Author's Note: Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen. I wanted to write something Valentine's Day themed, since some of the characters would be perfect, in my opinion for it. I have not tossed aside Flash in the Pan, just as this was an idea too good to abandon. I will try to get that next chapter out soon. This meanwhile will be shorter, with three chapters at most.
Disclaimer: Sing is the ownership of Illumination Entertainment. I under no circumstances make a profit off of this story. Thank you.
Please enjoy.
Jack of Hearts Hotel
Chapter 1
February 13th:
Ash's eyes trashed the hearts her eyes picked everywhere she went, nowadays. They swam and plunged into her vision that she would've had to wear thick, dark, sunglasses in order to blot it out. The ocean of pink and white and red…so much pink and cherry red…invaded her conscious thought, pilfering punk with filtered niceties and bad romanic notions. The flowers propagated overnight, too, tossing their rosy petals to the San Francisco winds, as happy, ambitious vendors offered her more than once a toss of a vase.
She tried to ignore it, punching it down in the pit of her stomach. Not remotely easy, with lovey-dovey propaganda trying to color crimson her stylish black threads.
She could feel a grimace of disgust forming along with that pit-gut feeling. Even as she tried to hide while cooking a millennial breakfast, she couldn't deny the truth of the calendar. Valentine's Day was almost upon the city. And people were getting stupid.
The coffee came to fruition hastily, burning hot as Ash turned slightly cold. Quills frizzed and peculated in frustration, but she knew she was going to have to brave the day. Buster had called for practice, and a fair bit of carpentry ultimately would surface after the accident from the day before.
A brief grin as the coffee slid down the throat. Bliss fused from the nectar of coffee beans and hilarious indignant accidents with no physical casualties brought that grin. The memories supplied herself a TV screen.
As Buster was wont to do, he pushed for something grandiose. In this case, he got an idea for a bit of an airdrop from the rafters to the stag. If it had been someone…light, like her or Mike, then while the fear of splat remained, the epic fail wouldn't have occurred.
His idea involved Meena flying through like an angel while Johnny played piano to enter. This by itself wasn't a problem, until you realize that A) Johnny was the strongest member there, and so could maneuver Meena better, but as he was tied up on piano, couldn't, B) Buster was still having problems hiring stagehands, with only that bull Richie getting brought in, C) Buster concocted the idea of having Ash, Mike, Eddie, and Gunter maneuvering her, and D) The combined might of those four still wasn't as good as Johnny's. Rosita, meanwhile, would be performing duet alongside Meena, as Meena hovered above her.
End result: Gravity and a broken stage, with a hole to fill an elephant teenager, a gorilla teenager, and a very ancient piano.
Good news: Meena, Johnny, and the piano were unharmed. The costume was ruined by the planks, but no scratches
Funny news: Ash, Mike, Eddie, and Gunter went on a proverbial ride and hung from the rafters until Johnny and Buster could get them all down. Ash swore if she found her picture on social media tomorrow…
Bad news: With the stage broken, Nana Noodleman a little upset, and Buster playing negotiator, dress rehearsal at least halted until the stage could be fixed. Any future practices would involve them fixing the stage until Buster could convince Ms. Noodleman to fork over the dough for repairmen.
A bit of karma for Ash though: Apparently, they had been trying to frame this around Valentine's Day, to take advantage of the holiday cheer and greenbacks. Buster originally wanted it to be 'a show for couples'. Ash almost gagged.
She slurped the coffee down the hatch, the brown nectar dabbing her lips. Always the best way to start, even if she could see the saccharine plague outside. She couldn't put it off much longer, though. She needed to go out and brave the tempest of pink balloons and love-struck couples.
She remembered several Valentine's Days before. All twisted in furious passion with her eyes the perceptiveness of binoculars, the lenses changed by circumstance and memory. What once made her moan in pleasure or squeal in glee made her grimace in frustration. An absent tongue licked her lips in confusion, remembering the bittersweet taste of past engagements. Her body recalled warmth from a dirtbag that cooed sweet nothings and tossed her aside. The heart wanted and the brain disbarred.
