Take the note at the beginning of Chapter One, rinse, repeat.
Conceit: Chapter titles are song titles. Like many in 1994, I was excitedly anticipating REM's follow-up to Out of Time and Automatic for the People. The album Monsters may have been a little disappointing as a whole, but this is a good song off it.
+...+
Chapter Four: Bang and Blame
"Pushing thirty!" This was screamed. "Pushing thirty!" This was not as loud but the anger was more potent. "Pushing thirty…" And this is when the despair crept in. This one was followed by tears.
Rachel Berry crawled into the long arms held outstretched for her. They wrapped around her and held her close as she sobbed. When she relaxed, he kissed the top of her head and spoke softly.
"Honey, you are-"
Rachel shot up and wagged a finger in front of his face. "Don't you dare say it! Don't you dare! I'm going to sue them."
His eyes rolled helplessly and gathered her back up in her arms, rocking her, this time to ease out the seething that was roiling within her. He was used to her drama queen bouts but this was silly and childish. Once he felt her still, he pushed her back a little and stared into her eyes.
"They didn't lie. You can't sue. You are pushing thirty, honey. I know. I was there the day you were born."
Rachel glared at her father. Hiram sighed. He twisted his head around, willing that LeRoy would emerge from the kitchen. Even though the apartment was compact, the kitchen was separate from the small living room and so LeRoy was able to escape the full force of the storm, even though he must have heard all of it.
LeRoy and Hiram Berry had travelled to New York to catch the final performance of Earthworks. The curtain was brought down to rousing cheers and applause, none more so than from the Berrys despite having seen the musical sixteen times before. Thirteen of those times had been in the last four years, since Rachel was pulled from the chorus line to perform the role of Betty, the second female lead. Every time they spoke on the phone since, Hiram had signed off with "I love you, Betty Berry," for their mutual amusement. He was a little sad that he'd have to stop now.
The apartment was the first fruit of Rachel's promotion. It was small but it was central and it was hers – the first time she hadn't had to share since moving to New York. She loved the apartment. She made it her home, her sanctuary and her temple; she made it predominantly pink. Since then she'd eschewed moving to something bigger, even though she finally had the means.
Hiram and LeRoy hadn't pushed her to move, even if it would have saved them a fortune in hotel bills. They knew Rachel hung onto to things and that she was content hanging onto the apartment even though she could afford bigger and better. Now the musical had ended, Hiram noted that the greater benefit of Rachel's parsimony was that she had saved her money, no bad thing for someone in the topsy-turvy business that is show.
They were in New York for a week, intending to spend some quality time with their newly unemployed daughter. Rachel had made a splash now, but parts were few and there were a lot of people with the talent and drive to match hers. Her next career move wasn't obvious, but it was certainly going to be critical. For the umpteenth time, Hiram prayed her agent was good.
Hiram stroked her hair. He knew this wasn't about Rachel's age, even if it was bitchy for the journalist to couple it with her role as an ingénue. She'd been lucky to still look young enough four years before to get Betty. It was reality that Rachel would be unlikely to be getting those roles any more and the article was just confirming what everyone knew; she wouldn't be the next Wendla Bergmann. The tantrum, probably for the benefit of her dads when she could indulge in childishness, was about her uncertain future.
Rachel was still glaring at him and his husband was still making himself scarce, having proclaimed Hiram the better consoling parent. Hiram tried to think of something consoling. "You don't look thirty."
"Arrrrgggghhhhh," Rachel screamed before bouncing out of his lap, racing to her bedroom and slamming shut the door.
LeRoy finally emerged from the kitchen.
"Well, you timed that to perfection," Hiram said sourly.
LeRoy bent down and kissed the man he'd loved for nearly forty years. He spoke softly in Hiram's ear. "You're so much better at this stuff than I am." LeRoy walked around the small couch and settled next to Hiram. They gazed at each and sighed in their mutual concern for their darling girl.
"When's Bradley back?" Hiram asked.
