I don't own Smash…
7. HELL (1)
"It always happens, you go out of town and all hell breaks loose." Bobby was right. Hell broke loose. But I had no idea that it was going to be in my backyard.
After my first performance as Marilyn, my anger finally receded. How could I possibly still be mad at Ivy? Guilt had washed over me like a wave. I know I'm not responsible for the world hunger and the tension in the Middle East, but Ivy's cry for help, I'm pretty sure it was my fault. Surprisingly, I was having a hard time staying mad at Dev as well. After everything we had been through together, he had betrayed me when I needed him the most. I felt like I didn't even know the guy, I mean, at all. It was kind of odd. He used to be such a comforting presence in my life, my centre, my friend, except that I had to find out the hard way he was not as friendly as I thought. He was violent, jealous, a liar and a cheater, and the list went on. Leaving MY ring in Ivy's bedroom was simply the icing on the cake. No decent man would do that after proposing. Not in a million years. Derek had been right from the start. He had warned me, - not in so many words he hadn't, but he had been very straightforward. The first time he ever laid eyes on him, he had made it very clear that he despised Dev.
Actually, it was now all coming down to the fact that his name was on the lease. But I didn't expect him to gracefully hand me the keys. If he did, I could not afford the rent anyway, not with my current pay check. Flat hunting was on top of my priority list, and the list was longer with every passing day. I had no idea how I would manage to find a place, to pack when Dev was not home, to move in, to rehearse, to take dance lessons, and to get some sleep during the next few weeks. It was easy: I simply didn't have the energy to resent him. As much as I tried, with the rehearsals and performances, memories of my ex were rapidly fading into a quiet oblivion. Maybe I had never been in love after all. Maybe I had been wrong all along. Anyway, good riddance, I had too much on my plate right now, the last thing I needed was the heartbreak.
I was stuck in Boston for two more days and then I would be Pittsburgh and then God only knew where else. On the bright side, Derek had never been so nice to me, but I could easily guess why. He needed me. Not that I was high maintenance, but he was fully aware that I could break like glass should he pressure me too hard. Not to mention that it was a totally unexplored territory for him too, since we did not sleep together. I confess that the idea has crossed my mind many times, especially because of his "apology". Men were right, women's mind does work in mysterious ways. I couldn't throw myself at him now, it was too early and a bit too much. Ivy and I were not cut from the same cloth. And where did that lead her anyway? I knew he was more than willing to accommodate me, I'm not that ingenuous, but I simply needed more than mind blowing sex with a notorious director. God, who was I kidding? He was brilliant, funny, handsome in a weird kind of way, and British. British men were seriously ruining all my chances of ever finding a suitable boyfriend. I had no idea whether I was attracted to Derek, his accent or just starstru...
"Okay, very nice, Karen. You take five. Dennis, I need you to…"
Derek's voice shook her out of her reverie. She had been on auto-pilot for the most part of the morning. She rushed to the vending machine. She needed a sugar boost and a pint of coffee like two hours ago. She was revelling in the taste of a chocolate bar that was quietly melting in her mouth when she had the weird feeling of being looked at. She turned around to face Derek who was indeed observing her from a distance. He was talking on the phone. From his expression, she could tell that he was upset. She wiped her mouth hastily, trying to catch her reflection on the glass panel of the vending machine. In the process, she spilled half her coffee on her lap. Ouch, that was hot! She was struggling to get some composure back when his irritating voice stopped her dead in her tracks.
What was it with this man? He just gave me a five minute break and yet he's stalking me. Why would I even think that? I felt my cheeks burning and looked at him, taking in the mocking smile, the sparkling eyes and easy demeanour.
"I apologize if I startled you, and I appreciate that it is an unexpected turn of event but I will need you tonight after the show," he told me matter-of-factly. "I'm aware it's very last minute but you're the star and it happens that potential and very influential investors are willing to meet with me today. They also requested to see you in the flesh."
My eyes widened. I was the star. "Oh… Okay," I nodded, under the impression of having been grounded as if she was seventeen again. I did my best not to gape but my gawk looks probably gave me away. I hadn't even had the time to wrap my head around the fact that I had become the lead of the show practically over night. Spotlights were one thing, the obligations that came with the title were quite another.
"It's nothing really," he said, his mouth twitching. Then he flashed me one of his rare genuine smiles. "I hate to be blunt, but did you pack anything that could come in handy for this kind of occasion?"
"Huh?"
"Karen, you play an icon. It kind of implies that you have to pose somewhat like one."
"Oh, I see, they don't want to see me, they want to see Marilyn." I said, sounding way too cheery.
"You're exactly right. You can skip the wig, but I have to show someone who will satisfy their standards."
"You mean that I can ditch the Uggs and the sweater my mum gave me last Christmas?" I grinned.
He nodded and graced me with another smile. "I'm glad we're on the same page, I was worried that you could think I was out of line here."
She shrugged. "I understand. And the answer is no. I'm afraid you're going to have to pull an Edward Lewis on me tonight."
"Pardon me?"
"Edward Lewis, Viv Ward ? "Pretty Woman"? You've seen it, right? After all, it's more your generation than mine," I teased him, realizing that he was probably the same age as Dev. Was I flirting with the Dark Lord now? So much for playing out of reach.
