets to be too much though; I brought allergy medications.” Always looking out for him. It was Susanna’s way. Their friendship was built on a foundation of deep affection, trust, and the security that they would always be there for one another. 

“It’s a mermaid mimosa if you can believe such a thing exists,” Susanna laughed. “Once I saw it on the menu, I knew I had to try it.” 

The warmth of Susanna’s hand against his cheek calmed him, like she was some kind of whisperer who managed to change a mood simply with the slick of a wrist. She was, in a way, a whisperer to him, so long were the years, so heavy the history between them; it never weighed on his shoulders, even if sometimes there was a bit of unease of having exposed himself so, walking around with close to no secrets when it came to Susanna. It took a lot of trust for someone to know you so completely. He suspected she knew him better than he did himself.

He sucked in air, slowly, between his teeth, and let go of the breath he was holding, easing his lips into a smile. He almost wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t. They were out in the open, a few people already turning their eyes to them, with all the sneezing and the fuss of a little dog. After all this years, he didn’t get used to it: the murmur of people becoming silent for a second when he entered the room, only to be followed by deafening whispers and ill-disguised looks. He didn’t know what terrified him most: that people were saying good, or bad things. “Thanks,” he cleared his throat, trying to ignore the lump of heaviness that formed around it, softening it with the liquid. “What other ludicrous drinks can we find at this place?” They were always changing the menu, adding some things or just renaming them. Truth be told, it all looked and tasted the same to him: heavy on the alcohol, a burning sensation, blended with a sugary taste that lingered for too long.

He turned his head to the sun, keeping his eyes closed for as long as he could, absorbing the rays of sunshine, feeling them warming his skin. It was a beautiful day, and his head shined golden and his skin glittered. He talked without facing Susanna. “I’m surprised you’re here alone. Or were you waiting for someone, and I interrupted?” The underlying question really was Shouldn’t Hugo be here? but he didn’t want to say it outright. He didn’t want to sound jealous or petty, or both -- even if he felt he was. Arthur wasn’t a fan of the other man, no matter how long he had to tolerate his presence. Then, he realised… “It’s almost that time of the year again.” He sighed, unable to utter the words, even after all these years. The anniversary of Joel’s death. Like there was something to be celebrated about it.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

★

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[arthavemeyer-blog]

sloanemiller‌:

“Just a tad. Never get quite used to the cold.” Oh, Art. Always the gentlemen. Her heart just about melted at his easy touch, as it had always seemed to be with them, but his helpful nature was just all him. It was just another reminder that despite the way that they all had been blessed, graced with riches that guided them along gilded paths that eased their way, that there were still people who did good. Who were lovely and genuine and all the things she so desperately hoped that she was. That she wanted to be. Sometimes the person that they were in quiet moments wasn’t everything that they pretended to be and doubt creeps in. But the easy way at which Arthur strides around, holding doors open, the tiny crest of a dimple poking in his cheek….all of it is just the way she remembers and it’s easy to fall back into the person that they are. 

Sloane stays hovering by the edge of the table he’s selected, fingers dusting over the frame of the chair. “I’ve missed you too.” It’s true, she’s missed him. They’ve missed all of them. It doesn’t mean it’s not touching to hear it from someone who means it though. “’m starved, to be honest. But I’ve got something I want you to try and you can’t say no. I’m assuming your usual?” Sloane grins and ducks away to pay before he can say anything, handing the cashier far too many twenties and waving away their protests. She returns with a tray laden with two breakfast sandwiches; both pointedly missing ham, coffees balancing precariously on the edge, and four cookies shaped like a sunflower and beautifully decorated with pale yellow icing and shiny green fondant and elegant swirls of melted chocolate. 

Before Arthur could stop them - of course he wanted to pay for the food, even if having a meal at this place was so inconsequential to both their wallets, it didn’t really matter - Sloane slipped away and returned a few minutes later with a good-looking table of food, the same pointedly warm smell of freshly baked cookies closer now. He smiled, gently taking the tray away from their hands and placing it on the table, careful not to spill anything. “What is it?” Arthur placed the tiny cookies in the palm of his hand, so comically small they started to melt on his palm. Before Sloane could answer him, he put it in his mouth and ate it, slowing chewing the crusty base. “This is very good,” he took another one and laughed between his teeth, mouth full of cookies, taking a sip from his coffee. “They look so good, I almost didn’t want to eat them.”