"She told me she didn't know," LeRoy said, shrugging. "He's helping to save the Malaysian economy apparently. Do you find it strange that those two seem to spend hardly any time together?"
Hiram shook his head. "I find it strange that she's with him at all. He's so… rigid. He's nothing like-"
Hiram stopped as LeRoy threw him a sharp glance. On the strict instructions of their daughter, they weren't supposed to bring up the F-word. Ever. Doing it in the confines of a small apartment with her in the next room was asking for trouble. Hiram continued. "I know he's looked after her money but I just wish I could believe he's looked after her half as well."
"My love," LeRoy said softly, "you know our track record on trying to interfere with Rachel's love life." It was Hiram's turn to throw the sharp look at his partner's use of the word "our." "I know, I know," admitted LeRoy, "it was mainly me-
Hiram snorted in derision at LeRoy's attempt to make him share the responsibility. LeRoy ignored the rebuke and didn't pause. "But we learned our lesson. We have to let her go her own way and be here when she hits a wall. It's what dads do." He leaned his head on Hiram's shoulder. "We have no reason to complain. We chose to become parents."
+...+
Rachel threw herself on her bed. She knew her dad was right but she'd needed to rage. She embarked on controlled breathing, closed her eyes and silently repeated the one-word-of-no-meaning mantra that she'd been assigned by some guru in Greenwich Village. Once calmed, she thought about texting Bradley. They exchanged texts because the twelve-hour time difference and their schedules until now played havoc with their ability to talk. Rachel knew with certainty that Bradley preferred it that way too. She checked her phone and was surprised to see he hadn't acknowledged her last three messages. He usually responded at least, even if it was often with a single word.
She sighed. It was probably time to end the charade. They'd never been lovers. Rachel had sworn off relationships other than the most casual kind not long after she arrived in New York and Bradley was not interested in women sexually. Rachel wasn't at all certain that he was interested in men either. They derived different benefits from their relationship. She got a financial advisor and someone she could talk to outside the business. He got to be pictured with a glamorous Broadway starlet which did him no harm with the Wall Street crowd. It was an arrangement which had suited them both but Rachel was starting to feel restless. It was time to move on. Coincidentally, that was the same advice she was getting from her agent about her career.
Rachel thought back to the long meeting with Bo Siddons, two months before, when the producers announced Earthworks was ending. Bo had wanted her to leave the show and try Hollywood two years before, saying that Rachel was at the point where she needed to raise her profile. Bo agreed that it seemed counter-intuitive but insisted that Rachel would be more attractive as a lead on Broadway if she was better known outside Broadway. Rachel wasn't prepared to quit Earthworks but she did agree to put her toe in the water with a role in one of Dick Wolf's New York-based TV shows. She'd had to work very hard to film and still appear in every performance of Earthworks. The time left for sleeping and eating was pitifully small in those two weeks. It was worth it. She'd enjoyed being a killer for two episodes and her performance was publicly lauded, even though Rachel still hadn't seen it. There wasn't much point having a television when performing every night.
Two years on, Bo was advocating with even more passion for a film or TV role and against her holding out for a starring role in New York. They were just too rare and there was too much competition, particularly from those who'd become household names. Rachel had agreed so far as to let Bo scout out opportunities for film and TV but asked that he also work towards Broadway. It was her home and she really was reluctant to leave it, particularly for a place where the competition was even fiercer and where her voice, her indisputably best talent, could count for so much less. He hadn't sung in a movie anyway.
Disliking where her thoughts were leading her, Rachel jumped off the bed and left her bedroom to end her dads' misery and reassure them that she was over her tantrum.
+...+
Two months after Earthworks closed, Rachel's world fell apart.
The first sign of disaster was innocuous. It was an article in The Wall Street Journal by a coy journalist. She had something she couldn't publish at that point but she wanted to lay some groundwork. She published a historical review of Ponzi schemes and the way they'd developed and been adapted over time. There hadn't been a Ponzi scheme scandal in years so the article had people buzzing. A week later, the journalist published the real story and sat back to bask in Woodward/Bernstein-like post-Watergate glory.
