Not fade away
[Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders, you flatter me sir.]
[A/N: Tons of views, but no reviews. That's fine though, for as much as I would love you to drop me a review (criticism, witticism, love, hate, requests, even questions!) or some favourites or follows, I'm content with my fic just being seen! I try to update as often as possible, but motivation is hard to come by. So I deposited a minor cliff-hanger!]
[On Reviews: I've enabled Anonymous Reviews for the time being for account-less and/or discreet readers.]
Two-Bit woke up with a yawn and a shudder. The springs of the Curtis couch poked through the worn down corduroy directly into his spine, the grating sound that came from his shirtless shifting was enough to make his skin crawl. He had been slightly out of it the night previous, but he wasn't drunk. Just vacant enough to take off his shirt but not his shoes. The bathing sunlight said it was noon as good as any watch he would never wear, so far into noon that the house he had squatted was empty of working class occupants. The only warm body living up in the residence was Ponyboy, staring out the window, mind reeling.
"Whatcha starin' down out there Ponyboy, intruders?" Two-Bit yawned, swallowing raunchy beer breath.
"The only intruder 'round here is you." Ponyboy said, crinkling his nose at Two-Bit stretching. Two-Bit could have been hurt by his lack of joking, but he excused it. It seemed in his early teen years Pony was convinced of his unimportance in the gang and his family. He may then have been jealous of Two-Bit fitting into every conversation and invitation, but it was fleeting.
Two-Bit stumbled over tightening his belt. His muscles flexed as he clamped an arm over Pony's chest and landed a knuckle laden noogie on the kid's oiled head. Ponyboy opened his mouth in protest, but it quickly changed into a grin as they sparred. Secretly, he was thankful of the fact that Two-Bit wouldn't yell like Darry or try and sooth like Soda. Sometimes, a friend who took everything in the light of day was all that could possibly be needed to fend off the dark.
The two spent the rest of the 'morning' in hot pursuit of Two-Bit's elusive t-shirt. They soon came to the conclusion that the house needed a good dusting, and that he must have taken the cotton garb off somewhere not on the miniscule property. Two-Bit decided that on a Sunday in this neighbourhood a shirt was optional, also considering the heat was a given.
That settled, the two took a jean jacket for Two-Bit, a pack of cigs for Pony, a beer for the both of them (though Ponyboy was more likely to pass it off on the next of their gang to come along than to drink), and a walk into whatever would take them.
The walk was going ever so quietly when Two-Bit remembered where his shirt had gotten off to. The realization was so hilarious to him, that he pulled Pony to the curb for a laugh.
"As it turns ol' Pone, my shirts over at Buck's. Hopefully in the trash considerin' it's 95% pure Constance upchuck at the moment." He said gasping a little.
He told the tale of the puke placed ever so kindly on Dallas's shoes by a very drunk Constance. Shortly before she had blacked out, he was taking his shirt off to clean a little puke off her pretty face. What she did next had him in peals of unmanly giggling, Pony too, once he told him. Constance Winston had done the obligatory blush, and then, AND THEN, she rubbed a small, cold hand over his rumble buffed ab work. No way could Dallas have been angrier, and boozy Two-Bit more amused.
"So, you 'n Connie get along real good?" Pony said with obvious incredulous. He was getting very punky. Especially to those who could whip his ass sideways.
But Two-Bit was still stung.
"Man o' Man. I've seen a better head on a root beer float from the way that broad acts. She downed herself five cold ones and turned down about twenty guys before I took off. Chicks like that are a challenge, but they sure ain't worth the trouble."
As the boys laughed about the incidence, it hit Constance like a sledgehammer to the sensibilities. She was laying, face engulfed in a pillow, when the shards of her memory came to her, full picture. A groan poured from her entire body, echoing through the mattress she was burrowing into with embarrassment. She had acted like a complete clod that night, a floosy too. To get so worked up over a boy's body was shameful on its own, but then she just had to touch it. Never could she show her face at Buck's dive again, never could she ever speak to Gary the Ginger (she couldn't for the life of her recollect exactly what they had discussed), and never would she ever be able to look Two-Bit in his mocking silver expression.
