Gift of Life | PG13 | The Hours/The Hunger
Title: Gift of Life
Prompt: seduction
Fandom: Clarissa/Miriam, The Hours/The Hunger
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1139
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Okay, so this was an extremely random prompt/pairing, I must say. And as delicious as it would be to imagine Catherine Deneuve doing her sexy vampire thing on Meryl Streep, my muse took me in a different direction. I have no idea if I managed to capture Miriam's voice because I got a little distracted when I was watching the movie…c'mon, you can't tell me you wouldn't get distracted if Deneuve was all naked and making out with Susan Sarandon! Anyway…I wanted to focus on Clarissa here. This is intended to be set in the early-to-mid 80s, long before the movie takes place. Enjoy! (PS: I know the title is cheesy and invokes an image of childbirth, but I was going for a play on words…)
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Clarissa Vaughn tapped her fountain pen against the legal pad in front of her, staring at the list of tasks that needed accomplishing throughout the span of her day. She was meeting with a writer to discuss the first draft of her manuscript. She had a list of phone calls to make to acquire permissions--a tedious, boring task that would no doubt take hours. She was meant to finish copy editing another book by mid-afternoon and then pick up a stack of galleys to distribute at 4. It would undoubtedly be another dull, mind-numbing day.
For the briefest of moments, Clarissa wondered what it would be like to take her young daughter and leave New York. She imagined selling flowers on a street corner in a London suburb.
Her phone rang and, dropping her pen, she picked up the phone. "Hello Richard."
"Mrs. D! How'd you know it was me?"
"Psychic tendencies, I suppose," Clarissa responded, looking at the potted orchid on her window sill. She turned it a fraction to the left. "What's up?"
"You and I are going to lunch today."
"Oh are we?" She restacked a pile of books on the shelf behind her.
"You, me, the little hot dog stand in Central Park -- I've got it all planned out. I'm going to write a poem for each minute we're there and you're going to be my muse."
Clarissa sighed, directing the stream of air exhaling from her nose away from the receiver. "I don't think today will work for me. I'm pretty swamped."
"You can't steal a half an hour for me?"
"Richard, commuting to and from Central Park in midday traffic would take a half an hour as it is, and we both know that you'll stretch lunch to an hour." She could imagine his face perfectly in that moment: petulant and sulking like a child. He would no doubt blame her a week or two from now for ruining what could have been the best sixty poems he'd have ever written.
"When are you going to live a little, Mrs. Dalloway? Enjoy the day with me."
"Unfortunately, my love, I have to live in the office for today."
Richard sighed. "Fine then. Suit yourself."
"Come on, Richa--"
He hung up.
Clarissa rolled her eyes and slammed down the receiver. He was always doing this, always putting so much stock into what she did and didn't do. There she was, Clarissa the strong and dependable. She was, without fail, his punching bag.
Guilt swelled within her gut and she rubbed her hands over her eyes. He didn't mean to blame her for his stunted writing or his failed grand ideas. She knew that.
But sometimes…
Her intercom buzzed. "Yes?"
"Miriam Blaylock is here to see you."
Clarissa sighed. She was early. "Send her in."
It was with a great deal of resolve that Clarissa stood to greet the writer. She was surprised--stunned, really--by the woman's beauty. Her yellow hair was pulled back in a sleek chignon, her lips painted a pinkish-red, her body fitted within an ivory dress that wrapped around her waist.
"So good of you to see me," the woman said, kissing each of Clarissa's cheeks.
Clarissa hesitated before kissing Miriam back. "Please. Have a seat, Mrs. Blaylock."
"Miriam, please." The woman sat, crossing her legs as she made herself comfortable within the chair. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and freed one, placing it between her lips before her finger effortlessly ignited a lighter. "Do you mind?" she asked, the first stale plume of smoke curling from her nostrils.
Clarissa shrugged. Who was she to prohibit a woman from doing what was natural to her? She emptied a small plastic tray that contained paper clips and set it on the desk in front of her.
"Thank you."
"I've read over your manuscript. Is this the first time you've written a book?"
"Yes. Is it painfully obvious?"
Clarissa offered a kind smile. "It's a little rough around the edges. I'm not entirely sure that this is the right publishing house for this type of book." Her eyes fixed on the gold ankh hanging from Miriam's neck.
"You've never published books about love?"
"We have…this is just…"
"Different."
"Yes."
"It's about everlasting love. About commitment. About belonging to someone completely."
"Isn't that sending a bit of a negative message about relationships? Where's the autonomy in belonging to someone?"
Miriam flicked her ashes into the tray and studied Clarissa for several moments. "You can still be yourself and be committed wholly to another."
Clarissa's eyes flicked to the picture of Richard on one of the bookshelves. "Can you?"
"You do belong to someone," interjected Miriam.
"No." Clarissa tore her eyes away. "No. I belong to myself."
"You are stubborn."
"Well…so?" Clarissa shifted in her seat and looked at the bound stack of papers in front of her. She cleared her throat. "You focus significantly on seduction throughout the midsection of the book."
Miriam smirked. "Desire. Yes. It's fundamental."
"To what?"
"To existing. Don't you find yourself constantly coveting? Wanting?"
Clarissa felt exposed. "I suppose we all do."
"What do you want?"
"To be happy." The words escaped Clarissa's mouth in a near whisper and she started, having intended to leave the question unanswered. She looked at the woman seated before her, wondering how she had become the subject of an inquisition. "Miriam…"
Miriam's smile was coy, knowing, sympathetic. "I've made you uncomfortable."
Clarissa shifted. "No. I'm just…curious as to what you're trying to accomplish with this book. Who are you writing it for?"
"For me." She paused, rolling the words around her tongue. "And for you." And then, without warning, Miriam stood. She pulled the ankh free from her neck and placed it on Clarissa's desk. "This is your life. You must learn to control your own life while belonging to someone else. Otherwise it will consume you."
Clarissa stared at the gold pendant and then at Miriam. "I can't--"
Miriam held up a hand. "Consider it a bribe then. For the publication of my book." She grinned, slid on a pair of sleek sunglasses, and left the office.
Clarissa slumped back into her chair, completely baffled, and took the ankh between her fingers. It was warm from having rested upon Miriam's chest. Passing her thumb over the loop, she looked at the picture of Richard. The black and white photograph sat perched above her, casting its judgment upon her.
It was as if she would always be directly beneath his gaze.
Always beneath his thumb.
Clarissa wondered, as she dropped the pendant into her pocket, when she gave her autonomy to Richard. With a cold, eerie shudder, she realized that it would not be until they were separated by death that she'd have her life back.
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