She Screams in Silence

Later that day, Mike stepped into the living room to behold Billie looking a bit downtrodden. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he regarded Billie thoughtfully as he munched on some chips, his friend currently sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands, grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

“I did something stupid...that night of the party.”

Mike sank down next to him, patting him on the back, “Oh, cheer up. I’m sure you did plenty of stupid things that night. You always do.”

Billie shot him a look. “Okay, you may be right, but there was something stupid in particular.”

“Care to elaborate?” Mike asked, pulling another chip from the bag and offering it to him.

Billie pushed it away. “Okay, so that night––there was this girl.”

“Yeah, Felicity. You brought her.”

“No, no. Another girl. I don’t know her. She just sort of...appeared. I mean, I didn’t even know her name. And ‘cause I was pretty smashed, I guess that made her look pretty good. Well, anyway, we...” Billie paused, twirling his hand.

“Yeah, got it. Go on.”

“Okay, so we’re starting to get into it and I’ve got her shirt off and––”

“Nice rack?” Mike interrupted him, grinning.

Billie rolled his eyes, “That was really not the point of the story here. And it was all right. I’ve seen better. Anyway, we’re starting to get into it and then you know how you’ll say their name sometimes? Well, like I said, I didn’t know her name, but I guess I thought I did, because suddenly a name sort of...popped out.”

“And it wasn’t hers?”

“No,” Billie groaned. “So, uh, she was a bit...disgruntled, to say the least and she...left.”

“Okay, well, it happens. What’s so bad about that? So you said the wrong name and didn’t close the deal.”

“No, that’s not quite the problem. The problem is the name I said.”

“Which was...?”

Billie only groaned again, grabbing a throw pillow and hitting his face into it.

“It wasn’t my name, was it?” Mike suddenly looked a bit alarmed.

“No, you dipshit.”

“...Tre’s?”

Billie stared at him flatly. “It was a girl’s name.”

“Oh. You didn’t say Cat’s name, did you?”

“No.”

“So whose was it?”

Billie muttered incoherently into the pillow.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”

He raised his head, staring at him tiredly, “It was Felicity’s.”

“Oh. What’s so bad about that?”

Billie’s eyes widened, “Are you serious? ‘What’s so bad about that’? What’s so bad is that she’s not...I mean, she’s just...”

“Just what? You like her, don’t you?”

“No!”

Mike raised his eyebrows, “And that’s why you hang around her every spare second you have and talk about her until Tre and I sort of want to bludgeon you to death?”

“Is it that bad?” he winced, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes.”

“Well...I don’t like her.”

“Whatever, man,” Mike shrugged, rising and walking towards his room with his bag of chips.

“She doesn’t like me, anyway!” Billie called down the hall.

“You’re still talking about her!” Mike called back.

Billie rolled his eyes, flipping him off––even though Mike had already closed his door and obviously couldn’t see. Mike was an idiot. He didn’t like Felicity. And even if he did, she certainly wasn’t requiting such affections. So there was no problem. Right?

“Fuck,” Billie whispered, burying his head in his hands once more and tugging at his hair.

• • •

“Felicity? May I have a word with you?” Rachel appeared, beckoning her daughter into the study. As Felicity stood before her, an anxious knot starting to form in her stomach, Rachel sighed, carefully examining her French manicure. “So...Mr. Delacroix called. He said you’ve been doing a nice job in your singing lessons lately.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t quite what got me. He also happened to mention how happy he was to see you with a friend that came by so often. What do you think he meant by that?”

Felicity swallowed, her mouth dry. “Um...”

“That isn’t all. My friend, Natalie Hall? She’s the interior decorator? Anyway, she was visiting a client on Shattuck and she also claimed to see you walking by with this mysterious new friend of yours. Now, really, I am quite flabbergasted. I honestly can’t believe both of these people are hallucinating. Are they?”

“No,” she whispered.

“So you do have a friend, then? One you’ve just conveniently forgotten to mention?”

Felicity managed to nod, that knot in her stomach twisting some more.

“So who might it be, then, that you wouldn’t think of to share of your new-found little...social life? Is it the Michaelsons’ daughter? We had dinner with them back in September, didn’t we? I think she called...Camilla?”

