Thanks you all for the great beedback and favoriting/alerts etc... Sorry it took me so long to update ^^

Obviously, Smash doesn't belong to me

3. PARTY

He was drunk. He hated being drunk. He hated this helplessness. He hated a composer who could drink the night away, but still managed to laugh and to be nice to everyone and to play the piano at the same time. He hated…

"You okay?" A soft voice interrupted his self-deprecating stance. His eyes dropped on a huge couture ring. He looked up and focused on the face. Her wide doe eyes were uncertain and dozy. She stumbled against his seat and leaned heavily onto him before crashing down by his side, hugging her studded bag for dear life. "I had too much to drink," she smiled goofily.

She looked much younger in the same Misfits dress she had for her audition than in her sequined sheath dress. He resisted reaching out to her. The sight of her bare shoulder was tantalizing. "Is that a fact," he stuttered instead.

She giggled. "You have too. I can see."

"Oh, you can, really, you're such an expert now," he spat.

She tensed. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth and she licked her upper teeth, looking disoriented and hurt. She was struggling to get up now but he stopped her, catching her arm before she could succeed. "I'm sorry, you're right. I'm smashed and I'm afraid it doesn't do justice to my usual charming self."

A roar of laughter erupting from the other side of the bar momentarily silenced him. Tom was playing some old Cole Porter standards and the ensemble was having a blast.

"I wanted to thank you," she finally said, "for being a friend today." Being a friend? It did not looked like it this afternoon when he had sent Dev packing. But she probably didn't know that, yet. She patted his hand in a childish gesture. "I needed someone and you were there for me, so I wanted to say thank you," she said again, her big brown eyes sparkling.

"What about Jessica and Bobby and the gang?"

"They don't know."

"As a matter of fact, I don't either, and I don't care."

She looked unsettled. "Yes, I mean no, you don't, but… I don't know," she said, fighting to get her thoughts in order, her hands fiddling with the strap of her bag, "you…" she gasped for air and stopped, searching her words. She stared into a middle distance and sagged even more on the chair.

"I am the director, I did what needed to be done to have my star back." He kept the slur, but the effects of alcohol were rapidly wearing off.

"I want to apologize for being such a pain," she gave him a quick glance before looking away, unable to meet his eyes, "You could have picked Ivy, I know the others wanted her," she waved at the general crowd on the opposite side of the bar, "I heard Eileen. She wanted me gone but you stood up for me. Why?" Only then she turned towards him, waiting for an answer.

"And what makes you think they could have changed my mind?" he said, not denying it.

She shrugged. "I know. Once you've got your mind set on something, you won't budge."

A smile reached his eyes. There was not much he could add.

"Would you tell me then?", she insisted again.

"Oh for Christ's sake! I chose you. Aren't you happy?"

"Yes, I am, but…"

"You're not going to let it go, are you? Stand up for yourself Karen, you must be tougher than that now! You are the toast of the town, you should be over the moon tonight, and still, you're moping on what could have been in lieu of enjoying the moment."

"Please, don't, I don't want to get into a fight. Not with you." Her eyelashes fluttered and she gave him the most adorable smile he had seen in a long time. "I'm happy," she nodded enthusiastically. She lost her balance and grabbed his sleeve.

"You look happy indeed, stooped on this uncomfortable chair… with me." He sat back, staring at her. "People will talk, you know," he said slyly.

"They will, no matter what I do," she inhaled sharply and shivered. "I… I don't understand," she said so low he barely heard her. "Ivy should have had the part," she added stubbornly.

"Oh, please, not this again," he winced. "What is it? Are you afraid I chose you for the wrong reasons? That I am trying to lure you into my bed, again? I thought we were past that embarrassment." As soon as he finished the sentence, he knew he was not on the right track. He shook his head. "It's the easiest thing in the world, really, darling, I don't see her," he said gently.

"Huh?"

"God, Karen, I don't see her as Marilyn, I see you," he said in the calmest voice he could muster. "I see you."

"Oh…" she said in a whisper. She moved about on her seat. "Dev slept with her, you know," she said after a pause. She shrugged and bit her lip. "We… I broke up with him."

"Is there a point to this conversation?" he said in a detached voice. She was to drunk to notice.

"They wanted to hurt us," she blurted out. "To hurt me, I mean."

Hiding a smile, he took his hand. She looked up and froze. "Ms Cartwright, I think it's now officially time for you to go to bed, unless you're ready to discuss your love life with me. But be aware that you could remember we had this conversation tomorrow."

"You mean you knew?"

He sighed. She was really drunk, too drunk for her usual scared dove routine. "I had a general idea. I saw you flash the ring. I heard the commotion. It wasn't hard to connect the dots especially after your strip-tease and your little melt down."

"No, what I meant is you knew about Ivy?" she insisted.

That was his time to frown. "Ivy?"

"Yes, Ivy, your girlfriend…"

"Oh God, Karen, this is the theatre. We slept together, it doesn't make her my girlfriend. She's a big girl. She knows what she's doing."

"Did I get the part because she slept with Dev?"

"What? I think you're too drunk for your own good. But you're a ravishing drunk. And I gave you the part because it was the right thing to do." At the time, he added in petto.

"Yep!" Her face lighted up and she grinned back. "I should go," she said, not moving, staring at their hands intertwined on his lap. Tom was butchering "Argentina" in the background and the cast was cheering loudly. They stayed in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. She was absorbed in her thoughts.

"Do you need my help to going back to the hotel," he finally asked.

She grinned genuinely. "Yes, I'd like that," she nodded enthusiastically.

"Shall we?" he stood up and helped her get back her feet.

"… but I can't."

He tilted his head, puzzled. "You cannot go back to your hotel?"

"I can't leave with you… I think you know," she said, squeezing his hand. "Good night Derek." She gave him a peck on the cheek and left without a backward glance. He watched her hug her friends. Then she hugged Tom.

"She likes you," said a voice in his back. "I can tell." He span on his heels. "Julia Wyles. I'm a journalist with the Boston Herald. Mr Wills, can we talk about "Bombshell"?"

His eyes shot to her mouth, to her dark cascading curls then to her cherry printed dress. "It would be my pleasure, Ms Wyles," he said with a bow. "What would you like to know?"

*Please no flame!*