A/N: Wow. You guys – I'm so, so blissfully happy about the overwhelming feedback from the first chapter. Thank you so much for your reviews and comments; they were definitely the reason I was able to produce this chapter so quickly. This snapshot takes place about two and a half weeks after the pageant, contains some implications of Amber/Duane (the black boy that Amber checks out after the pageant; I'm stickin' with the name I've given him), and is still sitting pretty on a K+ rating.
I meant to ask, though: a couple of the later snapshots that I've planned out have some rather… well. Sexy content. Could you tell me if you think it would be appropriate to post something not too terribly explicit but still on the sexier side under an M rating, or should I just link to these on livejournal? I'd really value your opinions. Thank you!
Smiling and dancing on the Corny Collins show was a whole lot more difficult than most people gave it credit for. The live recordings that took place every weekday weren't so bad, although they could be a bit tense if someone forgot their footing or let slip a word that was 'inappropriate for television'. And even if grinning continuously for such a long time tended to give people a sore jaw, at least the recordings were only an hour long.
No, it was the practices and rehearsals that could be problematic. Five days a week – Monday to Thursday evenings as well as on Sunday – two-hour long rehearsals were held to prepare for the next day's show. New dances and songs were repeated over and over to eliminate all chance of error while on city-wide television, and the Council members as well as Corny himself were expected to come in full formal wardrobe. Since this often included high heels for ladies, female members often left these sessions nursing their strained feet.
Fridays played host to ballroom dance technique classes after the recording. Not only did the Council members perfect their New Yorker steps for the cha cha and promenades for the foxtrot during these, but they also practiced more television-oriented things like "how to smile energetically but still look dignified during waltzes".
And though it was sometimes frustrating when practices were scheduled during school hours and the situation had to be explained to annoyed teachers, it was the Saturday practices that were dreaded most of all. Even Tracy Turnblad, one of the most impassioned dancers on the show, had quickly lost enthusiasm for them. Saturday practices took place from 8:00am to 2:00pm with one hour for lunch and two fifteen-minute breaks, resulting in a whopping five and a half hours of straight dancing. The only good thing about them was that less formal, more comfortable clothes were allowed: girls came adorned in t-shirts paired with culottes, long capris, or swing skirts. Boys abandoned their suit jackets, rolling up the sleeves of their collared shirts and wearing looser-fitting slacks than usual.
Rehearsals and practices hadn't seemed to let up even as classes ended and summer rolled gloriously in: in fact, they had increased. Following Velma's firing Corny had temporarily taken up the reins in terms of rehearsals, though it was very clear that he was more of a dancer than an instructor. After the third awkwardly-taught Friday ballroom class in a row, Mr. Spritzer had made a cheerful announcement to the newly integrated Council. Though it had taken the station two and a half weeks, they had finally succeeded in finding a new choreographer – a man called Mr. Christopher Flynn.
The kids all cheered at this, fed up as they were with Corny's lessons ending in useful statements like "if you want to get out of the underarm turn, ladies, you're on your own because I can't remember how". They all sobered, however, as he went on to say that Mr. Flynn had requested a special 'getting to know you' Saturday session that would stretch from the usual 8:00am until 7:00pm at the earliest.
It had been with great reluctance, therefore, that the cast had shuffled into the studio – and it was wearing expressions of pain and exhaustion that they departed from it eleven hours later.
"I hurt everywhere," moaned Link as the Council members limped collectively toward the station parking lot.
"Penny's gonna kill me," Seaweed croaked weakly, clutching Inez's sleeping form to his chest. They had gone over the dance set for 'Twistin' the Night Away', for which he sung the lead vocals, so many times that he was barely able to get the words out. "I called yesterday her to let her know that our date was off for tonight, but her mother picked up. She didn't sound too keen to pass on the message."
"Oh, don't worry, Seaweed. Penny won't kill you," Tracy reassured him as she hobbled down the long hallway, trying to keep her weight off of her feet. She blinked. Her best friend did have a tendency to release her pent-up aggression at odd times. "I think."
Seaweed groaned. The sound was lost in the sea of similar exclamations of discomfort and frustration emitted by the members walking with them. Darla had hurt her ankle during a tango set, and Iggy had fallen right off the stage when he had attempted to do the Mashed Potato a tad too vigorously near the edge. Inez stirred briefly, arms wrapped tight around her big brother's neck as he carried her, and then fell back to sleep.
