1964-04-04 - Ninette Meets Elmo
Summary: Ninette meets Elmo, who may never recover from it.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
elmo ninette 


Ninette doesn't usually go to the Lower East End. It's not her neighborhood. She's come though to ask after a few things, but so far it's been a bust. Her connection never showed. And so she walks down the street on the way to a car that will take her home. Her gait is elegant. Her clothing is elegant. She's the elegance poster child.

*

Elmo comes out of a shop at exactly the wrong moment to even hope to not collide with the nice lady just minding her own business. He flings himself against the doorway in a panicked hop. "Jeez, lady, sorry!"

*

Ninette startles, and when she whips her her attention to Elmo, it's like being caught in the hypnotic gaze of a serpent. Cold. So cold. Then she relaxes, and her expression softens to a mere sniff and lift of her chin. "Watch where you are going, perhaps?" Her accent is French.

*

Elmo glares back, but it lacks conviction. Just a formality. Her stare makes him nervous and he tries to hide it. "Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't walk on the—sidewalk," he says with perfect New York bluster. His accent makes it clear this /is/ his neighborhood.

*

Ninette's brow knits. Did the skinny little man just glare at her? He's still taller than she is, anyway, but still. She looks around, at the sidewalk, at the street, then back to Elmo. Are you insane? that look says. She takes a swaying step forward, those hips swinging. Then another step, and another. "Where else am I supposed to walk?"

*

Elmo realizes that Ninette is smoking hot, at this point. It takes the wind out of him. "Uh, you're not from around here, are ya?" He inches backwards as she advances on him. "Forget it." He's holding a small box which he now attempts to stuff into a random coat pocket.

*

Ah, there's the response she's hoping for. Her brow tics, and she smiles thinly. "I am from further north." Upper East Side? She'd fit in there. Her gaze goes to the box briefly. Hmm. To toy with the man or to not toy with the man. She's had a rough day. Someone's going to pay for it. "Forget what?" Her voice is sweet as a nightingale's.

*

"'It'," Elmo says, the word rich with snark, while the box springs nimbly from his fingers. He swears and grabs at it as it tumbles down, but doesn't secure it. Plap! It's on the sidewalk now. Elmo closes his eyes briefly like he can't believe this is happening to him on today of all days. Then he goes to scoop it up.

*

Ninette kneels to scoop it up, but Elmo just beats her to it. She ends up grabbing his hand instead. Her skin is cold. It's a cool evening, though. It's not too unusual. She looks up at him, lets go of his hand, and says, "You are a disaster." She says it calmly, without malice. Then she smiles. "But it suits you."

*

Elmo flinches at skin contact from a beautiful woman. Then, a double-edged compliment? This is getting complicated. He looks away with the excuse of getting the box safely into an inner coat pocket. The glimpse of his open coat that this provides suggests he might be carrying around half of a hardware store in there. "Uh. Thanks?" He glances back at her, finds her still looking at him, glances away again hastily. "Sorry about the, you know, and all."

*

Ninette rises up again slowly. Those stiletto heels remain in perfect balance. She stands at only 5'3", but something in her stature makes her seem taller somehow. It's the pride, the way she holds herself. "Don't worry about it. You didn't mean to almost run into me." She offers her hand to him, not to shake. "Ninette Laurent."

*

Elmo doesn't at first know what Ninette is holding her hand out like that to him for. Then it dawns, she wants to /shake hands/! But her hand is wrong. That's not how you do it. He tries to do it right, which is painfully awkward and leaves nobody satisfied, and introduces himself, voice cracking a little. "Elmo. Uh, hi."

*

Ninette watches this display with polite curiosity. That crack in his voice, so adorable. Once the whatever-that-was is done, she lowers her hand to join its mate clutching her little purse. "Tell me, Elmo, do I make you nervous?" So innocent and wide-eyed.

*

"Yeah, you're weird," Elmo replies in what is indeed a nervous tone. "Why are you even talking to me?" Pretty ladies don't talk to him. Unless it's to insult him.

*

To be fair, Ninette already has insulted Elmo so that's out of the way. "Do you tell all the ladies they're weird? Or am I special?" She huffs a little and shakes her head. "Because a conversation started," she explained. "I can go if it'll make you feel better."

*

"You asked," Elmo says, helplessly. He's getting the strong impression he did something wrong, but has no real idea what. Men: We Don't Know What We Did. "Weird's not bad. I'm weird. Ask anybody."