On street level it was nearly unbearable. Guitar case jostled on her side and quills as paper, pink hearts folded out in orderly lines. A lot more boyfriends- for she could sense they were some lucky girls' boyfriends- roamed out at the vendors near her apartment, perusing the prices and checking the overall thickness of their wallets. There always seemed to be more. Why did she not see them last year?
Oh right. Lance.
How could she have seen any other boy when she had Lance? She locked eyes with him, with his body, with his footfalls and untied shoelaces and endearing bucktooth.
That was how she thought once. Becky in her red-and-black striped dress changed that. The eyes of rebellious innocence morphed into the vision of a Byronic schemer. The untied shoelaces marked him as lazy and unhygienic. The bucktooth explained his legacy as one generation from suburban trash.
But she made him warm.
Ash lost herself in the plague of Valentine's Day with Lance before. It felt so good, like rolling in marshmallows. Now, she felt cold, not just from the Pacific breeze of winter, but from Lance's absence. Even the warmth of her morning sweet coffee faded under the juggernaut of her memories.
The trolley ride was quiet, but crowded. The roaming boyfriends and folk meaning to go about their jobs occupied the metro, but each submerged into their own personal worlds, some assisted by their social tech. Ash, looking at the constellations of hearty colors, stepped away herself. Despite what they might look like, the current crop didn't ensnare her as effortlessly as Lance had.
There had been good things about him. Lance had his flaws, though: Ash had written a whole damn song about that transition, from breaking from the euphoria and the warmth and the enjoyment and the weird commentary on B-rated horror films and-
Stop. Just stop.
Her hand clasping his. She missed that sensation, missed that security. But open her heart to another? What if the next porcupine decided to curtail her hopes?
And what about now? Free, and what?
They cuddled together when they watched those B-rated films. They actually bet in massages the order that the horrible acting teenagers would die. She missed his warmth pressing into him. Zephyrs and nothingness clasped her shoulders, caressed her neck, kissed her cheeks, wiped her tears.
Damn. Really don't want this right now.
She looked over and her eyes widened at the obvious displays of love around her, popping out of the ground as they sneaked in from shadows. A pair of hippos talked sweet compliments to each other, nerdy yet completely void of the world. A monkey typed hyper fast on twitter, eyes and dopey grin betraying his sexting (She knew it. She just knew it). A pair of teenage cats in hooligan hats seemed so into each other that they obviously groped in public. Even the kids were getting their valentine's cards for school prepped as another young couple started-
Nope. Tuning out for that. Didn't get on the metro to see that. Maybe on the late night no no no not going there not going there not going there...
The city seemed to conspire on getting her to choke on sugary love, but she couldn't escape her current social media status. She was single on Valentine's Day.
A hardness clustered on her heart.
That simple, 6-letter word stayed with her, even as she beat feet from that lovesick metro and got to the theater. Even as she tossed a static hello to her fellow friends, each as quirky as always, that 6-letter word paraded in her head, flipping a coin on its two-faced manner. Despite all the reasoning, justifications, and moral showing, even when the Almighty would've agreed with her and played table-tennis in a comforting show, a half-gallon of mint chocolate ice cream she had polished off watching late night rom-coms objected to her rightness.
Damn, she hated being single on Valentine's Day. Everyone conspiring to paint the joy of couples demonized her bachelorette status.
She grabbed a hammer and nails and started whacking. Whether the nails were sealing planks to planks, or heartstrings to heartstrings, Ash couldn't tell. Work blotted out the flowers and perfume and paper hearts.
-Sing-
Mike survived by keeping his wits about him, an ear always to the rails and an eye always to the crowd. It granted him the ability to enchant the audience and get a lucrative contract to balance his rapid spending, and it helped him survive murderers in broad daylight. It also had the side effect of picking up the temperature of the room. Gloom shadowed his moody teenage compatriot, but initiative didn't immediately curtail his attitude. He lost his composure yesterday with Meena, and had apologized once already.
Apologizing twice in a day…the troop might soften him up.
Lorelei, his date, lady, lover, and savior, might object to that, but he had a one-lady rule when it came to softening him. Lorelei earned that privilege. He wooed her. She wooed him. They escaped the bears. Justice served and his lady's happiness served later that night. Forgiveness granted for bailing by Buster and his glass-half-full kinda mentality, but he had to keep his rep.
