Everything's Coming Up Ivy
Hi everybody! Just a disclaimer, these characters aren't mine. If they were, Ivy would have been onscreen practically all the time, she's the best! Reviews are appreciated.
It's not a power play, Ivy's choice to sleep with Derek. It's the look in his hazel eyes, this vision in his head that dances in his gaze, that causes her heart to flutter. Of course she's heard of the many scandals of the great Derek Wills, who hasn't? None of it matters, not when his soul is so desperately searching for something. Something in her. And she, just as desperately, wants to give it to him.
So when his lips dance with hers, she doesn't think of anything besides the question he's asking her, and the answer she's giving back.
If only she knew what the question meant, so she could understand her answer. It's all on the tip of her tongue, she just can't figure it out.
It's a shock when Karen's at the workshop, Ivy definitely wasn't expecting that. She hadn't had expectations of perfection, though perhaps hoped for it, but she most certainly hadn't expected Karen. The greenie from Iowa, who had come this close to stealing Ivy's role. But it's Ivy's role, and she's going to keep it that way.
Even so, Karen hovering over her shoulder is unnerving. More so when Derek asks her to show Ivy how to sing in the attitude Ivy's owned since she was six. Now it's just irritating.
"I know what I'm bringing to the table." Ivy tells her, with more confidence than she actually feels. Afterwards, she walks out with her head held high. Inwardly, she's shaking in her dance shoes. She won the part, it's hers. So why does she feel like she's tottering just on the edge?
Ivy and Derek have a pattern now. He calls, he'll be in her bed that night and leave at three in the morning. She calls, she'll spend the night at his house, drink his coffee and leave at seven. Sometimes they'll get coffee together. It's normal. Regular.
"Go out with me tomorrow night." He says, kissing her bare shoulder.
"What?" Is all she says, confused and shocked.
"I'd like to go to dinner with you." He states, as though that's always been their routine.
"Ok." It's a half question, half answer. Just like always.
It's almost time to meet Derek for dinner, but Ivy's not pleased with him. He'd been harsh with her at workshop. Again. And Karen, though she'd finally learned her place in the ensemble, kept stealing lingering glances with Derek. If it wouldn't have damaged her vocal chords, Ivy could have screamed from frustration.
She wears a blue dress, her favorite. It matches the color of her eyes and shows just the right amount of skin. A little flashy, very classy.
"You look amazing." Derek says sincerely. She gives him her megawatt smile, almost hoping to blind him with it. He simply helps her with her seat.
"What is this all about?" Ivy asks as soon as they've ordered drinks.
"What?"
"This." She says, waving an arm at the restaurant. "Why? I mean, we don't go out, we barely ever even eat lunch together for breaks."
"And that should change." His eyes are hesitant as he takes her hand in his. He doesn't look at her, preferring to study her polished nails.
"You've become important to me." He says quietly.
For once she knows what he's asking, and she knows how to answer.
"Ok." She says, as if it's normal to hear. Their routine. She wonders if that's the right thing to say.
His smile says yes, it is.
"Good. Now, can we just have a nice meal?" He asks, lightening the mood, hiding his honesty and vulnerability with that brusque charm of his.
"Nice? You didn't even comb your hair." She scoffs, playing along.
"I have great hair, it doesn't need it." He says, that arrogance he wears so well coming out to play.
Ivy smiles. She knows him, perhaps better than she thought. They've found a new balance, and she thinks she likes it.
She knows Derek's a flirt, she knows it. And yet it still gets under her skin. He claims it's to help Bombshell, to make his vision possible. She understands, truly. That doesn't mean she has to like it. She tries to give him a taste of his own medicine. She flirts with the birthday boy, he reciprocates.
Does Derek notice? Yes. Does he show he cares? No.
It leaves a bittersweet taste in Ivy's mouth when he kisses her that night.
Later, when she's wrapped up in his sheets, she sees him on his couch, his vision playing before him. He's beautiful, she thinks. He's tired. She makes him a cup of coffee. His quiet mumble of thanks speaks in volumes.
She forgives him.
The time to shine is here. It's important for everything to go well, Ivy needs to be better than amazing, she has to be perfect. Of course, everything's going wrong. The heating is completely screwed, Ivy is more than glowing. Plus her mom, the darling of Broadway, Leigh Conroy is here. Watching her. Judging her, like she would with any random performer, except she judges Ivy even harsher.