*

"I don't need to," Ninette replies. She watches Elmo with a strange fascination. Most of the men she meets at least try to be suave and self-possessed. This one… are they all like this on the Lower East End? "What is weird then if not bad?" She smiles slowly, adding, with a little, perk shrug, "Most men tell me I'm beautiful."

*

"It's /different/," Elmo says, squirming a bit under that fascinated gaze. "Like being a Beat or something. Or it /could/ be bad, but I'm not saying you're bad-weird." He shrugs. "See, I'm weird, I didn't tell you that. You know it already anyway, you don't need anybody to tell you."

The door to the shopit's a tailoropens and an older fellow grouses at Elmo, "Ey, boychik, get off my stoop. What is this, a malted shop?" He tips his head to Ninette, "Miss," and closes the door.

*

Ninette peers at Elmo. Her English is good, but not great. Half of what Elmo says gets lost, and the older man who gets a polite nod might as well be speaking Swahili. "Er," she says, "Yes, all right." The last bit she understands though, and she utters a crystalline laugh. "A woman still likes to hear it."

*

Elmo yells through the door, "Sorry Mr. Goldstein!" with only a token eyeroll. He beckons Ninette along down the sidewalk, utterly unselfconscious in this moment because Mr. Goldstein needs him to get off the stoop. "Yeah," he says thoughtfully, turning over the idea that ladies like to be told they're beautiful. "Yeah, I can see that."

*

Ninette moves along the street with Elmo, perfectly poised, falling into step with him. "It's all right to state the obvious, Elmo. It is part of the intricate social game. You tell a woman she's lovely." Because that never goes wrong. "Not weird. We're not weird."

*

Elmo's shoulders slump. "Oh," he says glumly. "They told me I'm stunted socially." Reaching into a pocket, he comes out with a little bit of metal: a few bike chain links stacked on top of each other, held together with a paperclip and a couple of rubber bands. It seems to have no purpose other than to be fiddled with, because that's what he starts doing with it: flipping the links over and over in one hand. "Even if I told you that, it wouldn't fix it."

*

"Just don't call women weird and you'll do better." She watches the link-flipping. "Nervous habit?" she asks. He doesn't seem to have any of those. None she'll show on the street anyway. "Why are you so…?" She gestures at Elmo. Please explain all of this.

*

Elmo glances at Ninette, quirking a quarter of a smile. "Okay. You know a lot more about being a woman than I do." He always listens to experts. "Why am I, what?" he asks, surprised. "I dunno, I'm just like this. If I could figure out why, I could fix it, maybe." His expression softens as he looks at Ninette, to something she's probably more familiar with. "Uh, you, uh are really pretty though. Beautiful."

*

Ninette says gently, "It's usually the upbringing. It's all right. You're charming in your way. She favors him with a pat on the shoulder. Then she smiles at him, sterling and polished. "Thank you. I work very hard to be."

*

Elmo immediately turns red and nearly stumbles. The power of that smile and a touch! "I-I am?" He gives Ninette a worried look. "Are you sure? You don't have to say that if you don't want to."

*

Ninette steadies Elmo, which requires a touch with both hands. "Tch, you'll hurt yourself," she chides. "Stand up, remember to breathe." She's not used to having to administer first aid on account of her looks, but it's not the first time. "It's less charming if you hurt yourself."

*

Elmo mutters, "yeah, bet it is," and more or less gets a grip. He didn't drop his toy during the whole event, but did stop playing with it. Now he resumes, rapidly flipping it between his fingers, studying Ninette curiously and with a lot of embarrassment, but something about her forthrightness makes him do it. "You know a lot about that kind of thing."

*

"Charm or hurting myself?" Ninette asks. "Perhaps yes to both." She holds out a hand for the toy. Give please. She wants to inspect it. "Did you make this?" she asks. "Or do they have those here in this part of town?" Whatever it is.

*

Elmo hands it over; it's not much, and it's warm from friction. "Made it. Just kind of something to do with my hands." He shrugs, losing the wherewithal to look at Ninette as she takes it. "Helps me be, kind of, not that bad sometimes. Hard to explain."

*

Ninette tucks her clutch under one arm, and she inspects the gadget. Then she fiddles with it. "Why so much nervous energy?" she asks. "You are like a jittery wire." God knows why that's what she decides on, but maybe her English just isn't all that broad.

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