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melancholicstation · 3 days

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The Socially Active Secretary: Chapter Four

pairing: robert francis kennedy female ❤︎ original character charlotte agapov (secretary!reader)

bobby and charlotte have a freak off olympic contest

synopsis: charlotte agapov, a divorcee whom recently moved back to the states after a disastrous lovers quarrel, assumes the secretarial position to the most important man in America, but it is not he who has captured her attention, no. instead, it's his meek younger brother, the runt of the kennedy pack, bobby francis kennedy.

[ 1917 words ]

taglist: @remotewatch @fortheloveofjos @krazyforkennedy @bloxholden35 @astro-vibes-bro @h-l-vlovesvintage @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @kennediva @tsloverr-13 @chemicalw0rld

chapter one, two, three

masterlist, charlotte moodboard, rfk moodboard

Chapter Four

May 3rd, 1962

The walk home was long in its silence but not all that uncomfortable. That, for Charlotte was a gold-star achievement. Ever since she was a young girl Charlotte had always felt out of step with her peers socially, though she had her fair share of confidantes and lover entanglements she had always felt a need to perform and study polite social cues whenever faced with interactions. But with him, with Bobby, things felt different. Not completely divergent but it gave her a sense of hope.

On the way home Charlotte noted to Bobby that she had only visited the cape a few times on occasion being that her family was typically more urban-inclined. To which he went on to point out his personal sights across the journey back to the cape residence; the national seashore, shining sea bikeway, and the Hyannis main street.

Though he had been relatively caging about the specifics of his upbringing, Charlotte had gleamed two things: that they were incredibly wealthy, and were incredibly Irish-catholic.

And the only Irish-catholic family that Charlotte could really think of were the Kennedy's--with their eldest son being the most powerful man in the western-hemisphere John Fitzgerald Kennedy the 35th president of the United States.

To be clear, Charlotte, a woman who had spent the better half of her life in an english chateau hadn't particularly been up to date on the ever embedding current that was the states political system. What Charlotte did know is that Jack was equally dreamy as he was a skirt-chaser. To be quite frank, Charlotte couldn't even tell you the first or last names of any of Kennedy's senior cabinet.

While aligning the damning connections between the family Bobby had spoken about with a reverence one only observes in the pews of an Italian church, and the family known for running amuck in white cotton t-shirts, not paying their debts at local restaurants, and having the united states president as their family member, Charlotte observed Bobby.

Oh well that can simply not be! Charlotte thought.

Though she had never met the ambitious young man in person, she would've expected a relative of his to carry the same gravitas and vigour that almost seeped out of the edges of the newspaper columns, mixing in with the black ink.

Bobby, as he was observed by Charlotte was nothing of what the media would mythologise a Kennedy man to be. If he was one at all. Bobby's image as it was presented to her; a man dressed in a ribbed cardigan, and wool lapel jacket who always spoke in a doughy, restrained tone and felt, at least to Charlotte, entirely towards the feminine gender. This image was so incongruous to the leanings of a Kennedy-man, that Charlotte dismissed the thought of Bobby even being related to the president or his laundry list of brother's and sister's

Just as she had decided this, she realised that she had completely zoned out of Bobby's monologue. In effort to make reparations for her impoliteness, Charlotte zoned back in, providing light commentary to his words and following his line of sight wherever it strayed.

This continued all the way to the front gate, up the wooden steps, and arrived at its timid conclusion at the front door. As she reached for the set of keys her Aunt had loaned her, Bobby surveyed the perimeter of the landscape of the home, careful to not stray too far in fear of looking too eager. Finally the keys made their presence known to Charlotte, and both entered through the door.

The doorway separated itself into three distinct pathways; the middle leading to the main living space, the left leading to Charlotte's temporary bunk, and the right leading to her Aunt's master suite.

Charlotte politely excused herself to the left hallway, but not before encouraging bobby to sit in the living room, assuring that she'd be back in a minute. Charlotte watched as Bobby politely complied, placing himself delicately on the arm of a linen couch settee, that her Aunt claimed was a gift from a Saudi business man she'd met in the 40s.

Though Charlotte hoped that, from Bobby's perspective at least, that she looked like the object of sereneness. She was anything but. As Charlotte entered her bunk, she manically started to hide all evidence of embarrassingly adolescent messy room; strewn bra's that were discoloured from age, old magazines, and a book-set of erotic poetry that she'd been gifted at a gag Christmas party. Not that she expected Bobby to ever come to her room, let alone her bed, Charlotte wanted to be prepared.

Charlotte had always felt carnally repressed as a teenage, entirely separated from her true desires, and that suppression had somehow followed her into Charlotte's late 20s. So much so that Hugo would tell you it held a pivotal role in the disillusionment of their marriage. Often after acts of passion, she would feel immense guilt and disgust towards herself, neither Charlotte nor Hugo could seem to agree on whether it was her strict catholic faith or some other aliment that was causing this shame.

