Fact: The Charleston was a dance made famous in the 1920's. It involved a lot of swinging, kicking and tapping of the feet often from a closed position and was often seen in speakeasies. Tap Charleston was the Charleston with breaks into open position to do tap steps.
Chapter 9: With You There's Magic in the Air
September 4th, 1926
A week before Brittany must go back to lessons, and two weeks before her own sweet sixteenth birthday, you decide to treat her to an early, and particularly special, birthday gift.
In the past few months, you've become bolder and bolder in your quest to present Brittany with the deepest of your hearts desires. The lingering looks and meaningful touches grow and increase as the days go by. You feel that you have no such insecurities in the matter of your feelings. At least not in concerns to how they make you feel.
You feel so much for Brittany, and there appears not a thing you can do about it.
You can't see anyone else when she's around. Her laugh brightens your day. Her smile can chase your worries away. You fall asleep to the steady hum of her breath and the tranquil beating of her heart. It's a rhythm that keeps you going and sees you through until the morning light, where your day begins anew with the wonder that is Brittany.
Brittany herself has been most affectionate towards you and with you as of late, and you suspect that she still feels terribly guilty about the Gooseberry Lay mishap that occurred those few months ago. You blame her not. You never held the capacity to. You never considered her at fault and you could never hold any resentment towards her regardless.
That is why to-day is such an important day. It is quite special and you want it to go splendidly for Brittany, as she deserves to know how much she means to you and how you could never hold any anger towards her for any reason.
You in particular are rather excited about your planned endeavors for the day. You heard rumor of a traveling Vaudeville show that would be performing starting to-day through next week at a theater in Detroit and decided that such a show would be a magnificent sight for Brittany to behold.
With the assistance of David, and his tired but functioning automobile, you plan on taking Brittany to the highly anticipated opening show, to-day. You've been saving any spare coin you've come across or earned by completing odd jobs for the housewives around the neighborhood specifically for Brittany and this very occasion.
Your body is humming in excitement with the notion that your plan for the day shall be quite the extravagant surprise for Brittany.
As you contemplate your thoughts, and continue to go about the detailed planning of your coming day, Mr. Wells jumps to the foot of your bed and meows in your direction. The sound of the small kitten's soft plead directly causes the sleeping figure in your arms to stir and you quietly curse the beast for disturbing Brittany from her peaceful, wondrous slumber.
Yellow eyes blink at you in indifference before Mr. Wells meows again, this time much more pronounced. Though he is tiny, he has the capability of projecting his meow quite far. You feel Brittany release a waking exhale of breath against the crook of your neck as she mumbles something incoherent into the skin there. You smile because you know she's comfortable and will likely not awake.
Your smile falters and something bubbles in the pit of your stomach when quite unexpectedly, Brittany's shifting causes her hand to slide from its previous resting spot upon your collarbone to rest between the valley of your breasts. Not to say you have much there, but nonetheless there is somewhat of a distinction that you are made readily aware of by Brittany's light touch.
The beating of your heart hastens and you can feel it thudding against your ribcage as you are overcome with a flushed tingly feeling all over the remainder of your body. An involuntary sound escapes your lips as it is pushed from your lungs when Brittany's hand next shifts slightly to the curve of your right breast and her other arm, which has remained wrapped securely around your waist, flexes where it is pressed into the small of your back. The action bunches the material under Brittany's hand and allows her delicate fingertips to ghost across the heated skin at your back.
You don't mean to have such a reaction to Brittany's touch. You cannot deny how the softness of her fingers upon your skin, even through the material covering your chest, causes reactions you have never experienced before in your life. You've heard them described, by David and the likes of even Noah, Matty and to your revolution, sometimes Juan. The intensity with which your skin burns at an even, low smolder that heightens your senses and sensitizes your every feeling is almost too much for any one person to handle.