He could make goo-goo eyes at Lorelei all day and all night if they were in their apartment. But not always outside, where everyone could see them. There…well, better to be the very modern model of a gentleman.
His mousey frame kept him from doing too much. Rope was too much. Hammers he could kick but barely use, and his sized tools didn't really knock those nails in. He earned his keep through the power of his lungs, not his biceps, and getting the sax and spilling a lovey-dovey tune outside profited his purse and his mind.
However, Buster laid his foot down, and needed help. Given the troop was so sparingly small, they needed every hand, big or small, that they could get. Even if Meena and Buster's harebrained scheme perhaps was the cause of it all.
He looked over at his red overshirt hanging away. As expensive at it had been, he had no intention of dirtying it if Mike had to work. His white fur felt almost naked, a foot without a sock, without those exquisite threads.
A thud clambered on the planks, drawing back his attention. Ash's hammer struck with more force and less control with each swing. Mike didn't care about the inevitable damage to the planks-
"Until we get the stage fixed, no shows guys! So, lets roll up those sleeves until we can see our faces in them."
Buster's words echoed and doomed his train of thought. Of course the koala would think of this! He-they-couldn't do a show with pay until…and that Noodleman didn't want to pay the-!
A frustrated groan bubbled in the back of his throat. He sang so he wouldn't have to labor like an immigrant! Not the other way around!
Ash smattered the planks a second time, and a third, completely missing the nail in her lack of control. Mike turned his eyes over to Gunter and Johnny, inside the hole that was the stage, trying to push the piano back up through an incline. Neither had attention or eyes for Ash's destructive habits. Rosita-who really, really, really, would be appreciated with hands like her- was out with the kids, at their school. Meena was on the other end removing the debris her bulbous form made. Buster was upstairs trying to get professionals. Professionals that probably were taking time off for tomorrow.
Great. Great. If you gotta do something…if my reputation stays clean after this it'll be a damned miracle…
All the while, Ash kept hammering away with the accuracy of Mike's three blind cousins. He grabbed the bag of nails as big as himself and got within striking distance of the hammer.
"Kid."
Hammer. Thwack. Nail missed and fell into the abyss next to Johnny's shoelaces.
"Hey. Down here!"
Another thwack. Mike swore she hit her finger. He didn't see a wince.
"Kid. I'm gonna start throwing happy pills if you don't stop for a moment."
"What?" A bit too forceful, but he had Ash's attention.
"Look. I don't want to do this much more than you, so, but job's a job, so-"
Thwack.
Mike strode up and grabbed the nail out of her hand, and positioned himself by it like a pawn on a chessboard.
"Look kid. You ain't winning any medals for sharpshooting, so we're gonna do this differently. I'll set them up, you plug them down. Ok?"
The gloom he sense earlier raised its temperature to agitation. Not anger, but Ash's face and eyes told him she passed the 'peeved' road sign a few seconds ago. She reached out to grab the nail; Mike jerked it right back.
"Nope."
"Let go."
"What, so you can screw up the wood worse than those beavers?"
"Give me the nail!"
"Or what, you'll hit me?"
Mike laid himself proudly out. The nail remained imbedded where he needed it to go. Ash's eyes flashed with the low spectrum of anger, but it was more 'I don't have time for this crap' anger, and she raised the hammer to bop him.
She pounded the nail next to him deep into the wood. Mike quickly grabbed the next one before her, and positioned himself in the next corner.
"C'mon! You can write a script about a crappy boyfriend but you can't hit me? What's up with that?"
The hammer flew through again, and again she missed Mike, but effortlessly buried the nail. Again Mike jostled among the teenage porcupine, grabbing a bevy of nails, taking point on the board, and let out a taunting the French would be proud of.
"What's white and red and pink all over? Apparently a target that can't get hit!"
Thwack!
"You got fingers for strings for days and you can't move that hammer 'round?"
Thwack!
"Maybe someone can show you what you need to be doing, but that's what she sa-"
Thwack!
"Maybe this'll give you a new song idea, kid. What we call it? 'Hammer it home'?"
Thwack!
