The Fight

[intheheart]

Title: The Fight
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gail never was very good at those polite little spats, poisonous words exchanged with friendly smiles.
Warnings: classism.
Notes: Do not fuck with Gail's children. Last Admin Yellow. Susanna Caravecchio is a much nicer person than this in canon.


Ivy came home with her eyes red, and Gail felt like biting through metal when she heard why.

"It's not Gina's fault," Ivy kept saying, "it's not, she wasn't even there." Gail was rather glad of that, actually, because she really did like Gina and she would hate to have to think ill of someone Ivy loved so much. It seemed the poor girl just had a truly unfortunate mother.

Gail held her daughter while she cried, stroked her hair, and made soothing noises. She put her to bed, sang to her, made sure she was asleep, her tears drying on her cheek.

Then she put on her best dress, pinned her hair in a flattering chignon, set her favorite hat carefully atop the results, and set out for the Caravecchio home.

The butler let her in, and carried her card away on a silver plate. Gail folded her hands at her waist and looked interested around her. Rather overstyled, she thought. Very Victorian in the number and quality of knicknacks crowding every available surface and the swags of fabric covering everything vertical. A sweeping staircase curled away to her right, an open door into some kind of parlor to her left. That such a house, and the sort of people who decorated it, would produce someone like Gina-- well, it boggled the mind.

The woman who swept into the room a few minutes later looked precisely as if she belonged in this house, which was not something Gail could quantify. It was just something about the set of her chin, the ruffles on her skirt and the lace edging her sleeves, her pinned and braided hair. An elegant column of well-tailored clothes and impeccable accessories, Edwardian but somehow fitting. She had the same effortless grace and glamour that Gina did. In another context, Gail might have liked her.

"Mrs. Kendall, I presume," the woman said, and held out a hand, almost as if she expected Gail to kiss it. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Gail smiled at her, showing perhaps more of her teeth than might have been wise. "Mrs. Caravecchio," she answered, in kind. She did not take the other woman's hand. "I felt I had to meet the parents of my daughter's dear friend."

"Of course," Mrs. Caravecchio said. She dropped her hand without any sign of offense. "Shall I ring for tea?"

Gail made an acquiescing gesture and sat down on an overstuffed divan. It was actually quite comfortable. One for the old-fashioned types, she supposed.

Mrs. Caravecchio walked across the room to a beautifully embroidered bell pull, then returned to sit across from Gail, all the while using that same gliding walk that Gail's mother had attempted to beat into her. Not that she considered herself graceless, simply that she had places to be, and it took too long to look as if you moved on wheels. Ivy had inherited that tendency to rush everywhere-- perhaps just another thing that this woman disapproved of in Gail's daughter. The thought made her smile again, razor-sharp.

However, it wasn't polite to start a fight with your hostess before tea, no matter how sure you were that you could win it. Gail kept it to herself and responded to Mrs. Caravecchio's polite nothings with equally polite nothings, until the tea arrived and was poured into fine china cups.

"So," she said, lifting her cup. "Care to tell me why you told my daughter she isn't good enough to be in your house?"

If she felt a little kick of spiteful glee at the clinking china when Mrs. Caravecchio fumbled her cup, well, she had a good enough poker face not to show it.

"I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Caravecchio asked. She was clearly trying to keep her voice even, but Gail could hear the cracks.

Gail set her cup down without drinking. "I asked," she said, still deliberately in that same, bright tone, "why you felt the need to treat my daughter with such contempt. I believe you said something about new money?"

Mrs. Caravecchio sputtered, wordless, her teacup still hovering halfway to her mouth.

"For the record," Gail continued, "Ivy is a lovely girl, and I think any mother would be happy to have her as a friend to their child. I am a bit biased, I admit, but I've heard this from many people who have been fortunate enough to encounter her. All of my children, really, but Ivy seems to get it the most." She took a sip of tea, partially to punctuate her point, and then added, "Your daughter seems to enjoy her company very much. I really don't see why you should interfere."

"Interfere!" Ah, Mrs. Caravecchio had found her voice. "I was merely trying to... how dare you come into my house and accuse me like this?"

"How dare you speak to my daughter that way?" Gail retorted. "What possible crime could she have committed? Oh, horrors, her father earned his money in the war, defending this country and your way of life. Obviously she must be shunned."

Mrs. Caravecchio straightened up, her spine going rigid in righteous indignation. Gail knew the look well-- her mother had worn it often, in the months leading up to Ivy's birth. "I said nothing of the sort. If you must speak to me this way, at least speak the truth."

"I don't know what you said precisely," Gail said, and put the teacup down on the table between them. "Nor do I honestly care. I do know that you made my daughter feel unwelcome and out of place in your home."

"She is out of place," Mrs. Caravecchio snapped. "Surely you must see that. She's simply not one of us, and it is not a kindness to pretend she can be."

It took some effort not to throw something at her. "Have you paid any attention to the world at all? To the way things are changing? It's not about who your parents were anymore." If it ever had been, but Gail did not choose to start that topic at the moment. "Our children will live in a completely different world, and it is not a kindness to act as if that isn't true."

Mrs. Caravecchio sniffed. "Some things never change," she said, her tone icy. "You must see. People will mock her, make her feel unwelcome--"

"By making her feel unwelcome before they get the chance?" Gail asked, poisonously polite. "Getting a start on the masses, are we?"

"I was attempting to do her a favor," Mrs. Caravecchio said. "You can be assured I won't try that again."

Again. she said. As if Gail would allow her child anywhere near this woman. "I don't particularly like your method of doing favors." She stood, and brushed off her dress. "You needn't worry. Ivy won't come here again."

Mrs. Caravecchio looked-- relieved, though she tried to cover it. "A tragedy, I'm sure. The girls were so fond of one another." Ah, and not even trying to cover the sarcasm there.

Gail raised an eyebrow. "Who said anything about keeping the girls apart? Gina is of course welcome in our home at any time."

"I thought you agreed--"

Gail cut her off. "If I agreed with anything you just said I would be a very different woman. Gina is a lovely girl, and such impeccable manners. Heaven knows how she came from someone like you." She nodded, the coldest, most meager farewell she could manage. "I do hope we needn't meet again."

"I wouldn't worry," Mrs. Caravecchio said, her tone iced over again.

One more poisonous little smile, and Gail went home.