"Just when I thought you were a feminist," he teased back, a tinge of laughter colouring his dry voice. "Don't worry, even in Boston, I can pull some strings and get you a fitting attire. After all, they've seen you in Duvall's costumes, they don't expect a miracle." I frowned and his face softened. "I promise you, they will be dazzled by your intoxicating presence."
"Don't push it," I snapped.
"I'll arrange for a sample of dresses to be delivered before the show."
"And shoes…"
"Yes, of course, shoes. That is settled then. Weren't you supposed to take only five?" he added pleasantly. "Shall we?" He tilted his head. "By the way, you should probably get rid of the chocolate that you smudged on your chin. It's not very Marilyn…"
Great, he's never going to let me live this one down.
Derek could really pull strings. Bobby went from a dour and sullen dancer to an energetic and enthusiastic friend in less than five seconds tops. As soon as he noticed the gowns casually spread on my chair in the dressing room, he simply went ballistic. His hands shot to his mouth while he was yapping names I've never heard of before. Deciding on a striking dress, he stood in front of the mirror, prancing.
"I can't wear that, isn't it a bit too much?" I said.
His voice menacing to shatter every single piece of glass in the near vicinity, he shrieked. "Are you insane? This is a vintage Alexander McQueen, nude silk organza embroidered with silk flowers, the 2007 collection. I've seen it at the Met last year. It's a work of art, the chance in a life time. Of course, it's not real flowers, but who care?"
"Real flowers?"
"Forget it. With your body and the right hair, you will…"
"Look like a fool?" I suggested.
"Resemble a fairy. Just put it on. Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening," he wailed.
"There's no time, I can't!" I protested, my eyes on the clock.
"Plenty of time," he stated, brows furrowed. "And…" his expert eyes fanned the floor. "I have just the perfect shoes." He handed me a pair of high sandals, with a wrap-around ankle strap in red glossed-leather and fuchsia suede. "Christian Louboutin, summer 2012 collection," he announced dramatically.
"Really?" I moaned after a quick the look of the heels. "It's five inches!"
"Saint Laurent then? It's higher but with a platform."
I gave an incredulous look at the very classic violet and green sandals and shook my head. "No, you're right. I have to make a stand."
"Great," he purred. "I'll stick to McQueen for the clutch, though. If you really want to make a stand, that is." He handed me a charcoal grey stingray box clutch with a small skull clasp.
Derek was waiting for me in the wings after the show. He took my hand and kissed it. I glanced around. The ensemble was gathering for the final round of applause and everybody quickly looked away, pretending that nothing had happened. I was still breathless after the last number, and his eyes grazed my heaving chest. "Go, I'll find you later." His tone was light, his eyes were unreadable. Apart from a few missteps, I was quite satisfied with my performance, which meant that in the World of Derek, I was probably a total failure. I dashed back to the stage and bowed. When I looked back at him, he was gone.
I followed the others to the dressing room. I had half an ear on their excited voices. I dropped on my chair, and watched my reflection in the mirror. I took off the wig and proceeded to get rid of my stage make up. I didn't want to look like the bride of Frankenstein and disappoint Derek. Bobby was over excited by the prospect of seeing me with THE dress. He was bouncing all over the place. A knock on the door and a useless "Are you decent?" made him stop instantly, his eyes bulging. Derek was standing in the doorway with a bag in his hand. The label read Teitelbaum Furs.
"All right children, if you're ready to leave, now is your cue," Derek said extending his arm to show them the way out. Everybody, even Bobby, vanished in a split second. Derek's ridiculously long coat twirled when they passed him by. "I see you're not."
"I'm not?"
"Ready. You're not ready yet."
"Oh, sorry, I'm almost done. I had to change my make-up. You don't want me to make them run away, do you?" I stood up, still wearing my golden sequined gown from the last number. "And Marilyn was always late, anyway," I added for good measure.
"Okay, I'll wait." He sat on the next chair and crossed his legs.
"Aren't you going to turn around?"
"I'll close my eyes. I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman."
Resisting the impulse to retort it would be a first, I simply turned around and let the dress fall to my ankles. "Would you hand me the gown please?"
"Which one?"
"The red one."
"Vivienne Westwood's. Excellent. Let me help you," he added, jumping from his chair and fastening expertly the bodice hidden zip before I could protest. I smoothed the soft fabric cascading from my waist. "Let me take a look… Yes, you're gorgeous."
I leaned on his shoulder to slip on a pair of Manolo Blahnik golden strappy sandals and picked the Saint Laurent clutch I had been eying from the start. "Could you help me with my hair?"
"Your hair? What's wrong with it?" His long fingers combed through my curls. "Well maybe a hairclip with a veil?" He stepped back and shook his head. "No, what you need is this…" he said, handing me the bag. I peeked inside and suppressed a cry of surprise. It was a white fox fur stole with an ivory silk lining. "The Marilyn touch," he said. "And please, loose the cheap rings, they make you look like a call girl."
That is another nice touch, I thought, scurrying behind him. He held the door for me and offered his arm.