The only thing you can properly do in response to Brittany's touch is tense up underneath her. This reaction, as you had not intended to create but expected it would, causes Brittany to shift awake as her body has so commonly been used to sleeping on a soft calm surface. You watch, holding the very breath in your lungs, as pale eyelids flutter open and give way to hazy, though exceptionally bright, blue eyes with tiny hints of silver flecks.
Brittany blinks once and then a smile spreads across her lips, the left side of her mouth quirking just that little bit higher than the other. The sunlight filters through your open window and alights the freckles on her skin like a sunrise captivating the breathtaking spectacle of a glacier-covered mountain. You've seen pictures in the books you're your mama covets, but the beauty you have witnessed does not compare to the one in your arms.
You think that if you were not currently holding your breath, it would surely be taken from you in this moment of splendor as you observe the loveliness that is Brittany.
It takes her no more than a short moment to recognize the hesitancy that your body exudes, and another moment still to notice the positioning of her hands, particularly the one still placed delicately upon the supple flesh of your breast. As her awareness comes to focus, Brittany's eyes immediately expand within their sockets and a blush spreads across her cheeks, spattering them a pretty primrose pink before she averts her eyes from you and begins to retreat.
You have no desire for her to feel wrong or embarrassed about the situation, seeing as how you realize that you yourself have no quarries with the previous occurrences, and thus hastily retrieve her retreating hands within your own and provide a gentle and caring squeeze of reassurance to her through them. You smile softly at Brittany, thoroughly intent on maintaining direct eye contact with her so that she may understand the truth in your words.
"S'alright Britt. I suppose I'm just comfy, you know?"
Though Brittany returns your smile, you notice she still appears somewhat hesitant and unsure of the entirety of the situation. With another smile in her direction, you sit up and wrap your arms around her waist pulling her close and placing a tender kiss to her temple as reinforcement of your acceptance of everything.
You feel Brittany sigh at your touch and relax into your embrace.
A few moments later, the both of you slip from the confines of your bed and stretch your limbs in preparation for the rest of the day. Brittany pets Mr. Wells on the top of his head, running her fingers soothingly through his short fur and scratching behind his ears until his volumous purrs fill the room. You collect garments from their different areas of rest upon your floor and watch in appreciation of your beautiful friend.
When Brittany examines her very best cotton day dress that you hold in front of her a moment later, she looks at you with curiosity and expectance. You smile because she knows that you know this particular blue dress of such a brilliant shade that it matches her eyes, with it's frayed white and gold trim, is only worn for very special occasions.
Brittany's eyes alight with even greater curiosity as she watches you pull your very best black with red trim day dress over your head and situate it upon your body. She's only ever seen you in this dress once before, and it was during your Quinceañera the summer of your fifteenth birthday.
Your mama told you that you look like a Puerto Rican princess in the dress and Brittany was quick to offer her agreement on the matter and thus you are inclined to believe that the dress looks swell on you and does wonders for your outward appearance. If Brittany approves of it, there is not another thing that matters.
"What do you have planned for to-day San?" Brittany regards you as you watch her curiosity bubble from her in waves of excitement and glee. You simply smile at her as you fit the red bow that matches your dress into your wavy brown locks.
"You will see in time." You tell her coaxing her into her own dress as you attempt to displace the overwhelming heat that spreads throughout your body as your eyes glimpse the dips and smooth curves of her porcelain skin.
While it is true that you have witnessed Brittany's body before, you have never looked upon it as you are now. With such an unyielding sense of desire as the sight of Brittany's skin has never caused this intense burn that radiates through your entire body.
Brittany has always been slim, similar to you yourself, but you find that her body has become exceptionally defined over the years. Her softness has transformed into womanly curves. The skin that covers her stomach has pulled more taut and presents a peculiar pattern of dips and lines that define the area of her hips and waist and the delicate ridges of her ribs.
Everything about her is as beautiful as it is graceful. She is perfection in its purest form and just the thought alone that you bare witness to this sight on a daily basis makes your heart flip inside your chest.