She pulled her peach crocheted blanket tightly to her chin. Things had been developing so well that night, before she was ditched with an unfulfilled promise of return. Dismissing these thoughts, she began thinking back. Constance came to the conclusion that it had been far too long since her last boyfriend. The cream walls practically spun as her mind remembered; Styled, grease-free black hair and a Soc to beat all. Theodore was great until he wasn't; a bright, happy, completely selfless individual. It was with a touch of disgrace that Constance recalled the reason for the infamous split of T+C. She had gotten bored.
It was only mildly distressing to her then, and even less now. People called her shallow for her actions, the swift cut-off at the drive-in, but she viewed it as only humane. The boy was shy when it came to deep, entertaining conversation. He would laugh softly -almost as an afterthought- through her jokes, intentional or no. He would agree with just about any opinion she could conjure, but when she got too passionate on the subject, changed it. He had soft, warm hands and a same trait face. Sea glass eyes were handsome and rare, portraying his average intelligence. Handsome. That was a word thrown at her a lot.
"Ooh he's handsome." Donna and Cynthia had chirped minutes before the relationship had become official.
X
"Wouldn't you feel a life fulfilled with this fine, handsome young man?" Her Uncle had debated minutes after word of the breakup had found him.
X
It had seemed to her that her Uncle was more in love with Theodore than she was, or at least the idea of Theodore in the family. Her Uncle was a working tradesmen for most of his prime years; a roofer though he looked more like an accountant, and talked like one. She supposed that the idea of a college material man seeking his adoptive child was enticing. The life dear, brainy uncle had always wanted to give her, but was far too busy with his criticism and work to achieve. A bitter old trout he was, but everyone has a dream. No one is ever content.
A certain someone's discontentment with his current singularity coincided almost perfectly with that of Constance's. Of course, Constance didn't know at the time just how hard Steve was willing to play, she just took advantage of his preference towards her to fill a void. The almost concave nature of her stony heart. No matter how much many would regret the decision to toy with someone's emotions (especially someone vying for returned feelings, or at least recognition), Constance could not see a fault in what was purely amusement.
As she kicked her blankets back and beat her hangover upside the head, it was clear to her (but not necessarily realized) that this was all for the sake of amusement, and a hidden need for retribution. Two-Bit may have been the only guy to spurn her in years, Theodore may have not given up enough of a fight, but Steve, Steve was for the taking.
A fucking infatuation. That is all Darrel Curtis could glean from the incessant ramblings of Steve Randle. Randle pleaded love at first sight, Darry thought maybe that waitress uniform needed an altering. Steve yakked about how tuff she was, Darry thought she sounded like a stone-cold bitch (perhaps perfect for the stone-cold jerk). But considering their two, maybe three chance meetings the amount of shit Steve had to say was impressive. Connie was now on a pedestal unreachable even to the man who put her there, Steve was stuck.
Evidently, even on a regular basis Darry had no patience for 'everybody loves Constance' (Two-Bit and Dallas were the only ones who seemed able to talk bad, Johnny was also tolerable in his uncaring state). Today he was prepped to burst. Steve had sidled up to him as he took the pathway on to the chipped door. Darry had a bundle of shingles on each shoulder, easily 40 pounds each, every pound setting its weight x2.
"Hey Super-Dope. You're old and wi-ise, do you think we'll win the rumble tonight?" Steve drawled in his annoying nasal tone.
The rumble. What was once on the forefront of everyone's mind had taken a backseat to the Constance news, and Darry resented that. Steve got some credit for re-establishing his care. It seemed that the Socs needed desperately to be dialled down, their violence and temperament against all things grease was rising. No one seemed to gauge the severity of this, except for experience hardened Darrel. Perhaps a gang meeting was in order, just to make sure they were all on their toes.
Constance was enjoying her short-lived relief from the hell that was customer service in the food industry. She needed time to plot, for sweet, innocent little Connie was no more. She wanted to woo and destroy Steve Randle. She needed to vent. She sighed down at her canary coloured toes (which she was currently touching up with lacquer), she was shallow, petty, and self-absorbed. The things a million people had made her out to be had turned out to become the closest to the truth. Her eyes welled up a little as she became intent on her task, she was smart wasn't she? Funny too? Maybe even nice when she wanted to be? Why couldn't anyone just take her for what she was, and look past her fleeting attentions and desire to appeal? Even soft-spoken Theodore had called her out on how her looks and confident attitude gained her more than she deserved. And no one could like her for her personality more than he had, no one ever could. So why even try?
