Trial and Error
An Unlikely Romance Story
By Vivian Chanson
"Billy Flynn never lost a case, but that doesn't mean he never made a mistake."
A/N: Just like most of my stories, I have next to no clue where this will lead me, because I've gotten into a rather pesky habit of coming up with the catchy little titles before I have the faintest inkling what story I'm going to slap them at the top of. So, I guess you're going to just have to bear with me on this one. Hope you enjoy the ride! And I really want to give a special little thank you for those of you who have read and reviewed my last Chicago fic, Big Girls Don't Cry, (and for those of you who haven't, you really should!) I was absolutely overwhelmed by all the wonderful reviews I picked up on the last couple chapters in particular. I'm not kidding, I was so happy I was a danger to myself and everyone around me, and it was all your fault! That was a compliment by the way... Fifty reviews!!! Fifty! Well, I won't keep you, now. Please read and review this as well. Compliments are loved; constructive criticism is appreciated. Oh and I should probably say, for the sake of all you internet stalkers out there, the last name Chanson is completely and utterly fictitious, means song in Spanish, and only exists to provide me with a lovely writer's name, so yeah, don't even think about it!
ONE: The Curious Nature of First Impressions
"Mr. Flynn, I'm Roxie Hart."
Billy Flynn hardly heard her. His latest client was occupying most of his thoughts at the moment, and admittedly, a very miniscule minority of those thoughts had anything to do with her trial, and for that matter, very few of them maintained the icy strictly business persona that he himself took great care to uphold when around clients in physical presence. However, that had absolutely no influence on his personal thoughts.
Despite his completely opposite philosophy when it came to his attire and personal luxuries, Billy Flynn had no particular ambition to have many clients at the same time. He preferred to take them one at a time, but if he was paid otherwise, he could quickly change that philosophy. He went where the water was warm, and currently the Velma Kelly case was boiling hot.
Besides, it didn't look to him like this girl was worthy of his elite services. Taking care not to wrinkle his immaculate suit in the process, Billy turned so his back was facing the speaker, hoping she would get the picture and leave him to his thoughts. Selective hearing was a tool of his that came in quite handy in these situations.
It didn't work. The scrawny shadow of a murderess merely repeated herself and leaned her long and equally scrawny neck almost comically through the bars. For a reason he could not articulate, Billy found the gesture extremely irritating.
Come to think of it, he figured if the notion ever planted itself in that girl's brain, she could easily fit her entire pitiably skeletal body through the bars as easy as clockwork. But Billy found himself highly doubting that notions of any kind passed regularly through this one's mind.
"Who?" he said dismissively, making to continue on his way, and was thoroughly irked to hear Roxie speak again.
"Mama told you about me," she recited sweetly, just like a good little schoolgirl addressing the master.
She seemed to be pulling rather hard on a faint Southern accent, as if trying to make it thicker and more noticeable. It sounded like it hurt pretty badly. Billy vaguely hoped she wasn't about to hurt herself over this, particularly when he was hardly listening to her verbal struggle.
Sometimes Billy Flynn truly wondered why anyone even bothered with first impressions. They were strange and interesting things, first impressions, sometimes seeming to posses a mind of their own that was utterly and completely corrupt of any sense of reality or reason. Everyone fussed and bitched over them, pulled the best evening clothes out of their mothball- lined tombs over them, strived ardently to make every first impression a good and solid one, but what was the point when everyone, could everyone rightly be defined, also knew that first impressions always, even when despite all odds, turned out completely and utterly wrong.
He found himself feeling a bit sorry for her despite himself. The poor little broad had truly never stood a chance. She was way out of her league in this big world.
He mumbled something faintly passable as an assent. "Oh yeah, the cute one."
She beamed at that. Billy flinched; he hadn't meant it as a compliment. Cute was just merely the only word for it. She looked like an overblown child, with her messy, baby-blond hair and wide, naïve, blue eyes, a little girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothes.
Obviously encouraged by this, Roxie batted her eyelashes at him. "I was hoping you might represent me." The forced Southern accent turned more sickeningly sweet by the minute.
What was this act of hers, this feigned innocence? She was so unbearably affected, so fake. If there was one thing Billy Flynn could not stand, it was a liar. And after all these years as a ridiculously successful lawyer, his hatred for them had only grown, along with his ability for recognizing liars when he saw them. Could she honestly think he was buying this sweet, innocent, little Southern Belle act of hers? After all, there was no such thing as an innocent murderess.
After taking such an instant dislike to her, stating his price, and standing back to observe her vivid ranting and stuttering filled him with sadistic pleasure. He took the most savage delight in noting how her pesky Southern twang kept falling out as she muttered unintelligibly.
Then, without warning, she lunged forward and snatched a handful of his cashmere scarf in a bony grip that was surprisingly tight, considering it belonged to a girl who looked as though she could be snapped in two like a water-logged twig. Putting her face way too close to his, she spoke in a low seductive whisper that made Billy rather miss the sugarcoated drawl.
"I'm not very good at this soft of a thing, but maybe we could make some sort of arrangement between us. I can be an awfully good sport." As if on cue, the eyelash-batting reflex kicked back in. Billy wanted to gag.
This was absolutely the final straw. If he had been nauseated from the beginning, it was nothing to how he felt now. So, without further prelude, he awarded Roxie with a reply full of curtness and barely-concealed disgust for her efforts, snatched back his scarf, and stalked away in rising bad humor.
Thus is the strange and curious nature of first impressions...
A/N: Okay, yes I know, it's really more Vivian having a jolly good time making fun of Roxie and being boring in the process than it is Roxie/Billy so far, but don't you worry, because what you're reading this for is on the horizon, even though I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to meet that horizon...Did I mention that reviews help???