"What are you looking at San?" You hear Brittany call from her position a few feet away and suddenly you realize you have been admiring her unabashedly for the past several moments. Your eyes hastily avert from where they were focused on the curve of her waist and only briefly glance into blue. You find yourself swallowing a thickness in your throat that was not present a moment ago.
"Nothing." You hear someone say and realize that it is yourself speaking in a voice that sounds desperate and husky with a deep edgy rasp that you have never heard before. Brittany giggles at your reply, or perhaps the tone of your voice, before she spins in a graceful circle in a display of her outfit. You notice she spins to her right, as she forever must.
A slight sadness comes over you as you remember the occurrence that made Brittany unable to turn properly to her left. When she was injured at that ice pond those many years ago, the scar healed nicely but had produced a certain amount of nerve damage.
To a girl who was in the midst of her bodies most imperative growth spurt, her body developing and changing, the damage presented a problem as it fused together unevenly underneath the surface and Brittany was left with a tinge on that side of her body, unable to turn fully towards the left without a debilitating pain presenting itself throughout her left side.
These days, it is easier for Brittany to avoid turning that way at all-and she has adapted her lifestyle to accommodate her lack of ability, as have you. She never allows her injury to slow her down, and is often in fact better suited than many people you know in completing majestic turns and dips and bows. She could be a most elegant and splendid dancer if she so desired.
Your mouth curves into a smile at that thought, for if all goes well to-day, you may just introduce Brittany to a future she may be proud and enthusiastic about. Surely it would be one that would allow her to escape the confines of her wretched family and flat tire of a father.
Brittany must become aware that your thoughts have drifted because the slight pressure of her touch reaches your waist as she rests her hands there. Stepping up to you from behind and fitting her chin on your shoulder she presents you with a caring hug before she pinches your side and giggles in your ear at your flinching reaction. She dances away from your retaliation and you find yourself smiling silly at her adorable demeanor.
"Are we ready to go then?" You inquire noticing the way her body has a particular buzz to it as she waits and listens to your every word. A dazzling smile crosses Brittany's face and with a clap of her hands she nods her preparedness. You grin back at her and hold your arm to her as a gentleman would.
Her eyes glint with appreciation and you catch that spark of silver in them before she easily laces her arm with yours and waits for you to lead. With a curt nod of your head and a soft smile, you walk from your bedroom with Brittany on your arm.
When you step outside of your house, Brittany remains in close proximity to you, her arm never surrendering from your own. You turn towards her to glance her reaction and are delighted to watch as her face lights up even more than before as she views David's elegant looking automobile parked at the curb in front of your yard.
Brittany glances towards you with her lopsided smile and you know in that moment that you have never been more satisfied with your decisions in life. They have always led you to Brittany after all. Her smile turns soft and you find her leaning her face closer into your own.
"Is this for me?" She asks in a whisper so quite that you are sure she's almost positive this whole endeavor is just a dream. You squeeze her hand that rests on your arm, ensuring that she knows she is very much awake.
"Of course Britt. David has agreed to take us somewhere. It is your special present for your upcoming day of birth." You tell her and find your heart rendering its functions as Brittany's exquisitely soft pink lips press into the corner of your mouth. Your eyes close involuntarily and your mouth releases a pleased sigh at the touch.
"You're special...how do you say that in Spanish?" She whispers in your ear as her lips ghost across them and send a shiver through your body. It takes you a moment to comprehend what she has asked you, but you are not in control of your response regardless as the next words slip out.
"Te amo."
You don't have any time to consider what you've just shared with Brittany before she is whispering in your ear again and sending a shuddering tremble down throughout your body.
"Te amo, Santana Lopez."
You know she thinks she's saying 'You are special' but you cannot help the way your brain associates the real meaning of the words. You find yourself melting into Brittany's embrace, her words having never had such an adverse affect on you.
You only wish she knew how wrong she was and how very much you believe that it is her that is the very special one. Special to the extent that you would do anything for her, so special that you would give all that you are to show her as much. Special enough to love her more than anything else in this world, if only you thought that you could.
