yourclaire: (adage)
[personal profile] yourclaire
4 December, 1982

Jack eyed his hair in the mirror. Was this the first or second date? Did it matter? Girls like Claire liked to count things, didn't they? Hopefully fish and chips would be all right.

He parked in front of her house and craned his neck up to look at the windows. Was she watching from one? Waiting for him? Something about Claire was enchanting, and he almost didn't feel stupid standing outside.

Almost. He knocked, and waited.

Claire had, indeed, been waiting. But not by her window. Of course she had been watching from behind the lacy curtains until a pair of headlights slowed, but once their light was cut, she hopped away from the window and ran down the stairs.

And waited for the knock. )
yourclaire: (ruffled)
[personal profile] yourclaire
3 December, 1982

Well, he came, at least. A bit later than I expected, but he had a bit of trouble finding the house. He said he bribed a taxi driver and I told him I would pay him back, but he wouldn’t tell me the amount, said it wasn’t necessary. I have a feeling it probably was.

Taxis were irrelevant, anyway. Jack picked me up in his absolutely atrocious car and we went out for ice cream. I picked ice cream because it is guaranteed to be wholesome, especially in December when we would likely be the only ones in the shoppe.

Well, we weren’t exactly alone, but it was intimate enough for all eyes to most likely be on us, just out of boredom. )
yourclaire: (ballet)
[personal profile] yourclaire
Because I can/want to.

27 November, 1982


It was securing a spot in the company that led them to the Ritz for dinner. Claire and her family, all of them dressed in white. It was late November, the air outside was cold, but the air inside the expensive hotel and even more expensive restaurant was warm. They had already ordered, were now waiting for the food that would hopefully come soon.

Patrick was fidgeting with his suit and Louise was staring longingly out the window after a boyfriend who was probably with another girl. Every few minutes she would make a sad, pathetic mewling sound and kick her chair with the heel of her shoe.

How silly, Claire thought, to be so obsessed with someone. )

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