She almost lost it, her calm indifferent composure, when the land line rang. Its trill sounded through the white shag carpeted den, she was perfectly alone (not great for her state of mind) and felt elation at the prospect of an invitation from Patty, Cynthia, or maybe even a repeat performance of social teachings from Dallas. Constance didn't admit to herself her blatant excitement, even as she leapt for the phone above her bun-head. She held it as close to her face as possible without smudging the beauty mask she was employing to 'firm' her 'ageing' skin. This excitement was short-lived. Gertie was re-gifting tomorrows morning shift, apparently the hangover pity had dispersed.
She hung up. The climax was gone and Constance had never felt more alone.
After going to bed at 7 o'clock, Constance needed someone to be there, wherever there was. Her aunt and uncle had gotten back from their date late, and even though they were 'there' she had never had a real connection with either of them. She felt them to be too dull for her bright. In the morning, after a freezing cold shower that she regarded as a wakeup call, Patricia came to her side.
They hadn't spoken since meeting those few days ago on main. Patty didn't work, but her boyfriend was a fulltime job. A real Soc through n through, Theo's best friend, and Marcia's on again off. Randy was a child at heart, immature, and biased towards all. Patty brought him down to earth with her raspy voice and soulful eyes, all could agree she was best for him. A boy who never knew what he wanted.
Randy was done with Marcia at the moment, so he scurried back to Patricia with a head full of opinions on how he never wanted to be rich ever again, how Marcia was an idiot, and how wouldn't it be nice to fall off the grid for a while. Patty took it all with rolled eyes and a cigarette, Constance just thought he had a thing for 'CIAs'. When he left her again, she would take the time to hang out with Constance, and scout out the selection. It was an arrangement that Constance laughed about and Patty shrugged off.
Currently, an anomaly was occurring for when Patty was in a relationship she could disappear for weeks, yet here she was. Constance was so thankful that she allowed her to fill up the room with tobacco stench and never once felt tempted to partake. They chatted intelligently, giggled in retrospect over the Buck's fiasco, and made Constance look like a bombshell for her altered shift. They had to be prepared if Steve popped by, Patty pushed this point and supported the whole endeavour. No wonder they were such good friends, two heartless cynics who laughed in the face of love.
The two of a kind trekked over to the diner, Patty had put out her cig with an edgy white go-go boot (a present from Donna) and started a rousing debate on the merits of being middleclass.
"When we spoke last, ya know 'bout that lil' grease…it had me thinkin' 'bout how maybe we shouldn't pick the Soc side. I mean, look at Randy, even he might not by the sounds of him!" Patty said in her monotone emotion. Constance was a little surprised at the 360 turn of opinion.
"Patty, I thought you was right the first time! Greasers, well, they're a flaky bunch from my understanding. Dallas for example, who even knows if they'll put up a fight?" Constance exclaimed.
"So why're you chasing after 'em, huh? Oh honey, I feel we're just overreacting. Nothing'll change 'round here. It never does." Patty sighed. Connie got it, they must just be overreacting, - reading into things too deep- but if that was true, then why did it feel so false? The two dropped the conversation, bumping and pushing all the way to Gertie's.
Rumble buzz was in the air. Darry, being the unofficial gang 'leader' decided to harness that energy and grind those Socs into the ground, watching the privilege drain out of them. Steve was early, the meeting spot (as he had suggested during their previous encounter) would be Gerties, so he was hoping for some glimpse of the hard-to-get Constance. And glimpse her he did, he glimpsed her looking the best yet, all legs and figure, and gorgeous face. Unknown to him, this reaction worked into the waitresses favour oh to well. She skated up to his stare, flashing a behind the back thumbs up to a corner booth seated Patricia.
"Steve Randle, I have felt just plain ugly for the way I spoke to you the other night when you was only trying to walk me here." She said in a baby-doll sullen voice. "I just want to make it up to you, maybe a date's in order?" Constance batted her eyelashes, looking out from underneath them. How anyone could fall for this out-of-character act was beyond her, but Stevie sure fell hard.