Over and over, minutes bled into an hour, and Mike repeatedly prodded her with his scything barbs. Every time he got her ticked enough to want to hit her. Every time he stood, and watched her hook her aim at the last minute...and hitting the nail she was supposed to hit in the first place. Before long, Ash had covered an entire fourth of the stage, enough for Mike to call a break from his shenanigans.
"Well, a good job if I do say so myself. All thanks to me," He gave a mock bow even as Ash glowered at her, "Don't just stand there kid. You got a break too."
He pointed down, showing the absence of the other players. In all their game of porcupine-and-mouse, Johnny and Gunter had managed to unearth the piano, and Meena had dutifully repurposed some of the other wood for the other side of the stage. They were alone. Perplexed as Ash's face might've been, Mike's smugness drowned it out. He got his overshirt back as they took a moment to recollect.
"Look Spikes, I like you more than most those kidders out there, but I got a limit on how much 'moody teenager' I'm willing to deal with. My gauge's on the E right now, so…a thanks might be in the cards."
"Why? You keep talking trash about-"
"Looks like the only way you can hit anything is if you don't aim at it, kid." Mike brushed himself off, offhandedly gesturing at the repair work. "Lori tends to like you all, so…that was my good deed for the day."
At the mention of his lover, Ash's eyes hardened and softened, as if the tears fought with the neurons on whether or not to be stoic or sad. Mike picked it up. Eyes scanned the room, from the bright seats to the darkness in the back, all to protect the jaded bronze of his reputation. No one else was there. Back to her, he broke his 'one-good-deed-a-day' rule.
Lori's gonna find out about this.
"Kid. I got a second." Palms rubbed in nervousness. Counseling wasn't his strong suit. That was Lori. With her attentive ears, sugary words, and smoking legs, he could listen to her read the phonebook in French if she wanted and he'd be rapt attention and sherry on his suit. He preferred rough-and-tumble and the twist of the cards to therapy, but Lori wanted him to be better.
He owed her, at least.
"What's your problem?"
"What?"
Mike sighed. This was so out of left field for him, so uncharacteristic, but…
"What's. Your. Problem?"
Ash didn't respond. If anything he deduced she was more confused than angry, roiling around in trying to figure out what he played at.
"Look, kid. I'm breaking my rules here. I got a date tomorrow to consider and I need to pick up some things for Valentine's Day," 'Cause damn does Lori love sapphires. "But I'm not gonna stand like a doof while you don't-"
At that point he noticed, finally. For a guy that active chased skirts and wooed hearts, he should've figured that Ash's 'single' status would've been an issue when the companies tried to jam hearts and flowers down your throat. Not as much a problem for the gals, since the guys had to pay through the nose for said hearts, flowers, and dinners, but she reverberated being upset like a bell.
"Oh, right. Your dance card's open. For tomorrow."
"…yeah. What about it?"
"Look, kid. You ain't my type, but you pretty easy on the eyes for some other guy. Don't see what the problem is."
He wasn't lying on either front. Mike was spoken for, now, so no other girl was his type, anyway. As for Ash, who certainly looked pretty in her 'pop princess' dress, well…he imagined someone looked at her and then looked at her.
"Yeah, right. If that's true, why hasn't some guy come up?"
Mike bit back the obvious answer of 'attitude', lest he destroy his herculean labor.
"Well, I don't know what you do when you ain't here, but watching gameshows and endlessly practicing probably bombs the dating life. Plus, you're famous. A little bit of a wall there. But if you need someone quick, well…"
Mike begged the Almighty that she wasn't going to jump back with the previous boyfriend. Otherwise 'no good deed goes unpunished' indeed. But he didn't exactly know anyone that fit the 'alternative lifestyle' that Ash so effortlessly embraced. Outside of some artsy-smartsy locale where the dumb beatniks and druggies gather...
The lightbulb flashed on instantly. Perhaps there was one that he could call on.
"Hey, kid." She turned back to him, her eyes cornering to slits. "This is because you're lonely, right? Got a Band-Aid right here."
Paper torn and pencil dancing around, Mike found his elixir to the situation. Address, phone number, and name of establishment all cleverly boxed in, the mouse ripped the information off in a flourish. Ash's eyes took in the info.
*Jack of Hearts Hotel
For the Lonely Hearts that need some nitro!
