Oh, no, no. Salome's safe. She's not a rich, fifty- to sixty-something gentleman who's so desperate for companionship and physical attention that he'll marry somebody like Susan. Where do you think all her money came from, drug wholesaling? That's just a hobby. There's a shiny red hourglass printed bold across her back; you just have to look hard enough for it.
She's a trifling friend, indeed. But, luckily, that means Salome doesn't have to worry about meeting a nasty end at her mother's hands. Probably.
Hands folding beneath her chin, Susan shoots Salome one of those terrible, knowing grins. "Oh, my, how much older? Eighteen? Twenty-one? Don't let him get you into trouble, Salome." The 'I don't want to have to bail you out of jail' is only implied. "Those older boys can be mischief sometimes, just ask me."
She tilts her head, observing the way the girl focuses on her phone as if unconsciously trying to avoid eye contact. This woman could make an FBI agent blush for as well as she's versed in the ins and outs of body language--it's how she's as successful as she is. The trick to manipulating people is reading their minds, and the trick to saving your own ass is knowing how to keep your body from telling the truth. She's made it out of more than one questioning with the cops due to those skills. Those acting classes she goes to are worth their weight in gold.
"That's right, I almost forgot about his girlfriend." No she didn't, not even for a second. The whole weekend--well, not the whole weekend, there were things to do--but at least for most of it, and for most of Salome's time at home since, she's been waiting with bated breath to hear about this alleged lover of Richard's. Her head tilts, her brows lifting in utterly non-judgemental curiosity. "You got to meet her, didn't you? What do you think of her?"
Oh, how she just wants to cut to the chase and ask if she was a junkie, or maybe wealthy, or if she reminded Salome of Susan, herself. But no, no, these things are better approached delicately. Coaxed out bit by bit.
After all, this isn't some interrogation. Just a friendly little mother-daughter chat.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-08-10 11:58 pm (UTC)She's a trifling friend, indeed. But, luckily, that means Salome doesn't have to worry about meeting a nasty end at her mother's hands. Probably.
Hands folding beneath her chin, Susan shoots Salome one of those terrible, knowing grins. "Oh, my, how much older? Eighteen? Twenty-one? Don't let him get you into trouble, Salome." The 'I don't want to have to bail you out of jail' is only implied. "Those older boys can be mischief sometimes, just ask me."
She tilts her head, observing the way the girl focuses on her phone as if unconsciously trying to avoid eye contact. This woman could make an FBI agent blush for as well as she's versed in the ins and outs of body language--it's how she's as successful as she is. The trick to manipulating people is reading their minds, and the trick to saving your own ass is knowing how to keep your body from telling the truth. She's made it out of more than one questioning with the cops due to those skills. Those acting classes she goes to are worth their weight in gold.
"That's right, I almost forgot about his girlfriend." No she didn't, not even for a second. The whole weekend--well, not the whole weekend, there were things to do--but at least for most of it, and for most of Salome's time at home since, she's been waiting with bated breath to hear about this alleged lover of Richard's. Her head tilts, her brows lifting in utterly non-judgemental curiosity. "You got to meet her, didn't you? What do you think of her?"
Oh, how she just wants to cut to the chase and ask if she was a junkie, or maybe wealthy, or if she reminded Salome of Susan, herself. But no, no, these things are better approached delicately. Coaxed out bit by bit.
After all, this isn't some interrogation. Just a friendly little mother-daughter chat.
Perfectly normal.