"Aw sure Connie." He said reaching out to shake her hand, he used this as an avenue to flex his pride and joy muscles. "Tonight, I'll take you out, right before the rumble!" He smiled, then frowned. "I ain't got no dough though, so we'll walk there and call it an outin'."
She smiled at him, a walk! No wonder that Evie had called it quits, him offering a walk as a date and no mention of how she was to get home as he had to go to his 'rumble'. Chances are she'd have to walk home too, and alone to boot! Deep breath, bear through, and turn away. That's all she could manage as she fell back into the late breakfast rush. She almost wished she still had that dinner shift lined up as an out. At least Dallas had seemed to forget about a greaser 'babysitter'.
By some act of god, the whole Curtis gang crammed into a single booth with little to no injury. The close quarters didn't stop Dallas from lighting a cigarette and nearly singing Two-Bit's left side-burn. Everyone was far too antsy to be there, in a hot crowded diner, but things needed to be discussed. Besides, pre-rumble grub was a tradition.
"This is an ordinary rumble guys, no switches, pipes, pool-cues, heaters, nothing. It's skin, nice n easy as long as no one does anything stupid." Darry lectured from behind a massive pile of fries. The rest of the boys were more invested in their food than his talk, a rumble was same old same old. Something to enjoy, not worry about. "You guys should be ready for someone pulling something too, these Socs are bolder than ever." Darry finished sternly. They all nodded fluently with understanding. They had all heard about the broken bottle incident and Tim Shepard.
According to lore, last night Timothy Shepard was jumped by a Soc. A lone Soc. Never before would a Soc have risked a fight with a most definitely armed greaser alone. It seemed that these Socs were getting bored with what was 'safe', it was becoming more than a feud of social status, and these guys were burning with an undefined hatred. Anyhow, Tim Shepard was caught by surprise and didn't have a chance to enable his blade before the Soc had sliced him from temple to chin with a broken Coke bottle. It took the beating of seven Socs that evening to calm Shepard, his typically even temper was now seeking a brutal revenge.
All of the gang was willing to exact that revenge tonight, if a grease had cut up another grease it would have been different, a Soc doing it required a special kind of punishment. Everyone broke the silence from which they fell by mowing down on their plates and chirping each other about who was likely to take out the most Soc. When the meeting/warning was through they all dispersed, leaving Steve to wait out the remaining hours of Constance's shift and Sodapop to attempt to quench his above average teen hunger and thirst. Two-Bit on the other hand bolted as soon as he could, once again he never made eye contact with Constance. Not hard, considering Dallas had refused the whole gang of speaking to her, for her behaviour had placed her 'on the outs'.
Thanking whatever watched her from above for the fact that the dear greasers had not taken up in her section, Constance continued her serving and tip taking. She noticed the majority of the gang leave, Ponyboy didn't return her wave which was odd considering she had found him most agreeable. He only looked at her, hands in pockets, and slouched out, gaze ahead. Dallas flipped her off when she attempted to greet him, it seemed she had dwindled away his last bout of trust or acceptance. Two-Bit wouldn't even acknowledge she was working, it made her disappointment in him last night, - and the embarrassment she felt about him today- turn into a grudge she could sure as hell hold. The older brother, (Darry) seemed civil enough, but almost tired of her. She couldn't imagine why considering they had never spoken. Johnny made tough though, nodding at her, she didn't understand his act in the least. When Soda and Steve left shortly after, Soda made his way over to her before the door.
"We're headed back to the DX, and I thought I'd say howdy. Haven't seen you in ages, Dally forbids we seek your company." Soda said with a smirk and a kind handshake. She didn't correct him that it had only been a few days.
"I feel like what we did was a mistake, I've had enough of this 'greaser' lifestyle." She said in a whisper tone, hiding her words from the distant Steve.
"They do seem a little chilly with ya, don't they?" He frowned. They were nearly the same height, oddly enough. "I imagine they have their reasons though." He winked like a twitch, that boy was sure bad at winking.
