Gilded
Pairing: Rumbelle
Rating: E
Summary: Mr. Gold runs a speakeasy during Prohibition and hires a new waitress.
Merry Rumbellemas, @eirian-houpe! It's ME, your Santa! I hope you are having an amazing break and that you get some good rest. It has been lovely working on this and I hope you love it! 💖
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Mr. Gold had to hand it to the woman. Most people would not meet his eyes, especially not when they wanted something, but Belle French stood before him, chin tilted up, blue eyes boring into his.
“You’re a singer?” he asked, gaze flicking up and down her once more. Most musicians came to his speakeasy dressed in their performance best, but Belle French had arrived in a dove grey suit and blue blouse, hair pinned into a faux-bob under her matching cloche, as if she were interviewing for a secretary position.
“That’s right,” she said. “I have a piano player I can bring over as well.”
“I have a pianist,” he said. He leaned back into his chair, putting himself further into the shadow. He always conducted business here, in the back room of his club. It was inaccessible from the outside unless one knew the way, and only two people other than himself did.
“I brought sheet music if you need it for an audition,” she said, hefting her briefcase. It was as well-made and plain as her clothes.
“That won’t be necessary, Miss French,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’ve no need for a singer.”
He waited, watching her reaction to this carefully. No one came to him unless they were desperate or already up to no good. Miss Belle French, he was sure, had never been up to no good in her life.
“I can also type and do accounting,” she said. “If you need a secretary or a bookkeeper. I kept my father’s books until he died.”
So her father was dead. Desperate, alone, coming to beg Mr. Gold for any job? That was exactly the sort of person he liked to see.
“Can you carry a tray of drinks?” he asked.
For the first time, her composure slipped, and her lower lip trembled, but she nodded surely. “Of course, Mr. Gold. How do your waitresses dress?”
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