Derek has been such a wonder, getting her coffee, encouraging her through her mother's many criticisms, and holding her shaking hands to calm her nerves. Telling her she's got this.
And she does. She's Marilyn. She's brilliant.
But she doesn't stay Marilyn. Her role is cruelly ripped from her and handed on a silver platter to some Hollywood actress who can barely carry a tune. And she's pushed to the side. Plus Rebecca likes Karen, which makes Ivy's frustration hit the roof.
"And that's why I love you." Derek says in Boston. Like it's normal. Which, she supposes, it is. He says things she's not expecting, and she accepts it. There are so many questions in his statements, it'd drive her crazy if she wasn't so stressed already. That's how it's always been.
"Ok." She says. Her megawatt smile shines in his direction, he smiles back.
"Eat something." She reminds him, he rolls his eyes.
Then he sleeps with Rebecca. It hurts.
"I did what I had to do." He tells her when she confronts him. It doesn't comfort her.
Rebecca gets poisoned with peanuts, allergies suck. She leaves. Ivy wonders if she'll get to be Marilyn again. She desperately hopes so. It's just within her reach, she can practically taste the spotlight, the applause, the role that calls to her. It's so close to being hers. She hopes.
Karen gets the part. Ivy can barely hear the excuses of Tom and Julia. The devastation nearly crushes her. Derek says nothing, his eyes dark with the answer to the question she can't ask. There's a break in them now. No routine, no unspoken words shared between them. There's silence.
Things fall apart.
She sleeps with Karen's boyfriend. Keeps him from becoming Karen's fiancé. Then she tells Karen. It doesn't feel as satisfying as she thought it would.
Karen still goes on, sparkling and strong. She's Marilyn, and the audience roars its approval.
Ivy wants to sob. She wants more than that, she wants oblivion. She doesn't get it.
She's under the sheets of her bed, hiding. It's warm and cozy, shielding her from the horrors of reality. She wants to stay there forever.
"Get out of bed." Says Derek's stupid, accented voice, probably coming from his stupid, still attractive body. Ivy doesn't come out from under her comforter.
"Ivy." He says, poking the bulge in the blankets he thinks is her shoulder. She doesn't budge.
"Ivy." He says again. Nothing.
Sighing at such theatrics- though expected, coming from this blonde, Broadway baby- he pulls the comforter out from under her.
"Give that back." She says weakly, her puffy, red eyes glaring daggers.
"No."
She groans. "What do you want?"
"To talk."
"Well I don't want to. Go away."
"You're being completely childish." He snaps, his patience wearing thin. She sits up and yanks the blankets from his hands. She stares at him, he suddenly has nothing to say.
"Well?" She asks wearily. She's so tired.
"Bombshell is staying open, we should be going to Broadway." He says, somewhat lamely. It's not what he'd intended to say.
"I don't care."
"Yes you do."
"So?" He doesn't answer. They stare at each other in silence, trying to figure the other out. Finally, Derek sighs, sagging onto the empty side of her bed.
"I don't know. I haven't said anything I meant to."
"Then say it now." He takes her hand, she can't help the flutter in her stomach. She figures something's wrong with her.
"You're not Marilyn." He says gently, her lungs constrict. Even now, hearing it hurts.
"You're not in a show." Another stab.
"You're not auditioning."
"Does this whole kicking the girl while she's down thing have a point?" She asks, feeling sick.
"I wasn't finished. You've stopped doing the things you were meant to." She laughs bitterly at that.
"Obviously, I wasn't meant to." He gives her that look of his, that 'thoroughly unamused' look.
"Stop interrupting me. You've had your pity party, and out of respect your friends have let you. But it's going to stop. Now."
"Why?" She asks, her voice small. She's fallen back down on the mattress, staring at the wall next to him. He lies down too, staring straight into her soul.
"Because you are Ivy Lynn, and lying down and taking it is not what you do. Stars don't give up."
"I'm not a star." Tears fall, she doesn't deny them.
"You have always been a star. You're Ivy Lynn. Now get up."
His eyes are soft. He's asking her a question. Like always. She almost smiles, contemplating her answer. She sits up, pulling him up too and promptly pushing him out the door. He hears her moving about in her apartment, he shouts through the door,
"Well?" Her reply is muffled, but he hears her perfectly.
"I'll see you on Broadway."