"They do and so do I." Constance replied hotly. Dally had hidden her away her whole life, Two-Bit was an ass, Ponyboy was acting like he was too good for her, Steve was a pig, Johnny omitted her, Darry probably hated her too, and well, Soda didn't help matters much. She could only imagine how they talked behind her back, discussing why she was the outsider who couldn't see in. They probably laughed about her behaviour at the bar, no she was no greaser, and they knew it. She spun on her skates, away from Soda and Steve and everyone who was making her life humiliating.
Her shift flew like the wind after that encounter. Before Constance knew it, she was back at the diner waiting on her date. Of all the ways to turn down someone she would never stand them up, besides, the plan with Patty was still a go.
Steve strolled up, the first time she had ever seen him without a DX uniform. Instead he was in a muscle shirt, covered up with a sleeveless jean jacket. This was a boy who liked to flex. She had changed out of her uniform for the 'date'. Slick black pedal-pushers accentuated her legs, and a tight grey collared top (sleeveless as well) conformed to her other assets. As always, there was a bandana on her person, a lavender one with music note patterns tied 'round her pale neck. She let her hair fly loose and thick and makeup adorned (but didn't overpower) her features. She wanted to look enticing, but if she was to walk everywhere this evening she also had to be comfortable.
"Pants on a girl, can't pretend I don't like it more than skirts!" Steve whistled darkly. Constance would've smacked him had her mood not been contained.
The rest of the trek continued, she didn't know where they were going, but just followed his lead. Steve didn't hold her hand or compliment her further, he just began the 'I'll tell you about me, feel free to add your details along the way'. He talked for what seemed like hours on his profession of cars (but not a lick about his personal life) as they pushed further into sketchier neighbourhoods, this was not going as planned. All she really wanted was for him to kiss her, she hadn't been kissed in weeks! The whole idea was to win him along a little then move on to better things, even Constance felt the wrongness of this, but still required a relationship. Any relationship. She detested that she couldn't be alone, a major flaw in her genetic code.
Finally they reached their destination, an empty lot filled with greasers of all shapes and sizes. Constance grimaced a little, remembering the rumble and all that would ensue.
"This is where I leave ya, listen I liked tonight. You're a good time, ya know?" Steve said already walking towards the action. Constance's suspicions were right. He meant for her to walk back home alone. Quite the gentleman. But she didn't walk home, as soon as she saw the first punch thrown at the Socs arrival, she was hooked. She backed up into a tiny alley, slightly overrun by thorny shrubbery, and watched.
Constance picked her way around the broken glass and cigarette butt coated asphalt of the alley floor in her satin pumps, a luxury that she hated to wear except for when seduction was key. In hindsight it seemed Steve was more seduced by himself. A small cement step jutted in cracks out from the weathered brick, it was on this throne that she took her place, the weeds cushions for her aching feet (now forcefully bare). As she re-focused her attentions, the rumble escalated quickly. What started out as a pleasurable performance was now getting ugly. The Socs advanced in their white cuffed pants, and despite the violence, all Constance could think on was the impracticality of wearing white fucking pants for a roll around in the mud with a sweaty greaser.
Her eyes strained intently as her mind was jerked in another direction, Ponyboy was there, fighting, but not quite winning. A Soc, slightly smaller than his companions was throwing hooks left and right, a second glance though revealed that Pony was in no immediate danger. He blocked every shot, and though not taking many himself, the ones that he did connected, cracking the 'armour' of an ego. He didn't look fazed, almost bored actually, as if he didn't see the point. In truth, neither did Constance. If the greasers won (however that may be), the Socs would just jump 'em harder, get more cops on their side, and throw a better 'victory' party the next time around. She had heard many things about rumbles from friends and even a few movies, but from what she saw it was just an endless loop of a vent for teen males.
The fight only lasted about 5 minutes. In that time Constance spotted the rest of the Curtis gang and Tim Shepard taking the helm of the battle. By what she could glean from the situation, Steve was an amazing fighter. He pounded through his path with an intensity unrivalled by his surroundings. With every defeat handed out, a shrill war cry emanated from him. She rolled her eyes, the show boating and revenge combo was insanely self-indulgent on his part.
"Ya'll oughtta have somethin' to fight for like Steve." She murmured sarcastically to herself, picking at the city-torn foliage at her side. It was almost endearing, whatever drove him to fight like that. The realization that Steve may have complexity of character was confusing based on every other trait he displayed. It made her want a cigarette, but she wouldn't break her sobriety from smoke for that boy.