6969 Harding Road
(555) 555-6217
"I've been here a few times. Mostly for sax gigs. Go there. I guarantee you you'll find some guy that'll worship the ground you walk on…And isn't a creep!" He added hastily, catching her indignation. "I mean, what you got to lose?"
Ash looked at the number and address. Without a word, she folded up the piece of paper, and then grabbed her axe. The longing of her own hard rock, to drown out the pink and red and whites, bade her to put the matter on hold. At least for now.
"Another job well done," Mike darted his eyes around. "You're welcome, by the way!"
She didn't return the gratitude just yet. She wasn't exactly sure if this place wasn't a joke or not.
-Sing-
Dusk heralded itself in its own dependable way, with the murk slapping up the last lasers of February 13th. Businesses stayed open in such a way that Ash had been harped on by the barkers, but she ignored them in her usual sarcastic charm.
When she saw the name of the 'respectable' establishment, she initially thought she would be walking into those seedy hotels with the heart shaped pillow covers, replete with sexy male dancers baring their abs and thrusting their hips…a little more like Mike's style. However, upon actually calling them, she found out they were a little more…particular.
Nitro referenced speed. As in speed dating.
Ash wasn't sure if she wanted to vomit at the dirty, desperate hook-up shot, or actual be surprised that Mike offered that.
"Ah, my eyes do deceive me, but we have unkempt beauty here," A well-dressed python, manning the door, began. "You seek a companion for the day of Hearts, my mademoiselle?"
Laid on a bit thick, but Ash didn't trust her own voice to be kind. She nodded.
"You've made the right choice, my dear. As you see, we at the Jack of Hearts Hotel help many that want a companion…for one night or forever, we aim to meet your interest in nitro speed. Let Mr. Kaa lead you on."
"Uhh…" Cynicism broiled a bit over, concern over what exactly was going to transpire at this juncture now. The fact that she didn't see this place, located near old Golden Gate…
"…I can see your story dear. And why you hesitate. Understandable, my dear. Broken before, like fists and tails on glass. You won't find that here, my dear. The fruit of your choosing is inside, cie'voux plait." A tail gestured at the bright door.
Ash grimaced again, and conflict brewed. The sickening hearts still flutters around her, begging and bidding her entrance alongside the doorman. But this was an idea from Mike, and Mike didn't always have the best of ideas…right?
Ash also trailed back to what waited behind her. Walking back under the flying hearts and the flowers and the plushies and the balloons, returning to her apartment with her millennial cuisine and the limited TV, which she couldn't afford Trekflix. Where her guitar waited at the base, her stalwart friend and companion, bidding her to play and jam and write more songs. She remembered the half-gallon mint chocolate ice cream lulling her to eat, to consume, the bag of chips, the opened coffee bin, and the other artifacts of gluttony. Her cellphone, which still had Lance's number, and everyone else's number, from Rosita to Johnny to Buster. The urge to talk, and yet have nothing to say, causing the problems associated with talking to her friends. All of that normalcy, certified, stagnant, complacent, awaiting her, a soapy lullaby.
The punk rock porcupine looked in front. Aware of the black unknown in front, staring, and offering its own lullaby. Daring desire, dancing, delirium under the hypnotic politeness of the python doorman, all these spoke to her on a visceral level, gripping at the adventurous part, the hopeful part, of her brain. Both back and front beckoned, one promising mystery and change, the other promising certainty.
She shrugged.
"What the hell."
The door swung open, revealing even from their the decor befitting a Valentine's Day theme cafe. The hearts were more subtle even there, etched in the banisters and table corners. The flowers shrouded in mesh paths, from what she could see, and the balloons seemed locked in the rafters, but divorced from the ground.
What did she have to lose?
The python closed the door behind her, chiding but consummately polite in bearing.
"Enjoy your time, mademoiselle. I guarantee you'll find your answer..."
The door clicked, and she found herself bathed in the ocean of ruby, pink spinel, and white lights. Another maitre'd motioned her forward, handing her a card, pen, and menu, alongside his affably greetings.
Damn it, Mike. If this turns out like trash...
At least she wouldn't be single for the night.
-Sing: End Chapter-