Like many others, Rachel didn't read the article. She was too busy pursuing the Sondheim review, despite Bo's lack of enthusiasm for her to commit to being just one among eight other very good singers. She was also trying to meet with Bradley, to end their sham of a relationship, but he hadn't responded to her texts since he returned from overseas. The first Rachel knew that all was not well for her was when, close to signing on the dotted line for the revue, the offer was withdrawn. Rachel might not have been following the financial gossip, which in the course of the week between the two articles had centred on Bradley, but the tsars who bankrolled the show certainly did and remembered the pictures of Rachel and her Broadway-friendly Wall Street man.
Perplexed and nursing her rejection at home in the apartment, Rachel was visited by two men and a woman, all in dark suits and darker humour. They spoke of fraud and embezzlement, of jail and arrests. They questioned her closely on her relationship and the extent to which she'd opened doors for a criminal to attract more investor victims. She was left shaking and in fear of prosecution for doing nothing more than introducing Bradley to her acquaintances in the theatre. It was as a postscript that she learned that her money was gone – all the money she'd given Bradley to invest on her behalf which was the bulk of what she'd earned the last four years. Her chances of replenishing her wealth were hampered by the fact that Broadway was shutting its doors on Rachel because of her association with Bradley and the scandal.
Rachel finally accepted that she didn't just have to go to Hollywood, she desperately needed to go. She called Bo, cried on his shoulder for a while, and then discussed her options with him seriously.
"Okay," he said. "There is this one thing that came in today. It's a great part – a new HBO show, noir, interesting. There are strings though…"
"It doesn't matter," Rachel said firmly. "I will do naked."
"Uh, that's not it, although actually," he said, checking the papers in front of him, "the role does call for nudity."
Rachel paled at the thought of showing herself in that way but furiously beat down her fears. She searched her mind for what else it could be. "I know I'll have to audition and I can't expect to just walk into it."
"Well, here's the thing," said Bo. "You can pretty much just walk into it, but it involves something that you might find underhand."
"Is it illegal?" Rachel asked quickly. She shivered at the memory of the dark suits.
"No," Bo said, "nothing illegal. It very much involves the truth."
Rachel agreed without asking too many questions. Rachel was focused on her career and obstacles were for trampling, whatever they were. Rachel's determination wavered when she learned exactly what and who she might be trampling on but it held sway on the conviction that they were all professionals now. This was business and advantages were to be exploited. Nothing was going to stop her. Nothing. She had to focus. She had to form a new mantra that would drown out doubts or guilt or fears about her potential fellow cast mates. She had to keep repeating the new mantra when her compassion persisted in beating at the doors of her resolve.
"I was born to be Elsa. I was born to be Elsa. I was born to be-"
Drumm: Chapter Four
10pm
Theo wasn't one for evening wear and he wasn't one to be sitting around doing nothing more active than nurse a Whiskey and Sour. He wanted to untie the bow tie. The gadget Mitch had put together was digging into his abdomen. His doctor friend, George Armstrong, was being so jittery that Theo had decided to hold off doing anything until George's nerves were numbed by enough alcohol to calm him but not enough to make him stupid. Events earlier in the evening had put Theo on edge. He was not happy just sitting in the booth and doing nothing so he concentrated on the activity around him.
The Pink Leopard was swanky. The men were in tuxes or dark suits; the women were in slinky dresses. Everybody was in heat. A woman had approached them when they arrived but Theo had sent her off with "Later, baby," in her ear. He'd found him and George a quiet booth and set about creating the image of two doctors relaxing and talking business before tasting what the club had to offer.
Theo checked for Alyssa. He noted the black woman serving drinks four booths over with a satisfied nod. She scrubbed up really well. Theo almost laughed out loud trying to imagine his brother in those heels. Alyssa glanced over at him and shook her head once. Anyone watching would have made nothing of it but she was telling him that she'd seen no sign of Sally Strong. Theo sighed. He hadn't either and wondered if this whole charade was going to be a bust and a waste of the two hundred bucks to get Alyssa's "cousin" to call in sick. He was starting to think Jack Strong had hallucinated. That would serve Theo right for getting involved with one of his brother's musician friends.
