sandandwater: ([short] to the side)


Peace be with you, my red-haired darling. Good-bye.

Those were the last words he’d said to her. All he could say once she told him that she was moving back to Venice and she wasn’t planning to return. That she was leaving him in order to try and make sense of the chaos her life had become. To reclaim the things so suddenly lost to her.

I love you.

That was what she wanted to tell him even if he might not believe it.

Mr. Beaker

She hugged the Doberman tightly, squeezed him until the pup whumped and whined at the way she was pushing the air from his lungs. Pippa kissed his head, his snout, rubbed his back once more and forced herself to stand. It broke her heart to leave Mr. Beaker behind but she honestly believed it the kinder thing to do for him.

Be a good puppy for Mike, Mr. Beaker. No making messes, don’t eat anything that isn’t doggy food and no loud barking in the house.

He tilted his head and gave Pippa a confused woof and an excited wag of his tail.


More hugs, more tears. Promises extracted and made. She’d call. He’d follow her lists of instructions about the dog. She’d take care of herself and he’d not work too hard. She’d find the time to drink good Italian wines for him and he’d call Rory Stone if Mr. Beaker became too much to handle. She’d stop crying and he wouldn’t ask how the Irishman could let her go.


Everything necessary had been packed in two suitcases and a carry-on. Things that were important to her had been packed away and sent to storage. Furniture had been draped in white cloths and everything else had been sold or given away. Pippa flipped the switch to shut off the custom light fixture in the bedroom. She ran a hand around the basin in the master bath. The little bits of herself she was leaving behind—the real estate agent was thrilled with that. Real selling points, the woman had assured her.

Pippa left her keys in the lockbox hanging on the door.

New York

She flew out of Newark’s international airport, not JFK. It was more modern, less crowded and seemed less New York to her than the famed major hub. Somehow this was fitting in Pippa’s mind. She’d said farewell to the city as she’d taken the ferry from Staten, the subway through Manhattan and then finally hailed a cab to the airport. She kept the window closed during the plane’s ascent, her last memories of ‘home’ would not be an impersonal aerial view.


Phillipa! Mia Bella! Come here and let me see you.

She made it from the airport to the bus and then to the gondola all on her own. But once she’d arrived at the address belonging to Signore Evangelisti, Pippa was welcomed. She hadn’t seen him in three years and she’d been surprised at what a difference a short time-span could have on an old man. His eyes were still bright and his embrace still strong though and that’s all that mattered. She cried. He held her. They both laughed.

Later, they would talk of many things but for now Pippa was content to just be back.

Pippa Kerr//553
sandandwater: ([short hair] playful)
A lunch date with a casual friend, at noon and in Manhattan no less, meant Pippa had to do something she normally shied away from: wake up early. So much for reclaiming her life and her routine, she thought to herself as she stumbled around her kitchen making coffee. Mornings were not her favorite time of day. But she had to shower and dress, talk herself into a state of semi-normalcy so she could even face Aryn at the upscale bistro. And then of course, there was the drive.

"You're doing this, Kerr." Muttering to herself, coffee mug in hand, Pippa went back into her bedroom. She even managed a smile as she caught sight of her puppy curled against the sprawled form of her lover, both still sound asleep. She'd be tempted to rejoin them and cancel on Aryn if there were any room for her in the bed.

Instead, she showered and dressed in a favorite fall ensemble, something with long sleeves that afforded her the opportunity to hide her hands from view. From there she played with the hopelessly choppy lengths of her hair, finally giving up and leaving them in what she hoped passed for artful disarray. After Larch had butchered her long curly locks, Pippa resorted to straightening and further trimming her auburn mane in an attempt to rectify the damage. She wasn't satisfied with the results but until her hair grew out, there was little else she could do with it.

She left the apartment with those thoughts in her head, turned off the alarm on her car (recently returned to her after the mechanic's massive repairs) and set out for the bridge that would connect her with the much larger city. The radio was conspicuously silent for the duration of her drive. She hadn't been able to listen to anything by Breaker Street and other music held even less appeal to her.

Reaching her destination, she opted to valet park at Jaques'. Finding a place to self-park was never something she enjoyed and if she was going to put on her happy face and pretend life was wonderful, she didn't need that aggravation. Pippa shrugged her purse onto her right shoulder and tugged the sleeve of her left over her hand, holding the hem with her fingertips, hiding the missing pinky and the dark bruising as she handed over her car keys and got out of the green VW Bug.

sandandwater: (looking up)
They didn’t want her on the busiest nights at the bar and she begged off on one of their slower nights, leaving Pippa to her own devices several nights in a row. Part of her felt bad for the passive aggressive behavior but the part of her that was still stinging from what she considered a personal attack believed she was entirely justified in committing the small act of subterfuge. If she wasn’t at Last Call tonight, hadn’t been the night before and wouldn’t be for the next few days…well, the red haired woman knew that things would slowly come undone.

She didn’t like knowing that she was intentionally causing havoc at the bar she dearly loved or that she was going to give Mike, the owner, one hell of a headache to sort out. But she also refused to be treated in such a demeaning manner and then turn around and meekly continue to ensure that the business ran smoothly. She was so much more than just a waitress there. The nights she worked, Pippa generally ran the place from open to close. She handled all the paper work, dealt with the talent (all of the talent, not just her boyfriend’s band), made certain that stock never ran low or went unordered. She kept in contact with all the vendors they used and made sure Last Call was in good standing with them all.

If she wasn’t there, she knew by and large all of these things would be left undone. Some because the other waitresses never stopped to consider all the extra work Pippa did and what it actually takes to run a busy little night spot and the rest simply because Kelly didn’t have the business savvy or the people skills to fill Pippa’s shoes. And then there were the customers. Pippa made serving drinks look easy. She rarely wrote an order down and even more rarely did she get an order wrong. She remembered the names of regulars, let them run a tab, recalled their preferred drinks and ordering habits. She treated them like friends, not just patrons with cash.

All of these things ran through her head as she got dressed, fixed her hair, made herself up. She was going out tonight; into the city proper. Manhattan. Breaker Street had a gig at a larger venue for a change and she intended to show up not only to support their efforts but because she genuinely missed hearing them play live.
, she smiled to herself as she applied another layer of lipgloss,
if she happened to look as if she were dressing to impress the lead singer, so what?
Maybe she’d be able to persuade him to come home with her tonight.

Pippa gave a self-conscious laugh at the notion. Rory Stone, leader of the band, was her boyfriend. Her significant other.
. If she wanted to flirt with him and play the part of adoring girlfriend for the night instead of simply helpful barmaid, that was her prerogative, wasn’t it? And there was certainly no cause for the nervousness she felt, she knew Ro and the rest of the band would be happy to see her. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

Still, she knew she was blushing as she took the ferry across the water. Butterflies danced in her belly during the short cab ride into the trendy part of town. She had to concentrate to subdue a slight tremble once in the club, her hand stamped as proof that she was old enough to drink. Unhindered by the need to wait on people, Pippa circulated through the crowd a bit aimlessly, lips twitching with a secretive smile as she caught the tell-tale signs of the band running a final sound check. Hopefully she’d be able to find a spot near the stage once they began to play. She was here to listen, not necessarily dance.

She had toyed with keeping her presence unknown for the time being but as soon as she caught sight of Rory, his back to the crowd, adjusting the strings of his guitar, and heard him laughing at something Morrie was saying, she gave up the idea.

“So, I heard this was amateur night. You guys any good?” The look on her face was all innocence as Ro turned around to look for the owner of a voice he knew very well. “Hi, Ro.”


sandandwater: (Default)

October 2009

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