Summary: Teenage Sophie braves a fierce Iowa winter to watch a film that will change her life.
Author’s Notes: This is an entry for the MC Appreciation Week, featuring my RCD MC Sophie Bordeaux (who romances Teja). This is an idea that’s been floating in my mind since the Vegas chapter in Book 1, where the MC has a chance to watch either The Warmest Winter or Devil’s Canyon if she doesn’t hang out with Addison. I always choose Victoria’s film for Sophie, and Matt’s for Astrid.
It’s not completely necessary to check out this post before reading the fic, but it would help you visualize what Sophie was watching. The lines from the movie are written in bold.
“Are we there yet?”
“In ten minutes,” Mr O’Brien says. He is staring at the road ahead of him, squinting at the sprinkle of snowflakes that have just begun to fall. Four girls jostle for space in the seat behind him, looking for signs that they’ve reached Century 20.
Alice turns to Sophie – at least her head does. It’s the only part of her Alice can move right now. If they were any closer Sophie would end up with a mouthful of red hair. “Heard that, Sophie? Dad said 10 minutes.”
Sophie sighs. They’re lucky the weather’s been this good so far, she supposes, and for a day in December as grey as this one there hasn’t been much traffic. If anything, she thinks, I should be grateful it’s ten minutes only.
But this is Victoria Fontaine. The woman whose face is plastered all over her bedroom walls, whose DVDs have gone past the point of repair because Sophie has rewound and replayed her scenes so often. When it comes to Victoria, ten minutes never feels like ten minutes. If making time stop could be a superpower, Victoria would probably be flying around the world wearing a black-and-purple mask by now.
Alice places her hand over Sophie’s arm. “Hey. We’re pretty close now. Don’t worry too much, yeah? I know she’s your favourite.”
Sophie swallows, trying hard to ignore the sinking sensation now blossoming at the pit of her stomach. Alice’s hand feels warm – too warm – and it’s a warmth that penetrates through Sophie’s many layers of wool, into her skin, into her nerves, spreading until she feels like she’s floating in a cloud of heat. They’re close enough that she can feel Alice’s breath in her hair, can admire the rosy flush on her cheeks. Is this from the cold, Lissie, or is it me?
Sophie wriggles her hands away from Alice’s, ashamed. “Thanks.”
Alice looks away immediately. Stop giving me that look, Lissie. Sophie can’t decide what makes her feel worse: the hurt on Alice’s face, or the warmth that remains on the spot where her hands lay. I’m thinking about you like that. In front of our friends. With your dad right in front of me. I’M THINKING ABOUT KISSING YOU IN YOUR DAD’S CAR.
“Can’t we have one day without worrying about six inches of snow, guys, just one?” Kim says, teeth chattering.
“This is Iowa, Kim. What are you, new?” Gaby says, “At least we got here in one piece. There isn’t too much snow today.”
What will Alice say if she finds out? Or mom? Or dad? Who’d want to have anything to do with someone who thinks weird things?
The truth is she doesn’t know if anyone would. The truth is no one she knows ever talks about it, except when they have to label it abnormal. Except when her uncle adjusts his glasses, muttering for the hundredth time that “God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” A small enough, innocent enough comment, Sophie thinks, but it always makes her feel so small and so invisible. Like there’s a part of her that doesn’t deserve to exist.
And her parents say nothing. Just listen, and nod, and smile, and ask uncle George if he wants more pie.
“Light snow can turn heavy really fast,” Alice mumbles, looking up and doubtless noticing that the sky is now a deeper shade of grey, “It’s been getting heavier, I’ve been noticing. Let’s just pray this isn’t a snowstorm.”
Sophie tries to shut out the sound of Alice’s voice, and fails. She wraps her arms around herself, seeking her own warmth, trying not to feel the loss of another person’s hands on hers. Everything she’s ever grown up learning, everything she’s heard and seen and experienced, tells her this is wrong. That she shouldn’t be doing this. That her fingers shouldn’t want to reach out to tuck a stray strand behind Alice’s ear. That her eyes shouldn’t want to keep looking when Alice leaves, only stopping when they’re sure she’s gone.
That she shouldn’t be this hungry, this greedy for another girl’s touch the way she is for a guy’s.
“Sophie!” Gaby’s voice sounds so far away, “Are you coming out or do you think you can telepathically watch The Warmest Winter from Alice’s dad’s car?”
I shouldn’t be wanting this from a girl. Not when every girl I know wants that only from a boy.
Swiftly, silently, Sophie makes her way out.
Every normal girl.
She makes it a point not to look at Alice.
All I’ve ever wanted to be, was normal.
–
It’s in the small things.
Sophie can’t place a finger on why this film feels so different. Why Victoria Fontaine’s Catherine, and Cassandra Leigh’s Evelyn, make her heart thud against her chest every time they appear together on screen.
Didn’t they meet as strangers? (strangers whose gazes lingered on each other a second too long). Didn’t it take them time to become friends? (Friends who sank into each others’ hugs like they fit together. Pieces to a puzzle). Wasn’t Evelyn’s offer of hot chocolate a week later, just hospitality? (Was the slow caress of her fingers on Catherine’s wrist, hospitality? Was that why Catherine would never stop running her own fingers over the same spot afterwards?).