Casually, Theo checked over his shoulder, scanning the large booth near the back of the club. Wilson Sallis was holding court. He'd come out from time to time on a walkabout, shaking hands with some, bringing women to others, but for now he was settled in the centre of the seat in the booth, arms around a woman at each side, flirting with both.
An exaggerated drum roll interrupted Theo's thoughts, startling him into wondering if Tommy had found a way to back him up regardless. There was no sign of his brother, but there was a small jazz trio on the stage at the front. Over some intercom, came an announcement.
"Ladies and gentleman, for your listening pleasure, the Pink Leopard is proud to present the beautiful, the talented, the not-to-be-touched…"
There were titters around the room. Nervous ones, Theo thought. The announcer continued.
"The incomparable Miss Elsa Cannotti."
There was a round of enthusiastic applause as Theo realised that she must be a regular feature. That might be useful to know. Glancing back at Sallis, Theo could see that he'd thrown off the women and was leaning forward on the edge of his seat. Returning his eyes to the stage, Theo could appreciate why.
The woman who stepped out had luxurious chestnut hair that spilled down her back. She was perfectly formed with a body to kill for. It was sheathed with something sparkling and glossy and sheer enough in all but the right places to leave the audience panting. She stared out at the audience, ignoring the applause and waited for it to stop. When it did, she nodded at the pianist.
Theo had heard a lot of versions of "The Man That Got Away" in his time but few matched this. Singers, even famous ones, so often overplayed the emotion with exaggerated pouts or streaming tears. Elsa Cannotti avoided that, going for, as Garland had in the original performance, the wistfulness underlain with sorrow rather than the full-blown regret that others did, including Garland herself in later years.
Theo leaned back and, unusually for him, let himself get lost in the music. He applauded with the rest when it was over, watching Sallis join her on stage and kiss her cheek. He noted her withdrawal although it wasn't overt.
"Yes," Theo thought to himself, "she could be very useful indeed."
+...+
Across town, Drumm kept time with competence rather than passion as he had done for most of the night. Lise-Marie had been eyeing him since they started. He'd shrugged at her and looked away. His talk with Theo about Jack's sister had made him gloomy and he only perked up when they played one of his own songs and a couple of covers that he really liked. The set was about half-and-half band originals and covers which was the norm for Pandemic. The covers were drawn from everywhere but Johnny and Mags tended to supply most of the ideas, using music from their home country that was less familiar in America. Of course, some of them had become hits in the US, Drumm thought idly as he beat his way through "Cruel to Be Kind."
His hands and arms on automatic, Drumm looked out over the crowd. It wasn't bad but for a Friday night, it was disappointing. Jack would be bitching later. Pandemic might be his band but with four other members with ideas of their own, he ended up spending more time arguing than thinking about what they needed to be doing to be more successful that didn't include singing the Carpenters. Drumm did not want to sit though hours of fighting about committing to punk or rock again. After their little heart-to-heart in the afternoon, Drumm thought that maybe he would crash at Theo's for once. He'd had a key since the day Theo moved in, after his divorce.
Drumm spotted the groupie from the morning and remembered his promise. Johnny was prancing in front of the stage, doing his best Cockney for "Oliver's Army." He and Mags were apparently "on the outs" again so Drumm didn't see a problem in sending the groupie Johnny's way for the night. He looked over at the band's rhythm guitarist and saw her making eyes at the bartender as she sang backup with Lise-Marie to her ex-boyfriend's lead.
The Costello song finished and Johnny told the audience that the band was taking a ten-minute break. Johnny jumped off the stage, landing in the middle of a squealing bunch of girls – and one guy Drumm noted with amusement. Mags went to the bar and started flirting. Jack and Lise-Marie headed his way. Neither was smiling.
"What's up with you tonight?" Jack asked, pissed. "You're playing like you have your arms up a buffalo's ass."