“No.”

“So what is your friend’s name?”

“Billie.”

“Billie,” Rachel repeated, wrinkling her nose. “Honestly, I never understood the practice of giving girls boys’ names! It’s very odd, if you ask me.”

“Um, well, they didn’t in this case,” Felicity replied, knowing she could no longer delay the inevitable. “Give a boy’s name to a girl, I mean.”

“What?”

“Billie’s not a girl,” Felicity said slowly, averting her eyes from her mother’s reaction. “He’s a he...I mean, he’s a guy...I mean...yeah.”

“Oh,” Rachel breathed, momentarily seeming to have been struck speechless. Recovering her vocal abilities, she raised her eyebrows at her daughter, “Felicity, you know you’re not allowed to date.”

Why, oh, why did that make her blush right up to her hairline?! “We’re not dating!” Felicity cried. “We’re just...friends. That’s all. Nothing more.” She shifted her weight uncomfortably. This was good that she was able to deny that there was anything going on between her and Billie. So why did saying so suddenly make her feel slightly sick?

“Friends?” Rachel repeated back. This echoing back bit was starting to resemble some bizarre grammar school English lesson.

“Yes. Friends.”

“Hm,” Rachel shrugged. She furrowed her brows, “Now wait, I’m certain none of our friends have sons named Billie.”

“They don’t. You don’t know his family.”

“I don’t?” Rachel’s eyebrows were near the ceiling now. “I see. But he must go to your school, yes?”

“No.”

“No?”

I’m going to give you a cracker if you don’t stop repeating everything I say, Felicity thought darkly. “No,” she replied smoothly, “he’s, er, out of school. High school, that is.”

“Exactly how old is your gentleman friend named Billie?”

“Twenty,” she nearly whispered.

“Twenty?”

Fuck the cracker. I’m going to shoot you. “Yes, twenty,” Felicity nodded.

“Wherever did you meet him?” Rachel was staring at her strangely. It would seem odd to her, of course. To Rachel and Richard’s knowledge, Felicity was technically never on her own, and certainly never in a situation where she could meet random strange men. She was at school all day, then carted back and forth to various lessons, then with Rachel and Richard for the rest of the evening. They had no clue about her mid-morning departure from school that day she had met Billie or any of her departures from anything else since then. Such a thing would be unheard of.

“Oh, you know, around,” she answered lamely, shrugging.

“No, I don’t know. Please elaborate as to what ‘around’ refers to.”

She thought fast. “I, uh, well, um, my piano lesson let out early one day a few weeks ago and while I was waiting for you to pick me up, I walked down the street to a little cafe for something to drink and...there he was!”

“I...see. And you’ve been spending apparently a great deal of time with this boy.”

“Well...a little bit, I guess.”

“You know,” Rachel held out her hand to the light, her freshly painted nails shining like glass and her diamond ring sparkling blindingly, “your father and I think it important that we know who our daughter is associating with. And yet you seem to feel you needn’t indulge our...parental concern. It shows a lack of trust and respect in you that I find extremely troubling––and it disappoints me. But if he is such a...good friend...” Her smile dripped sugar-sweet as she paused. “Well, I’d like to meet this Billie of yours. Why don’t we have him over for dinner?”

“Mom, I don’t really––”

“Next Friday work for him? You ask him. I won’t take no for an answer. If he can’t make it, we’ll find a time when he can.”

“Yes, Mom,” Felicity hung her head, accepting defeat. She turned and began shuffling off dejectedly towards the stairs.

“Wherever do you think you’re going?” Rachel stopped her. “The phone’s right there,” she gestured to it.

“You...you want me to call him right now?”

“Why not? Sooner the better to have it all arranged. Why don’t we say...seven?” To make sure Felicity did as she was told, Rachel took a seat on one of the chairs, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap, watching her daughter expectantly.

Keeping an anxious watch on her, as though Felicity half-anticipated her mother to pounce and attack, she made her way to the phone, lifting the receiver to her ear and slowly dialing. It rang once...twice...then an answer.

“Yello?” Billie’s voice came over the line.

“Billie? It’s Felicity.”

“Oh, hey,” he greeted her cheerfully.

“Hi,” came her flat rejoinder.