Charlotte wondered that, through the cleaning of her bedroom, it was the physical manifestation of her personal desires towards bobby, impulses that she had found herself unable to tap into from girlhood.

Once the impromptu clean up ended, Charlotte fixed her hair, licked her lips, and rolled back her shoulders, stepping back into the walkway.

During her absence Bobby's had made himself quite at home. Observing the decor, with the soles of his leather loafers resting on the mahogany side table. But it was one item however that caught the 37 year olds attention. A open newspaper with a heading that read in big black bolded letters: Will the Cuba defeat of America troops haunt the rest of the Kennedy administration? America ways in.

Bobby acted as though he had been shot, these fews days in the cape had been designed for him to blow some steam off, steam which had been collected by the gruelling job of being his brother's keeper, oh and also the attorney general of the United States of America.

The newspaper being so carelessly laid out in the living room suggested to Bobby, that Charlotte at least had to have some indication of his brother, being that he is the president. Which is, by definition, not a job that flys under the radar of most Americans. But the way she spoke to him gave zero symptom that she knew of bobby's true relation to the most powerful man in the whole of America.

As quickly as she left Charlotte returned, forcing Bobby out of his mind and into a conversation. Charlotte eyes the newspaper and casually picks it up, rolling the edges to gain a better hold.

"God what a pickle he's got himself in huh!", Charlotte laughs breathlessly

"I mean to embarrasses yourself on a world stage has got to sting quite a bit, don't it?" Charlotte adds in a sympathetic yet ribbing manner.

"Well I don't know about embarrassing more like y-know, I suppose it's more of a learning curve than anything else." Bobby adds, clearly getting defensive. An emotion that she had get to gleam from the man so far.

"Oh come on you can't really believe that!" Charlotte urges, placing a soft hand on his fore arm, to try to further her point. "He ought to hold some shame at least, not bucket loads but a safe heaping would do him some good. At least that's what I would propose."

Bobby chuckles, rolls in his eyes, and fudges with the collar of his shirt.

"Oh come on, I like him as much as any other girl in these parts, but you've gotta admit that Cuba was a severe misstep on his part. Or are you a member of one of those fanatical jack Kennedy boy clubs?" Charlotte jovially questions.

Bobby sighs, "Worse, I'm his brother."

The world goes silent for a few moments. All of the sudden the subtle creak of the floorboards, and the distant chirps of terns scouring the coastline for prey could be heard, and made its presence loud.

There Bobby braced himself for two situations; one which would turn Charlotte into a fanatic social climber now equipped with the knowledge of his relation to the Kennedys or send her for the hills.

Yet, neither came to pass. Instead Charlotte looked shocked for a brief moment, but regained her composure not a moments later.

Charlotte simply bashfully smiled, adding that "Well now I'm the fool bagging off the president to his brother, do forgive me for that indiscretion, Bobby. It's nothing personal to you or your brother I swear."

To which Bobby quickly adds, "As am I. I'm frequently told, even by Jack himself, that I get far too protective, ruthless even. I do apologise that I hadn't told you sooner, I just assumed you knew. The president's family is not normally so incognito"

"Yes, not normally so but you see for the better half of your's brother's inauguration and presidency I was living in London. Much to your dismay, I report that there's not much coverage on the likes of Jack Kennedy in Mayfair, London." She murmured.

"Well that certainly explains it now doesn't it?" Bobby says in a trademark Boston accent, so strong that she felt utterly stupid for failing to connect the dots of his connection to the most popular family in all of Massachusetts.

"You're not turned off by my reluctance to the truth?" the thirty-seven year old man says in a tone that much reflects that off an insecure little boy.

"It's just that once I tell y-know a girl about who my family is, most no short of salivate at the opportunity to speak with jack, and quickly forget about me and I just-"

"Bobby you must know that you don't have to explain this to me, I understand it implicitly. Not about the having a president for a brother part but the weight of feeling not enough I do, deeply so." She murmurs, in a voice respective of the intimacy of the conversation at hand.

"Well that's great to now Charlotte" Bobby says with a clipped smile, it is only then that the pair realise how close they have gotten. So close in fact that the man could recognise the black that Charlotte had coated her eyelashes with that afternoon. Almost acting completely of itself, his hand gently arrives to cup the cheek of the woman.

Charlotte freezes yet finds her self nudging his body closer by her face, until their lips are parallel with each other. The pair held unsaid whispers of need within their eyes, as Bobby spoke up in what had seemed to be a period of silence to ask a simple question, "May I?"

Hugo never asked that, always with demanding hands and spoken in a tone that reminded Charlotte that he hadn't come into contact with the word "no" very much.

In light of that, Charlotte began to smile to herself and strongly began to nod, almost childlike in her excitement.

Slowly Charlotte and Bobby lips met as one, a perfect current of ebbing and flowing; like two oceans completely complicit in each other's happiness. And with that caused a descent of the pair into the couch cushions so gentle, you'd think it was choreographed by the New York ballet themselves ...

End of Chapter Four.

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