Title: Intoxicating
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2751
Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance
Summary: It's 1920, and Annie has just been booted out of her house for having illegal liquor. What happens next is anyone's guess.
Disclaimer:I don't own Community. Isn't it obvious?
A/N: This story (hopefully) fulfills na_thalia's prompt: Annie as a 1920s lounge singer!
I tried not to get too bogged down in historical detail.
Crossposted totumblr and livejournal
...
Here she was, Little Annie Edison, standing outside an infamous speakeasy. Well, not so much infamous as... local. It wasn't the 21 in New York, but it was serving the real McCoy.
Maybe not the real McCoy. But booze. You get the idea.
It's not like Greendale, Colorado was known for rumrunning.
But they needed a singer.
And Annie needed a job.
Since her mother, head of Greendale's Women's Christian Temperance Movement. had discovered Annie's flask, half full of gin, had thrown her daughter out.
Annie had snuck back in at midnight for her Chanel dresses, shoes, cigarettes, and the tight wad of money that she kept under a loose floorboard beneath her bed. After counting it at the bus station, she realized she didn't have quite enough money to get to New York City, or even Chicago.
But she was eighteen, an independant woman, old enough to drink (even if it was illegal) and vote (nationwide), so she had taken a room at the local hotel/brothel and began looking for a job. Any job. One of the working girls had mentioned that Pelton's, a speakeasy/women's clothing emporium on L Street.
Annie shivered in the January snow, staring at the red door, pondering what was on the other side. A life of liquor and sin and fast talking men. Or a steady income so she could save her money and make her dreams come true. She snapped her fingers together (for luck, or something), adjusted her handkerchief hem and marched in.
"Hello!" a woman called from the front desk.
Annie, showing no fear, approached. "Are you Vicky?"
"Yup," she said, snapping her gum.
"Pop, pop?" Annie's voice stuttered into a question after saying the codeword.
"We're not open yet, miss."
"I'm here for the audition."
Vicky rapped on the wall behind her. An unseen panel opened.
"Big Neil, this lady wants to audition for Craig."
"Hi!" Annie waved.
"This way, miss," Big Neil told her.
Annie flounced through the panel. "Thank you," she smiled.
"Don't mention it," he said. "Hey, boss! This girl wants to audition." He settled down on his stool next to the hidden door again.
"Wowee, another one!" The 'boss' stood up. He was a short man. If Annie had taken off her high heels, they would have been the same height. He was bald and wore square framed glasses. The sleeves on his shirt were short, and he wore a striped tie.
"What do you mean, another one? This is our first girl, Craig."
Annie's eyes were drawn to a man slouched nonchalantly over a chair. He was toying with a large silver coin, tapping it on the table and making it turn tricks through his fingers. He caught her staring, winked, and slid the coin easily in his pocket. He was older, with laugh lines around his eyes, but his hair was tousled and his smile was easy. He stood, and here was a proper height. At least a foot taller than her.
"I'm Annie Edison," she said, swallowing her sudden tremors. She stuck out her hand.
"Craig Pelton," said the shorter man, shaking it.
"Jeff Winger, attorney at law," said the other man. He took her hand and brushed a kiss over her fingers.
Someone banged on a piano. The trio turned.
"Ah," said Mr. Pelton. "That's Pierce Hawthorne, our piano player. Vaughn over there plays the bass, Rich is trumpet, and on drums we have Ian Duncan, all the way from the East End in England."
"Wow," said Annie. She draped her coat over the back of a chair.
Mr. Winger and Mr. Pelton walked her over to the stage, and Mr. Winger offered his hand as she climbed the five short steps. "Milady," he said playfully.
She felt herself flush. "Mr. Winger."
His face wrinkled. "It's Jeff."
She shook her head. "Milord," she said.
"What are you going to sing?" Pierce called. He was an older man; clearly he had been a piano man on and in saloons his entire life. Practically.
"I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate," Annie said.
"Alright, here it comes," said Ian, counting out the rhythm.
"I went to a dance with my sister Kate;
Everybody there thought she danced so great;
I realized a thing or two,
When I got wise to something new:
When I looked at Kate, she was in a trance,
And then I knew it was in her dance;
All the boys are going wild
Over sister Katie's style."
She sang all the lyrics, almost as if she was reciting for Ms. Cullen, her schoolteacher. Perfectly in key, perfectly clear.
But she could see Jeff frowning. Annie looked wildly around the room and met the eyes of the barkeep. Dark hair, dark eyes, whip thin, and an honest face that you felt you could tell all your troubles to.
After the song was over, Jeff leaned over to the "boss" and whispered something. Mr. Pelton frowned.
"What's wrong?" Annie demanded.
Jeff shot up. "You sounded like you were in the Church Choir. Ignore the pastor!"
"I never went to Church, I'm Jewish!" Annie shouted.
"Ooh, formidable. What's the problem? How old are you? Do you even have an older sister to be jealous of?" Jeff asked.