"I'm sorry, man," Drumm said, running one hand through his damp hair. "I'm just tired, you know? It's been a long day. I'll do better in the next set."
Jack stared at him a moment. Drumm saw, and dreaded, the look of hope that suddenly appeared.
"You have news about Sally?"
"No, man," Drumm lied. "Theo's working on it though, trust me."
Jack closed his eyes in disappointment and shook his head. Drumm stood and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"If she's there to be found, Theo will find her," Drumm said firmly. "You just have to give him some time."
"Yeah, I know, man."
Jack walked back to his bass guitar and picked it up, retuning the strings. Lise-Marie put her hand on Drumm's arm.
"Are you okay, Drumm?"
Lise-Marie hailed from Quebec and had a soft French accent that in the past had made his heart flip. They hadn't been an item for years but every so often, they turned to each other for comfort, sexual and otherwise.
"I'm fine, cherie," Drumm said. "I've just got a lot on my mind…" He hesitated, unsure of whether he should say anything about wanting out of the squat. Her concerned face decided it for him. "I'm working overtime for Theo, Lise. I want to get out of the squat. The fighting, the rats, it's all starting to wear me out."
Lise-Marie examined his face and nodded. She walked away, heading for the bar but paused to throw back the last word.
"Maybe you could take me too."
+...+
Theo had left George in the booth with strict instructions to order no more drinks. He didn't think he was going to be able to use him. The man was a wreck and he didn't even know Sallis' reputation. Theo, however, was adaptable, and he was adapting now as he approached Elsa Cannotti at the bar.
"That was pretty good," he said, trusting that she'd be either offended and talk to him to give him a piece of her mind or that she'd find the lack of effusiveness refreshing and talk to him because he wasn't a bore. He reminded himself, seeing how pretty she was up close, that all he wanted to do was talk to her.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm glad you liked it."
Theo watched her grab the drink and turn to walk away. Theo called after her. "Miss Cannotti!"
She turned back to face him, her eyes clear but weary and wary. "I'm sorry, I don't date the customers." She turned again.
Theo thought furiously how to engage her. "Do you help them?"
She paused, her back still to him. Turning slowly, she examined him more critically before saying, "Depends what help they're looking for."
Having secured her attention, Theo judged that she was averse to being played and decided to go in with sincerity. "I'm looking for a girl." He saw Elsa raise an eyebrow and start to turn away. He raced on urgently.
"She'd be twenty-four and her name is Sally Strong. She ran away from home when she was fourteen and her brother thought he saw her in here. The family had given her up for dead. I'd like to give them peace, one way or the other."
Elsa appeared to be thinking about it which Theo supposed was a good sign. He saw her glance towards Sallis and the look of concern that descended on her face. Theo recognised fear. He dropped his voice to nearly a whisper.
"Miss Cannotti, don't worry about it now. Everyone's waiting for your next song, but maybe you could think about it? This is my card." Theo took her free hand and kissed it, slipping the card surreptitiously into her hand. Her eyes widened at the action but she made a fist to keep it hidden from prying eyes.
"If you think of anything that might help me," Theo continued, "call me. Now slap me."
Elsa was quick on the uptake and slapped his face, hard. Theo worked his jaw a little before assuming the gait of a chastised Lothario to return to the table. "Wow," he thought as he sat down, "she packs a punch." He settled back to enjoy his compensation. She was walking to the stage to sing again.
+...+
It was some hours after the gig that Drumm let himself into Theo's apartment, trusting his brother wouldn't object to his intrusion. Drumm had felt honour-bound to stick around for at least some of the fight about the band's direction and he'd wanted to pick up some clean-ish clothes. He checked Theo's room and was surprised to see his brother wasn't home yet. Drumm would end up on the couch but for now, he threw himself down on the bed to wait for Theo, staring at the ceiling.
+...+
Theo Drummond was lying down too. He was in the street staring at the stars. The bullet hole in his head was proof that the eyes saw nothing.