“That’s not a happy sounding hi.”

“No, it’s not. Look, um, would you be willing to do something for me?”

“Yeah, shoot,” he nodded, forcing himself to ignore the golden opportunity for innuendo.

“Would you, er, would you be willing to have dinner? I mean...at my house...” she paused, “...with my parents.”

“Your parents? But I didn’t think they knew that––”

“They do now. And they...want to meet you.”

“Should I be...worried?” he asked carefully.

“Um...” she hesitated. “No. No, of course not. Don’t be silly.” It was a pity her words didn’t even sound convincing to her.

“Uh, sure, I guess. When?”

“Friday at seven?” Felicity twisted the cord around her finger, cutting off her circulation, praying to God he wouldn’t be available and she could escape this whole mess.

“Okay. I’m not doing anything else,” he agreed.

Fuck.

“Okay, great,” she said dully.

“You sure I shouldn’t be prepared for some sort of Spanish Inquisition thing?”

Felicity gave a nervous laugh, “No.”

“Felicity? Are your parents standing right there or something?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, that nervous knot giving another painful twist in her stomach. “So I’ll see you Friday?”

“Okay. And don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be...fun.”

Now the insincerity was clear in both of their voices.

• • •

Friday night, the doorbell echoing throughout the house, Felicity bounded down the stairs racing to the door ahead of Rachel and Richard, ripping it open.

Billie stood there before her, starting with surprise as he ran his eyes over her. “Um, I’ve seen you in some...interesting outfits, but what is that?” he raised an eyebrow at her green velvet number which bore a disturbing resemblance to an eight year old girl’s Christmas dress.

“My mother insisted,” she shrugged uncomfortably. “I hate it.”

“Is your mother trying to see how perverted I am? Or is this to keep me from wanting to look at you from the neck down?”

“If it’s the latter, I don’t think it’s working very well,” she remarked dryly.

Billie dragged his gaze back up to her face, “Sorry, sorry. I was just looking at your...dress.”

Felicity grinned a little in spite of herself. She looked him over quickly, starting in surprise. “Oh my God, you put on a tie,” she grinned at him.

“Do you think I’ll pass inspection?” Billie held his arms out, gesturing to his ensemble. She smiled, for he really had made an effort––he had lost the studded belt, the Converse, the eyeliner, and his crazy hair was somewhat tamed.

“Quite honestly, I like it best when you’re just you,” she said softly.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I’m trying to impress them for you. So, really, what do you think?”

Felicity blinked. He was doing this...for her. Her heart gave an odd flutter as she stared at him smiling uncertainly at her.

No, no, I must stop this...this is ridiculous.

“Well, you pass the inspection in my book,” she nodded. She didn’t quite have the heart to tell him that there was little chance the same could be said for her parents. They were going into this already determined to disapprove.

“Felicity?” Richard’s voice interrupted them.

“Um, I guess you should come in,” she opened the door enough to admit him entrance. Billie stepped into the large foyer, staring at the lavish surroundings, the black and white marble tile floor shined to the point he could see his reflection. Tearing his gaze away, he looked over to where Rachel and Richard stood, already eyeing him askance.

“Billie,” Felicity gently took his arm, walking towards them, “these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is my friend, Billie Joe Armstrong.”

“Please to meet you, Sir, Ma’am,” Billie nodded, holding out his hand.

Deigning to be polite, Richard took it. Rachel merely smiled sourly.

“I think I’m going to see how dinner is coming along,” Richard stepped out of the foyer towards the kitchen, surreptitiously wiping his hand on his Armani jacket as he went.

“So you’re Felicity’s friend. How lovely,” Rachel managed. “So shall we eat?” Without waiting for an answer, she trailed her husband to the kitchen.

“I’m really sorry,” Felicity turned to Billie. “Please, just don’t mind them at all. They’ll...warm up to you.”

Billie waved his hand, “It’s all right. They could be worse.” He went back to staring at the decor. “Wow,” he shook his head, looking around in astonishment. “This is really...I mean, this is...”

“A morgue,” she finished for him. When he raised his eyebrows at her, she waved her hand, “Stop, you can say it. This place is one giant chilling morgue. Very expensive, devoid of all life.”