"I hardly think that's your concern!" Annie shot back. "And I'm twenty!" She was only eighteen, but he was a lawyer, and everyone knew they were the biggest liars in the world.
"If I could make a suggestion," the bartender came over.
"What? Abed! This isn't a silent movie. This girl has to sing! This is real life."
"I know that," Abed the bartender hopped up on the stage. "Annie, right?"
"Yes?" She was feeling a little shaky.
"That won't do. You can't be yourself up here, you have to be someone else."
"Like, a stage name?"
"Yes, like a stage name," said Abed. "Caroline Decker. From Corpus Christi, Texas."
"But I've never been to Texas," Annie said uncertainly.
"Doesn't matter, kid. Listen to Abed. He's a Polish god!" Jeff shouted from the audience of three.
"Jeffery, don't yell at the performers. Troy might hear you, and we can't have him getting emotional. Harlem dancers are supposed to be made of sterner stuff!
"He's not from Harlem, and neither is Shirley, and all your customers know that!" Jeff stalked to the bar and poured himself a scotch from the top rail.
Abed watched the proceedings, then turned back to Annie. "Now Caroline. What do you want more than anything."
"There's a personal question," Annie said carefully.
"No time for small talk, Annie," said Vaughn next to her. He smelled like too much Indian hop and looked like he needed a haircut. On his right, Rich smiled at her encouragingly. He was too clean cut to be real
Annie sighed. "To... go to New York, I guess. I don't know. I used to know what I wanted, but my mother... well."
"Ah," said Abed, as if he had struck gold. "Do you know 'Avalon'?"
"Yes..." sorta. The song just came out.
"Cool," said Abed.
"Stop using "cool" to mean "hep," Abed. It's never going to happen! You sound streets behind." Pierce said. "And if she doesn't know the song, just put her in something low-cut, no one is going to notice!"
"Thanks, Abed," Annie said, ignoring Pierce's comment.
"No problem, Caroline. You'll be just swell. To the band, he said, "Try it in double time, boys."
Ian counted the rhythm again. Pierce, Vaughn, and Rich started in.
Wait, what? Annie wanted to cry, but it was too late and the music was taking her...
I found my love in Avalon
Beside the bay
I left my love in Avalon
And sailed away
I dream of him in Avalon
From dusk until dawn
And so I think I"ll travel on
To Avalon!
She caught Jeff Winger's eye and infused her voice with as much longing and hurt as she could, but the song was over so soon.
He downed the rest of his scotch. "Fine."
"Are you free for the rest of the afternoon?" Craig asked.
"I, um, yes?" Annie said.
"Good, because you premiere tonight, so rehearse with the band. Our 'Harlem' dancers, Shirley and Troy will be here soon, so you can practice with them, and then, we simply have to get you out of those clothes."
"I assumed this was the audition, otherwise I would have worn something better," Annie said in her defense.
"Don't worry. Pelton's has got you covered!" he sing-songed and made his way over to the bar.
Annie sang a few more tunes, enough to make her comfortable with the band. Pierce was a pervert, but luckily none of it was directed at her. Rich was too good for words. Vaughn was sweet, but in a vague way. And Ian... well, Annie didn't know her geography, but at the end of the rehearsal, she was sure that the East End of London was the bad end, not the one famous for the theater.
She stopped singing for a bit, and plopped down at a table. Abed came over with a steaming mug. "Drink this. For your voice."
"Thank you, Abed," she said, taking a sip. She cringed. "What is this?"
"It's a hot toddy," he said, pulling a chair up next to her. "Tea, Earl Grey in this case, plus whiskey and a bit of honey."
"Oh, thank you."
"Jeff likes you, he just can't tell you."
"What makes you say that?"
"I don't want him to intimidate you. He likes women who can stand up to him. But his emotions aren't always apparent. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve like you do."
"How do you know this?"
"I'm a student of the arts of Hollywood. I've seen every silent picture show to come through Greendale. It's what makes me a good bartender. I can tell what people are thinking through their actions."
"Oh. Do your talents include modesty?"
"I am well aware of my own limitations. But I know my strengths and I harness them. You are delicate and graceful, you can break a lot of hearts on that stage. But you need to be Caroline Decker, and not let yourself get your heart broken."
Annie was about to respond when a blonde with a soft bob swooped in wearing a red beaded dress and too much lipstick.
"What's this, Abed, new girlfriend?"
"No," said Abed. "This is Annie, but her stage name is Caroline Decker."
"Our new jazz baby?"
"Yup. And made of stronger stuff than our last one. Jeff called her formidable," Abed said. "Annie, this is Britta, our cigarette girl."
"Nice to meet you," said Annie offering her hand.
"You too. Shouldn't you be wearing something flashier? I'm surprised Craig hasn't played dress up with you yet."
"Hello!" called a sweet, motherly voice from across the room.
"Shirley, hi!" Britta greeted.
"Hey guys, what's happening?"