“Psst, Sophie,” Gaby whispers, “Is your arm okay? You’ve been rubbing the same spot for the past ten minutes.”
“Sorry,” Sophie says, wincing. There’s a prickling sensation beneath her skin that won’t stop. Two seats away, Alice is watching Evelyn nervously twist Catherine’s engagement ring – a heavy, imposing rock, weighing that delicate finger down – as if no one else exists. “I’m fine.”
Sophie looks again at the screen, and it’s amazing how easy it is for her to get sucked back in. Catherine is deep in thought now, torn between Evelyn and her family back home, between Evelyn and her fiancè. There’s such a mixture of emotions in that ten-second focus on her face it makes Sophie’s throat tighten, remembering.
What is it about Victoria Fontaine? The moment she appears on screen, you forget she’s a star. An actress. She convinces you she’s someone else altogether, that Victoria Fontaine doesn’t exist. That the world outside this film doesn’t exist. How amazing it must feel, knowing you could do that to people.
By the 1-hour-mark, Sophie can’t see anything beyond the two women. The way Evelyn runs a jewelled comb over Catherine’s hair. The way the Catherine lingers at the threshold of Evelyn’s room, as if to say more, do more. Sophie gasps in recognition. How many times have I done that? How many times have I wanted to stay?
She still can’t figure out why this feels so familiar. So real. The silence with which the women pack Catherine’s bags on her last day. The way both of them stay back, as the drivers carry her luggage into the ornate carriage.
You’ll be heading back to New York soon, I imagine. There is sad resignation in Evelyn’s eyes as she speaks.
Catherine takes two steps backwards, looking away and stammering about fiancèes and careers and families. Talking too fast. Almost as if it’s her that needs convincing, not Evelyn. I know how this is going to end. Rejection. Disgust. One of them will say “this is wrong”. Or, “you’re a freak”.
Or worse still…it will end up in nothing at all, and everything Sophie saw before will have been a figment of her fevered imagination.
Catherine speaks this time. Unshed tears linger on in her eyes, but her chin is set and her face glows with determination. Almost as if she’s saying To hell with everyone, I need to say this dammit.
It’s funny, she says, her voice hoarse, I never would have ended up here had it not been for that snowstorm, but…Catherine swallows, and looks away. As if she’s about to say something really, really important, something that needs courage. But it’s too late to back down now. I’ll miss this place. This town. And I’ll miss…you.
Evelyn takes Catherine’s hand, tears in her eyes, and Sophie watches them. Their eyes meet, and it’s a gaze that leaves nothing untold. Their eyes meet, and the longing in them is so familiar it makes Sophie bite the inside of her cheek so she won’t cry out. Their eyes meet, and for a moment there is no one else. There is no theater, there are no sound systems, no ushers, no people. She feels transported, like the looks these two women shared drew her inside, into this screen, made her a part of their little secret. We are two women. And we’re lovers. No one can take this away from us and tell us it’s not real.
Sophie sucks in a breath as the truth hits her. Victoria Fontaine can do this. And be normal. Why can’t I?
It’s as if everything she’d ever known about relationships – about who you can love and who you can’t – has been a lie.
The rest of the movie is a blur. It’s only when the film comes out on DVD that she remembers Catherine’s reunion with Hans, her fiancè, or her guilt at missing Evelyn when she should be thinking about him, or Hans finally calling Evelyn, who takes the next carriage to New York. Or the final scene where they embrace, and Hans steps away. Where Catherine stops him. I love her, her voice is a low whisper, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.
All she knows is that there are two women on the other side of that screen, two women who can hug and kiss and cuddle the way she wants to with both guys and girls, and they’re telling her that people like her exist.
“Sophie?” It’s almost as if the film is this bubble, and the theater doesn’t exist, the voice calling out to her feels that distant, “Sophie? Are you crying??”
Almost defensively, she presses her palms and feels dampness on her cheeks. Shit. When was the last time a movie ever did this to her?
“Yeah,” Sophie says, looking down. She’s been nothing but an ass to Alice, and here she is, staying back to see if she was okay. “Good movie.”
Alice nods, and then checks her phone when it beeps. “O man. We’re gonna be stuck here for at least a few hours, Sophie. There’s a snowstorm outside.”
“Really?” Wow. Snowstorm. Me and Alice. Just like in the movie.
Sophie almost begins to hate herself for thinking that, and then stops. I don’t need to feel weird about this anymore.Alice’s hand is on her arm again, and for the first time Sophie allows herself to like it.
“Gaby and Kim and Dad went to check out what’s there to eat. We’ll be stuck here for a while, might as well have dinner before we go, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says, grinning.
“Cmon. We’ll catch up with everyone, you can call your dad and tell him you’ll be late, and then you can tell me why Victoria Fontaine was making you cry so much.”
The voices shouting Adam and Steve! clamour for attention in her head, but this time she gets them to shut up. By the Power of Victoria Fontaine, get outta here!
“Okay?” Alice asks, looking hopeful.
“Okay,” Sophie says, smiling back.
She doesn’t know what to think, not yet. Maybe some of this is wrong, maybe some of it isn’t. But for today, Sophie is going to laugh, and talk, and hug Alice, and know that Hollywood’s bestest have her back. That will have to do for now. That is enough.
–