A.N.: this is written for the Valentines Day challenge. So… yeah. It might suck. So, fair warning. I'm used to violence and drama. Welcome to the Roaring Twenties. I use a lot of slang. So sorry not sorry. I got second place on the Les Mis Wikia so that's cool!
Disclaimer: I'm not Hugo.
Dead soldiers and Flat Tires
Saxophones and trumpets bring this hazy room to life with jazzy sounds. Drums create beats that wake the room. The girl on stage brings the sassy tone that harmonizes everything.
I'm Éponine, and I am that girl. I work at this speakeasy in the middle of New York City. It's a poor excuse for one, I'll tell you that. The liquor here is poor, the roof leaks when it rains, and the smell of lit tobacco stains all my dresses. Of course the people are lit up too. But the only thing that keeps the money flowing is the entertainment. No, not me. I'm only pretty when I get all dressed up and my voice is mediocre at best.
Our pianist brings the people. His name is Marius. He is attractive, young, and dreamy with his short cut brown hair, chocolate brown eyes, and face full of freckles. He's really cute with his fedora tucked over the back of his head and crooked black bow tie. But he's not sexy. No. Just really attractive.
"Hey Éponine," Marius smiles at me after the evening show, "I want you to know you sounded amazing tonight."
"Thank you, Marius," I give him a genuine smile in return. He tells me this every night, "You always sound great."
He blushes and struggles with his jacket. His hands shake when he is nervous which made it hard for him to perform even the simplest of tasks. The only thing that puts his tremor at bay is his music. Nothing else. I walk over and help him with the sleeve his arm struggled to find. He nods his thanks and pops his collar to protect his neck from Jack Frost. I smile again before disappearing into my dressing room.
It's pathetic. It is a modified restroom. The sink has a layer of plywood on it for my cheap makeup and flimsy head pieces. The toilet was ripped out and a loose legged stool was bolted to the floor in its place.
I would quit in a heartbeat, but I rather be here than on the streets around people like my father. I pick the lesser of two evils.
A hard knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts and the handle shakes violently.
"Éponine!" the voice of my boss booms into the room, "Quit hiding in there. Your shift isn't over!"
I groan and change into my tender uniform. I work double every night. I have to pay the rent some how.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," I call back as I fix the loose door handle, "You need to fix this door or your show girl will never work!"
I open the door and my eyes meet his. We stare each other down, but I am not strong as him and my stare falters. I look down and brushed by his large form to reach the bar.
There I meet by a friendly sight. Two boys with equally curly hair sit at the bar sharing a serious conversation. Or at least one party did. The other held his, at least, third whiskey shot in his hand. I walk right up to them and fill their glasses.
"Evening boys," I chirp and grin when their faces brighten.
"Hey baby," the shaggy drunk quickly soberes up, "nice show tonight."
"Really?" I shrug off the compliment, "I was off my game. I almost forgot the lyrics."
"The key word is almost," the drunk tips the burning liquid down his throat.
"The amount you take in ceases to amaze me, R," I shake my head, "Evening, Enjolras."
The blond nods and stares at the full shot glass. He touches it with the tips of his fingers, fearing it will burn his fingers too.
"I'm guessing school was bad," I rub the counter with a damp rag. He nods and took the shot. The student's face tenses at the pain of the liquid touching his troat.
"Be a man, Enjolras," R laughs and claps the boy on the back.
"You tell 'im," I gesture with my hand to punctuate my approval.
"Hey," Enjolras's face reddens, "it's not as easy as it looks."
I had to agree with him. I don't drink for that very reason. It wasn't my thing. I leave it to the boys and men who actually need it. Like R. It's his nickname around here. His real name is Grantaire, but it's too formal for his taste. R is short for Romeo. I don't know the origin of the nickname, but it's not my business to pry. Éponine was only my stage name. My real name is Catherine, but it is too boring for my boss's taste. So I got this exotic, French name to use while I'm here. Some people actually believe my name was Éponine. And by some people, I mean one person. Marius. Only one person from this pathetic gin mill knows my real name.
Enjolras.
This quick tempered, egotistical, biased social worker knows my real name.
It happened on a Valentines day. The one four days ago to be specific.
He sat alone at the bar with a glass of sour beer in his hands. He stared at the light brown liquid as he took a long drag from his burning cigarette. His mind was wrapped up in something and I suspected it was the fact he was the only single guy in this group of friends. So I ignored him for a spell and focused on my job. The night went on and soon the speakeasy was empty.
"I have to close up, Enj," I looked up from cleaning the glasses. He didn't move and inch. "Which translates to 'You have to leave.'"
"I know," he answered in a lazy tone as he shoved his cigarette in the ash tray before him.
"So scram," I gestured to the hidden door in the corner. It came out harsher than I meant, but his expression didn't change.
"Why do you work here?" Enjolras asked and the conversation changed direction to an uncomfortable subject.