"Seriously," said Link, hurrying to his girlfriend's side and wrapping an arm around her waist to help her shuffle along. "Are they even allowed to keep us here that long? It must be against some rule, or some law, or… or somethin'."
Link pushed the outside door open, and they hung back so that he could hold it for the rest of the kids. They muttered half-hearted thanks, clearly just as exhausted as the four of them were.
"Mr. Flynn seemed nice," Tracy piped up positively as they waited for the parade of disgruntled teens to finish. "If, you know. A little enthusiastic."
"Enthusiastic?" Link asked in disbelief. He looked down at Tracy's head incredulously. "Trace, we went over the routine for 'Runaround Sue' five times."
"And did y'hear what he kept calling out during the partner dances?" Seaweed asked, and Link let go of the door as the last trickle of people exited. He imitated Mr. Flynn's ridiculously upbeat tone. "'Children, children, keep your smiles on! A smile a day keeps the doctor away!'"
The two boys chuckled.
"He's committed to his work!" Tracy protested, but there was a smile on her face, too. Link kissed the top of her head.
"C'mon, darlin'" he said. "I'll take you home."
They waved goodbye to Seaweed – and, though she didn't know it, to Inez – as Maybelle's beat-up Chevy flashed its lights at the siblings from across the street. As Seaweed hauled his practically comatose sister away, the couple headed toward Link's car. On the way they passed Amber and a black boy nicknamed DL – short for Duane Lawrence – sitting on a park bench together. Amber's slight body was slumped fully against DL's side, and her head was lolling on his shoulder: she appeared to have nodded off. DL appeared to be quite pleased with this development, and had a dark arm wrapped around her tiny waist. Both Link and Tracy made a point of not staring.
Once they had clambered into the Cadillac and pulled out of the parking lot, though, Link let out an amused chuckle.
"I know," said Tracy, turning in her seat to see if she could catch a glimpse of the couple as they drove away. "I thought Amber would be the last person to… well. Embrace integration. I really did." She paused. "Is that a terrible thing to say?"
"No," Link replied flatly. "You know, every once and a while I think of making a comment to her about eating her words. And then I think better of it." He turned and winked at her, the act not as effective as usual since his eyes were fighting to stay open. "Did you hear what happened to Debra Witowsky?"
"Ooh, yes." Tracy winced. Debra Witowsky, a girl who had been in Tracy's math class this year, had apparently made some sort of snide comment to Amber at a shop yesterday. Something about her standards dropping. Amber had responded by tearing her apart so viscously that onlookers had started catcalling. The blonde had finished her tirade by slapping Debra full across the face and stomping away in a huff.
Through an odd series of fatigue-induced leaps in thought, this reminded Tracy of something her mother had commented on the night before.
"Link, I meant to –" She broke off into a long yawn, hastily bring her hand up to her mouth. Link glanced over at her affectionately. "Sorry. I meant to ask you; my mama said last night that you came over to the house during the march." She gave him a look. "You never told me that."
Link stiffened, looking pointedly straight ahead at the road. Tracy tried to figure this out, but gave up; her sleep-addled brain was too tired to process the action.
"She said that, did she?" he asked carefully.
"Mmmhmm. Said you were really worried about me, so she took you in and fed you." She gave him another look, this one allowing a rare glimpse of the unconditional adoration she had held for him when he was only a figure on the TV. "That's really sweet, Link."
He relaxed, turning to give her a patented Larkin Grin just as they pulled in outside her house.
"Well, I couldn't just let my best girl get chased by the police without doing somethin', now could I?" He turned and swooped in for a kiss, hand immediately reaching up to her hair, which she had pulled up and tied back with a bow to keep it out of her eyes. As his velvety tongue stroked across her bottom lip, asking permission, he tugged on the ribbon, and Tracy's hair fell down around her shoulders, uncombed and tangled. Link began smoothing it back gently as she opened her mouth to him, kissing him back, giddy with a happiness that seemed to fill her from her head to her toes.
When they pulled apart, Tracy was smiling. "Come inside and sit down," she said. "I'm sure my mama will make us a snack."