Billie suppressed a smile. “I was trying to be nice, you know.”

“Now where did you two get off to?” Rachel appeared, trying to disguise the tick below her eye that had developed once she noticed her daughter had disappeared with her less-than-favorable gentleman caller.

Billie looked up at her, “I was just saying that you have a beautiful home, Mrs. Bennet. It’s amazing.”

“Oh. Yes, well...thank you,” Rachel nodded, attempting to be gracious. Turning back, she led the way into the dining room, decorated for the occasion.

Felicity stared in disgust. They had really gone all out. It was insanely lavish, like they half-expected Queen Elizabeth to come waltzing in for a crumpet. She knew they had done it on purpose. Gone to this ridiculous extreme just to pound in the fact to Billie that his lower-middle class origins marked him as not nearly good enough for their daughter. That he fell far below the acceptable ranks.

The table was set with a delicate lace table cloth, the sort that cost a fortune and was irreparably damaged by one stain. On top of it, was the Bennets’ finest china that made appearances only a few times a year––fragile, desperately expensive Lenox settings with gold-plated edging, surrounded by thin-stemmed Waterford crystal wine glasses and a demented amount of flatware. Felicity sincerely doubted that anyone, Billie included, ever normally sat down to dinner set with that many different knives, forks, and spoons.

They all took their seats, with the exception of Richard, who was to take the head of the table, but was still in the kitchen.

Felicity tried to keep the look of contempt off her face as the various courses were laid out. They really had played this one to the hilt. They were serving fucking caviar.

“Do you drink?” Richard questioned Billie, entering the room bearing bottles of wine and champagne and a cork screw.

“Oh, no, Sir,” Billie shook his head, smiling. “Not until I turn twenty-one.”

Felicity resisted the urge to laugh, catching herself especially as Billie flashed her a look.

“Well, that’s very...admirable of you,” Richard nodded, deliberately turning the bottle of champagne so Billie couldn’t fail to notice the Dom Perignon label as the cork was extracted. “Of course, it’s nothing more than to be expected,” Richard quickly added, not daring to sound like he approved of the young man, even for a moment.

“Would you like some escargots?” Rachel offered the plate under Billie’s nose, smiling patronizingly, while Richard popped the cork of the Château Mouton Rothschild wine.

“Um, sure,” Billie smiled back, and then picking up the small pair of silver tongs that sat on the plate as well to take one. He set it on his own plate, watching a bit uncomfortably as the shell went rolling around. He pushed it about with his salad fork, looking like he was debating exactly how one was supposed to eat it.

“Don’t you ever eat escargots?” Rachel smiled sweetly, her voice dripping with condescension. “I mean, you know what it is, don’t you?”

Felicity watched as Billie masked his annoyance at being talked down to. “Yes,” he nodded. “Snails.”

Rachel gave a tinkly little laugh, reaching over and setting the tongs back on his plate along with the miniature fork that sat on the far outside of all the silverware at his place setting. “There, does that help any?”

Billie managed to smile back before glancing quickly at Felicity. Discreetly, she tried to mime the action, and fortunately, Billie took the hint, for in the next moment he had captured the shell between the tongs and used the fork to dig the part one actually ate out. He gave an expression that suggested, “Bottom’s up!” before putting it in his mouth. He chewed it for several moments, looking rather thoughtful, before swallowing.

“Isn’t it any good?” Rachel asked after he had had enough time to get it down. “I know it can be a bit strange if you don’t eat it very often.”

“No, no, it was delicious,” he shook his head. “Garlic, butter, what’s not to like? I really enjoyed that, Mrs. Bennet. Excellent. Did you make those yourself?”

Rachel gave another one of her tinkly laughs, though this one was a bit louder. “Oh, heavens no! We have a cook, dear! But thank you, all the same.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Well, you’ll have to let me ask your cook how they’re made. I’m sure my mom would love to try that.”

“I imagine that’s not something you eat very often in your home, then?” Rachel questioned, still smiling.

Felicity wanted to smack her.

“No, can’t say we do,” Billie shrugged.

Richard laughed jovially, giving him an all-boys-together smile as he joked, “All champagne tastes and beer pockets in your family?”