"A girl's gotta eat," I answered carefully as I draped my thin sweater over my shoulders.
"There are better jobs," the student continued, "You know."
"I do," I nodded and took his half empty glass, "But the chances of me getting a job are slim. I get enough if I work the bar after the show."
He nodded slowly, "Why not go to school?"
I didn't expect this question and didn't have an answer.
"You are a bright girl," Enjolras commented, "I'm sure you'll do great."
"I don't have the money, Enjolras," I sighed and put the cleaned glass away, "Or the time."
"Say if you did…"
"I can't afford contemplating 'What if's," I turned to face him, "I'm not a child."
"I never said you were," Enjolras slouched in his chair, "Just asked you a question. Don't get all balled up." He pulled out another cig and searched for a light. I pull out a lighter from behind the bar and offer it to him. Enjolras lit it and took a long drag.
"That's better," he sighed.
"Smoking and drinking doesn't solve all your problems," I internally slap myself because all I want to do is close up shop.
"I know," Enjolras stood, "But it's working in the short term."
"What about long term?"
"I want to go into law and end to prohibition," he shrugged as he put off his gasper. I crinkled my nose.
"Why are you here?" I press.
"Because I don't got a date," Enjolras put on his jacket.
"Do you want a date?" I bit my lip.
"I guess," he held out his arm.
"I'm not ritzy like you people from the university," I didn't expect him to say yes.
"So?" Enjolras gave me a strange look, "If I wanted a ritzy gal from school, I wouldn't be here."
"What's the real reason you are here," I look between him and his outstretched arm.
"You are the only girl I know why doesn't bother me," Enjolras admitted, "Sadly, I don't know your name. Mind telling me? I don't want to call you by your show name outside."
I hesitated, and he noticed. He instantly deflated and dropped his arm. He began his walk of shame to the door.
"Wait!" I touch his arm, "Catherine." I calmly answer his question. "My name is Catherine."
"Nice to meet you, Catherine," Enjolras smiled at where I touched his arm with a bright smile.
"Where are we off to?" I questioned.
"Not far," the student pushed the tables out of the way to have a clear space. He held out his hand, "please tell me you're no heeler."
"What if I said yes?" I rested my hand in his. He wanted a dance. A boy wanted to dance with me. This is exhilarating moment. One I never thought would come.
"I'd still dance with you," the blond winked and began to hung a peppy tune.
It's awkward at first, but he was just as bad as me. After a while of watching our feet and laughing, I looked up at the boy who kept moving closer and closer to me. He stopped humming and I look into his bright blue eyes. They shined in the weak light in the juice joint.
"Cash or check?" he whispered. I look down at his lips then back in his eyes.
"Cash," I smirk and our lips met in a sloppy kiss.
It was a fun night and I do have to say I'll never say 'check' to him because his cash is amazing. I might get another one tonight if I'm good. Or maybe I'll give him one if he behaves. Depends on the mood.
R is falling asleep and that meant Enjolras and I will have to part with nothing in hand.
"I better take this one back if there is any hope for us not running into some fuzz," Enjolras nudges R awake and helps him out. No cash for me. Oh Well.
"Éponine," my boss calls me over to a back table, most likely to berate me on some random thing.
"What is it," I ask as I make my way.
"What's this?" He points at a few broken glasses.
"I don't know nothin'," I shrug and began to pick it up, "It seems someone got mad."
"You think?" he knelt down and helped. I look at him for a second. My boss is the type who would kick the glass into someones face.
"I've watched how well you take care of the bar," my eyes tune to every word, "You do a good job socializing."
I nod slowly and gather all the pieces, "Thank you, sir."
"You can work there full time," he clears his throat, "I mean, Marius is doing a good job. I just need a friendly face to greet people."
My face falls, "Sir, I came here to sing. I work at the bar to pay for the food and rent," I get to my feet, "I'm going to turn that down."
"Okay," he walks away.
I frown and sit back against the wall. People move around around me. I'm a cancelled stamp. After a long spell, someone sits next to me against the wall. He clears his throat and rests his hand over mine. I smile and hold his hand.
"You seem lonely," Marius comments and I can feel his body shake.
"A bit," I nod and smile, "but not as much anymore."
Marius's blush warms my heart. He really cares about me and I the same for him. I know it's not in the same way. He's one of best friends and he's crushing over me. I get to my feet and pull him up with me.
"C'mon, kid," I pull on my jacket, "Let's go dancing."
He blushes like mad as I lead him out the the speakeasy. He's my friend and I just want to show him a good time. Our journey be fleeting, just like mine with Enjolras. But it will mean the world to this boy who means a lot to me.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
"Okay," he grins and we head out on the town.
Slang:
Dead soldier: empty beer bottles
Heeler: bad dancer
Cash: Kiss or "can we kiss now"
Check: Do we kiss later?
Juice joint: Speakeasy
Gin mill: a place that sells/makes illigal beverages (alcohol)
cancelled stamp: a girl who is a wallflower