"In a minute," he replied, and leaned fully across the seat so that he could wrap his arms around her waist and pull her into a hug.
Tracy smiled against his neck. It felt incredibly good to be held close like this, to feel Link's slow and steady breath against her skin. They swayed gently back of forth, the movement barely noticeable in the comfortable silence. She could smell him, too, she realized. His smell wasn't that of a particular cologne or aftershave, which she had almost been surprised about in the beginning. No, he smelled warm and pleasant, a combination of soap and sweat and Ultra Clutch that was unique to him.
An image drifted into her mind, a memory from earlier that day. Second break, just after they had finished the third dance set for 'Runaround Sue'. Link, collapsing onto one of the benches, his chest heaving with pants of exertion. He'd tilted his head against the wall, eyes shut, as a few beads of perspiration had slid down his forehead.
She wondered if he would look like that when he was –
Her eyes snapped open. Oh, no. No, no, no. She reminded herself forcefully that she was a lady, that she was certainly not supposed to be thinking things like… like that after only two and a half weeks.
And yet she felt a strong urge to go back to memory, to let those thoughts flow unhindered to their conclusion, no matter what she knew she was supposed to feel.
She wondered if that was weird.
Tracy made an attempt to focus on Link's breathing again, only to realize that her boyfriend's breath had gone a little too steady.
She shook him. He didn't move except to mumble incoherently and nuzzle her neck.
"Link," Tracy muttered into his ear, shaking him again.
"Mmmff."
She raised her voice a little, shaking him harder. "Link, wake up."
Link started, jerking back ungracefully.
"I'm awake," he replied sluggishly, rubbing his eyes. Tracy giggled. He looked too cute to be allowed, far too cute to be any kind of school heartthrob.
Link yawned widely, then blinked blearily at her for a moment. "I am awake," he repeated triumphantly.
"Of course you are. Come on inside," Tracy said with a teasing tone. "I don't trust you at the wheel of that car."
Link mumbled something in response, but followed his girl obediently to her doorstep. She twisted the door, found it unlocked as usual, as swung it open.
"Ma, I'm home!" she called as the two of them shuffled in.
"Tracy!" came Edna Turnblad's shout from the living room. "It's so late, I can't believe your little practice went on so long!" She shuffled into view, halfway through folding someone's nightgown. "Oh, hello Link. It's nice to see you."
"Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Turnblad," he responded, albeit a bit dozily; he'd clearly learned his lesson from the winking incident.
"Could you make us a snack, ma?" Tracy asked as she pulled Link into the living room, both teenagers collapsing onto the green sofa. "We're exhausted."
"Well, all right Miss Turnblad, but I expect a 'thank-you' afterwards." Edna grinned cheekily, then skipped happily into the kitchen next door. Ever since the pageant, she had been walking with a new spring in her step.
"I can't imagine what would take so much time as that you have to be at the station for eleven whole hours," chided Edna as she pulled out the bread, lettuce, ham, and cheese from the refrigerator. "This Flynn fellow must be a real rough customer. It's crazy to try to keep kids in one place that long, they'd be hanging from the rafters!"
She used her bread knife to slice the loaf into four pieces, scooped them onto plates and began to add the sandwich fixings. "It's silly to keep you all cooped up in that dark studio all summer, I say. Kids should be at the lake, or on the town, or… I don't know. Drag racing, or something." She added the final toppers of bread and picked up both plates to carry them out.
"Link, I wasn't sure how you liked yours, so I –" She cut off abruptly at the scene that faced her.
Her daughter sat slouched, her head resting against the head of the couch, fast asleep. Link was asleep, too, only he wasn't using the sofa as a pillow. His body was cuddled up right into Tracy's, and his head was nestled softly in her bust.
Edna hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, let alone what to do with the now-unnecessary sandwiches. After a moment's consideration she returned to the kitchen, replaced the sandwiches inside the refrigerator, and removed the small note Tracy had tacked beside the phone a few days ago. On it was the Larkin household phone number.
Edna sighed as she picked up the receiver and began to slowly dial the number. She would call Link's father to tell him his son would be late home, and then wait for Wilbur finish up in the joke shop. He could figure out what to do.