He waited, a familiar silence between them that could never be awkward. Arthur felt good around Sloane, at ease, their softness a calming energy that he desperately needed. She was a comfortable presence, and he was glad to have run into her. “How have you been?” He asked, trying to mask the guilt he felt in having to ask this question, of not knowing.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

★

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[arthavemeyer-blog]

★

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[arthavemeyer-blog]

★ 👀

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[bunchofrpmemes]

Send my character a ★ and I’ll bold everything they feel toward your character.

[arthavemeyer-blog]

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

[arthavemeyer-blog]

theo:

We know the Havemeyers, his father had said, pacing in front of Theo’s desk as they ran through the usual pre-meeting ritual. Pre-meeting ritual: better defined, it was simply a list of things for Theo to remember if he didn’t want to fuck it all up. You’re friends with this son of theirs, aren’t you? Use that. Casual, but not too casual. Business, but invoke that camaraderie. We’re not doing any official account managing for them today, but it never hurts to maintain those connections. Theo had nodded along all the while, forever fervently wishing he could jot everything down on a notepad. Or his palm. He wasn’t picky.

He arrived at the restaurant a couple minutes late, internally cursing his driver when he very well knew the traffic had been unavoidable. Theo would never be the type to voice such thoughts out loud; instead, he tossed out a jovial Thanks, Lionel! as he bounded up the steps to the restaurant, only remembering to slow down to a respectable pace as he reached the doors. It had been awfully bold of his father to assume that he and Art were friends — he didn’t know what they were, truth be told. He didn’t feel like he could be the judge of such a thing when he found himself craving more every time they ran into each other. 

Like now. At the sight of him, it was somehow both easier and harder to control his thoughts without the catalyst of alcohol buzzing through his veins. Easier, since he possessed a better sense of restraint when he was sober. Harder, since he didn’t find it so easy to dismiss his wandering thoughts, and he very well knew what it meant when he found it more difficult to focus. 

“Art, good to see you,” he greeted, relieved to use the informality of nicknames. “Of course. I’m happy to help out in any way that I can.” God, he hoped he could help. He wasn’t sure he’d survive the embarrassment if he wasn’t able to get his shit together long enough to do so. Mirroring Arthur’s movements, he settled into his chair, flipping open his menu and trying not to let his eyes cross at the elaborate names printed there. “Can’t say I have,” he admitted, stealing a glance across the table at him. “If the foie gras is famous, though, I’ll certainly try it. Any other suggestions?”

Over the years, as he grew into the man he is now, Arthur thought he would no longer be surprised by certain aspects of life: one of those aspects were people, especially upper east side people, but lately, as if conspiring to make a cosmic joke out of him, Life (God, the Universe, all entities he believed in, in varying degrees) had taught him differently. First, with Nina and then, with Theo. Coming back to New York was always something he knew would happen: it was all he knew and no matter how much he wanted to get away, a sense of duty always came first, crushing any dreams or hopes of a different future. There was a glimpse of something else when he met Theo again, the few memories he had from high school faded, like sepia photographs of bye-gone eras; to be fair, much of high school blended together. Everything mattered but nothing was important.

Arthur shrugged, a chuckle rising to his mouth. “I’ve actually never tried it, but you’re supposed to believe every Michelin star, right?” The place had them all, proudly on display. “Wine. Sauternes? or white?” He was never a wine guy but lately his interests have rotated in that direction; besides, years of pleasantry luncheons taught him a thing or two. “Or we can ditch this place altogether and go somewhere… more relaxed.” He shrugged, as if his suggestion shouldn’t be taken seriously. They were here on business, he knew, and yet… he wish they weren’t. Arthur fidgeted with his tie, suddenly feeling trapped in his too-tight suit.

“Anyway, Havemeyer Investments is currently looking to invest in wall street but my dad…” he paused, the admission that he worked for his dad almost shameful “...he’s unsure about the market. He still has flashbacks from the 80s crash and thinks all this recent opulence is foretelling impending doom,” this last words were said in a less than serious tone, wide-eyed for added effect. “He also doesn’t believe his son’s expertise in the matter should be taken too serious.” No matter that I have a degree from one of the best colleges in the country and the world, or that I’m not 17 anymore… but that remains unsaid, a melancholic smile taking its place for a second, before he regains his composure and signals to the waitress. His mouth is dry and he could use that glass of wine.