Abed's face warmed at seeing a black man man walk in. Abed went over and shook his hand.
"The usual, Troy?" Abed asked.
Coca Cola, all the way!" Troy said.
"What have we here?" Shirley asked, sitting next to Annie.
"I'm Annie, the new singer," Annie said, introducing herself.
"Her stage name is Caroline Decker," Abed said, bringing a round of Cokes.
"That's nice," Shirley said.
"Shirley, you know that job should have been yours. No offense, Annie," Britta said.
Shirley's smile became a bit more fixed. "It's best not to bring that up in front of Annie," Shirley said.
"Well, I think it's dumb," said Britta. "The Harlem Renaissance is happening now! Black entertainers are it."
"Britta's from New York," Troy said. "And no one is arguing with her, but she likes to kick up a fuss anyway."
Annie sipped at her hot toddy. She watched as Abed, Troy, Shirley, and Britta bantered easily, catching up before the club opened. After a few moments, Jeff came and sat next to Annie. Remembering Abed's words, she stiffened a little.
"You should go out to the shop. Craig and Vicky need to get you ready," Jeff told her.
"Right."
"I'll go with," Britta said.
Annie offered Britta a smile and followed the older woman out of the speakeasy and into the boutique.
"What color do you want?"
"Do you have anything in purple?"
They did, one gown with a dropped waist and enough beading to string to the moon and back.
"Perfect," Britta declared.
Annie carefully applied her makeup in the bathroom mirror. Britta gave her an ancient curling iron, and after heating it on the range in the small kitchen, Annie carefully curled her dark brown bob before putting on the purple gown.
The speakeasy was slowly filling up, and the band was playing "Old-Fashioned Garden." Annie was backstage, trying to breathe when Jeff found her.
"Hey, you okay?"
"This is all happening too fast," she said without thinking.
"You'll be fine. They're all half in the bag and you've got great tits. You could be flat and sing the wrong lyrics. They wouldn't even notice."
"Thank... you?"
"No problem. Now relax, Caroline." He shot her a grin and a wink that was all lawyer charm before she stepped out on the stage.
She was momentarily blinded, but after she got to her microphone, she could see Troy and Shirley, getting ready to lead the crowd in the "latest Harlem dances."
Ian counted them in, and Annie,
Caroline
was baptized a jazz baby.
…
You live at "Darringer's?" Jeff was incredulous.
"Yeah, well, it's just for now, until I can save enough money to move to Chicago." He had offered to drive her home, and Annie had been halfway to the car when she remembered that home was no longer a sweet Queen Anne style home with a white picket fence.
"What's in Chicago?"
"I don't know. My future?"
"You've got it all planned out, don't you?"
"Well, I did, until my mother threw me out."
"Why did she kick you out?"
Annie didn't really want to talk about it, she wanted to have an air of the femme fatale about her, but Abed was right, she wore her heart on her sleeve.
"She... is the head of the WCTU in Greendale, and she found a flask in my room."
"I thought you were Jewish."
"We are. But she's more interested in being 'American' than going to Temple."
"Then why... never mind. How did you get it?"
"The gin? The milkman brings it."
"Jesus."
"Yeah."
"So now you're a flapper, eager to run off to Chicago?"
"Or New York," Annie said, clutching her purse.
"Why not Paris? You could drink with those writers in the Latin Quarter."
Annie shrugged. "One thing at a time."
"Yeah, well."
"Alcohol isn't illegal in Paris. It's more fun when it's forbidden fruit," Annie said. "The rest of the country apparently cottoned on to that this year, since we've been dry since 1916."
"Good old Andrew J Volstead," Jeff said, faking reverence.
"And now the whole country will let me vote, so really, I can go anywhere."
"But Colorado has always been ahead of the curve," Jeff said. "Women have had the vote since 1893." The lawyer in him was coming out.
"Yeah, but I don't give Colorado top grades. It's not very exotic."
"I beg your unbelievable pardon. Pelton's is very exotic."
"Yeah, what on Earth? Is Mr. Pelton in love with you?"
Jeff shrugged. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's bent, if that's what you're asking."
"Oh. He does seem very interested in ladies' fashion."
"You've never met a homosexual before, have you?"
"I've read Oscar Wilde!" Annie said defensively.
Jeff laughed. "Go get some sleep, kid. You have a bunch of new songs to learn tomorrow."
She crossed her arms. She wasn't a kid - she was a jazz singer now. And hot shot lawyers should be be falling at her feet. Or they would be. But she was definitely not juvenile.
"Seriously, Ms Decker. Get out of my Lincoln. I want to go home."
"I suppose Mrs. Winger is waiting for you."
"Is that what this is about? There is no Mrs. Winger, baby."
"Don't call me that," she warned.
"What, 'baby'?"
Annie kissed him, just to shut him up. Their noses collided, and she bit down too hard on his lip, but he wasn't talking for once.
"I am not a child," she said sweetly. She got out of the auto and slammed the door before marching into the rollicking brothel.