The rumble, as it were, did not exactly pan out in grease favour. The hoods were better fighters, that they all knew, but something drove the Soc mindset to success. Maybe they were dodging humiliation, maybe they saw some greater purpose to it all, and maybe they just wanted it more. It may have been a stalemate too, if that dumb Soc hadn't pulled a most un-Soc-like switch right in the heat of things. This caused the greasers to disperse in disgust, no way in hell would they fight out of bounds. All in all, it was not the deciding tangle they had all hoped for, but it did prove something; that fight would come.
Two-Bit settled down a frothing Curly Shepard as he attempted to pick the thick glass from his cheek. Apparently, Mr. Switch was not the only Soc to break code, and with a broken bottle too!
"Get your hands outta my face Half-Wit!" Curly growled, swatting at Two-Bit's hands and throwing out the much loathed moniker.
"Unless you wanna scar like your brother'll get I suggest you let me take out this fucking Coke crasher! I swear to god you got yourself in this situation just to chase his goddamn legacy." Two-Bit sneered without comedy. Ordinarily a rumble would have juiced him up some, but this ungrateful little sleaze was causing his last nerves to fray.
They were both propped up side by side on the chain link fence, Two-Bit surveying the torn up face of Curly, and Curly edging on the unsmiling face of Two-Bit. No one likes to back down a rumble, but what with the skin-only rule broke, it would've been a massacre if the greasers followed suit. Two-Bit himself had been tempted to rip out his shiny black switch, if only to scare the offenders back down. It put him in bad humour, and if that could happen to Two-Bit, you can bet the rest were just as peeved.
Constance hoisted herself up and wiped the dust of neglect from her clammy palms onto her black bottoms with little to no concern for appearance. She wanted a closer look at the cleanup. One alley side was made up of a relatively stout, flat roofed shed, too tempting for a girl craving a bird's eye view. A stack of broken slated milk crates teetered against the sheds siding, precarious to be sure, but she liked the risk. The 'seductive' shoes remained off as she scrambled awkwardly to the top box. For an attractive young woman, grace eluded her as much as clumsiness plagued. Once balanced to the best of her abilities, Constance raked her carefully combed hair into her bandana loop, sacrificing style for some semblance of safety and sight. About 4 feet remained from the top of her head to the roof top position she sought, interrupted only by a rickety eave. Her arms reached determinedly, successfully grasping the rusty lip of that tepid water filled eave. Constance employed what little upper body strength she had earned from tray toting and occasional women's softball to push herself up and over. As her weight pressed down into her palms the aforementioned lip dug deep, slicing a not-so-clean cut. This caused a surge in power by Constance, an impressive roll securing her place at the tar coated top.
From this angle, the rumble grounds looked like field from 1812's events. Not many people remained, only greasers looking exceptionally worse for wear. She spotted Dallas under a sickly tree, blood matting his more than fair hair, bruises blotting his papery skin. He was speaking animatedly (an over use of hand-gestures) to an enthralled Johnny. Johnny, mouth agape, had blood pouring from his puffed lip. This seemed to be his only injury, - Constance had noticed him fighting beside Ponyboy who had perhaps taken the worst of it. It was then that she was most glad for her unknown position, Dallas's thin frame was coiled and tense, and any anger towards her would almost certainly be nuclear.
On this roof top hideaway, nothing was seen except branches from past electrical storms. There were no doors leading downwards, and not a single set of stairs. It was unlikely that any, but for a delinquent on the run, would ever have seen the surface. Unfortunately, this scummy oasis of the perfect observatory was a short-lived visit for Constance. A gigantic broken branch of dead elm proved unseen by her preoccupied eyes, so far out of her mind was where her steps should place that she tripped. Tripped over the branch and toppled over the side. Only 9 feet of a fall did Constance take like a limp ragdoll, but 9 feet too many?
[A/N: This cliffhanger may be a little self indulgently over-dramatic, how will it ever pan out :o Tell me what you think of where the story's headed...especially all this Constance character development, oh my my. Favourite, Follow, Review, if you've got the time and the need...oh and please let me know if I'm making someone sickeningly out of character, I'm afraid I'm not aware of the damage until it's pointed out to me!]