“I guess so,” Billie kept the smile plastered on his face while Felicity was pulling so hard at the napkin on her lap the linen was starting to fray.

“So...your name is Billie, isn’t it? Is that sort for William?” Rachel questioned as the dishes of salad niçoise were set in front them.

“No,” he shook his head, “just Billie.”

“Ah,” Rachel smiled fakely, arching her brows nearly to the ceiling. “So then tell me, Billie, what do your parents do?”

“Well, my mom’s a waitress.”

“How...nice.” It obviously wasn’t. “And your father?”

“My father’s dead,” Billie’s eyes dropped down to his salad dish, pushing the lettuce around with his fork.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She didn’t look it. “What did he do before he died?” As though that was the only thing that mattered.

“He was a trucker,” Billie nodded. When he saw Rachel try to mask her grimace, he continued proudly, “He was a musician, too. Jazz music. He was a really great guy.”

“How quaint,” Rachel smiled again, though the corners of her mouth didn’t turn up the way they were supposed to. “And you, Billie. What is it that you do? Felicity tells me you’re a bit older than she is, but I assume you’re in college? Berkeley?” she questioned airily, putting an emphasis on Berkeley that made it clear she thought it a den of pot-addled, unwashed, rabble-rousing hippies.

“No,” Billie smiled, “I’m not in school. I’m a musician, actually. I’ve got a band and we’ve put out a couple records. Nothing big, but it’s what I love.”

“Surely that’s not all you do?”

Felicity glowered at her mother, thought it went unnoticed. Why was she being such a witch?

“Well...I sometimes bus tables at my mom’s restaurant to make some spare cash, but basically, yes, my band is where I put all my time and energy in. It’s very important to me.”

“Yes, well, our family certainly understands the value of music,” Rachel smiled, trying to play off the fact that she was appalled by Billie’s lack of education or real career. “Felicity has certainly informed you of her operatic singing, yes?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve asked her to sing for me before, but I think she’s a little embarrassed. I bet she’s wonderful,” Billie grinned at her.

Felicity blushed.

“With some more practice, I’m sure,” Rachel shrugged nonchalantly as Felicity slid further down in her chair, staring at the napkin in her lap. “Well, this ‘band’ of yours. What sort of music do you play?”

Billie suppressed a smile, knowing the reaction he was going to get when he answered. “Punk rock.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Punk rock,” he repeated.

“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that genre,” Rachel shook her head. “Richard, darling, have you heard of it?”

Richard frowned at the young man sitting across from his daughter, “Punk rock? It’s absolute rubbish, is what it is. Loud, screaming, hedonistic, pierced, tattooed dope-addicts wailing on about defacing property and taking drugs. Virtual mob rule when one of those bands play. Come, Rachel, you’ve seen that lot. Metal and chains and spikes and hair dyed all sorts of unnatural colors and all that black––they look like some sort of satanic cult. That vulgar, frightening makeup––men and women. Drug orgies of those bizarre freaks and skinheads.”

Billie Joe and Felicity gaped at Richard in shock.

“Um, Sir,” Billie stammered, trying to regain his powers of speech, “meaning no disrespect, but I think you are severely misinformed as to what––”

“Don’t you dare presume to tell me I’m misinformed!” he spluttered. “If I had any idea what sort of element I was allowing in my house, I...why, I have half a mind to––”

Billie cut him off, finally losing his temper, “Sir, you are an idiot.”

“I beg your pardon!” Richard gaped at him.

“Mr. Bennet, you were already determined to hate me before I walked through the door. And you don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about. You go through life like that––that makes you an idiot.”

Staring him down as though he were about to burst a major artery, Richard pushed back from the table and rose, stalking off to the kitchen, commanding his wife and daughter to follow. As she went, Felicity shrugged helplessly at Billie, who she could see was trying to keep from obviously fuming.

“I have had quite enough of this! Of him! This farce of a dinner is over!” Richard decreed once they had stepped out of the room.

“I agree. I’m not putting up with a minute more of this!” Rachel acquiesced.

“What? What are you talking about?” Felicity cried.

“This is over,” Rachel turned to her. “Finished. He is out of this house. And you are not to see that boy again.”

“What?” the color drained from Felicity’s face.