David's call allows you the opportunity to return from your dazed trance and your brown eyes glance in the direction of Brittany again. She remains gazing at you with a smile across her face as you utter an almost imperceptible 'thank you' before you encourage her to follow you to the confines of David's automobile.
As the two of you settle in the back and David takes his position in the front, Brittany does not release your arm from her grasp as she leans into you. As the ride progresses, silence surrounds you but you find that the way that Brittany adjusts her body to lay her head on your shoulder and moves her hand to intertwine her fingers with your own as she takes your hand in a soft hold has you not minding the quiet at all.
"Oh San this is the most splendid thing I have ever witnessed!" Brittany exclaims as she continues to spin jubilantly in a circle outside of the Temple Theater that bares host to the traveling Vaudeville Company and their show that you and Brittany are about to go and behold. She remains firmly holding your hand, and you quickly find that her excitement is beginning to expel in your own demeanor.
Outside of the theater are numerous street performers participating in acts meant to draw the street goers into the theater for the main show. There are noises and smells and sights neither you nor Brittany has ever had such privilege to observe. You find even yourself in awe of the spectacles.
Brittany is not yet aware of the notion that the street performances are not the only ones she will perceive to-day, and that is a thrilling concept that you hold most dear. If her excitement is this palpable before she has even fully witnessed the acts, then you may only imagine what it will be when you both proceed into the theater.
You're enthusiasm leads you to acquiring Brittany's hand in your own, and you take a quick second for her to respond before you turn and direct your course towards the entrance of the theater. Brittany throws you a curious look as you step to the little glass encased box area just outside of the theater's doors.
A man with curly hair, an exceptionally angled and prominently pointed chin, warm brown eyes wearing a bellhop hat and little red uniform complete with name badge that reads 'William' greets you as you step to the section in front of his window.
"Hello, and welcome to Temple Theater's Extravagant dazzling display of captivating Vaudeville splendor. Behold things more enticing than your wildest imagination!"
You did not believe it possible for Brittany's eyes to become any wider.
After digging in your dress pocket for the tickets, you pull them from their place and present them to the man in the ticket booth. He smiles kindly at you, tears the tickets and hands you the stubs. With a kind nod he speaks.
"Enjoy the show misses."
You turn and glance at Brittany to ensure that she is prepared to enter the theater. The way she squeezes your hand just that little bit tighter is enough of a reply for you.
The lights are low at first, producing a shadowy glow over half of the orchestra seating that you and Brittany make your way towards. You allow Brittany the opportunity to choose your seats for you both, as you could never deny Brittany anything that brings such a beautiful and dazzling smile to her face.
She chooses, that which you are not shocked about in the least, to sit in the center of the entire orchestra section of seating, three rows from the stage. You count yourself lucky that you had the foresight to arrive so much earlier as the task provided you and Brittany with exceptional seats for the same price as those who will be sitting in the balcony area will be paying.
Brittany continues to be unable to control her enthusiasm as she bounces in her seat next to you and you find no reason or worry to spoil that for her.
You find that you only wait for a quarter hour for the show to begin, and holding Brittany's hand helps the time pass in ease. When the lights dim further, Brittany squeezes your hand as an excited murmur trails through the audience. You glance once at Brittany to observe her reaction, and are taken back by her breathless beauty to a point you find you cannot look away.
Only when she too glances in your direction with a smile and a soft,
"Look San, flying dancers!"
Do you manage to avert your eyes from her features and attempt an effort to pay attention to the act that is beheld before you upon the quite elaborate and sprawling and decorated stage. As it would logically follow, Brittany's description of 'flying dancers' is a unique term for a set of acrobats that tumble, twirl, flip and spin across the expanse of stage.
Even though you become aware of the notion that this 'introductory' act is not meant to be anything too dazzling, as many of the theater patrons are still shuffling in and taking their seats, Brittany seems to enjoy the spectacles more so than any other type of entertainment you've ever seen her witness.
Perhaps it is the acrobats elegantly decorated costumes, designed with embedded jewels that catch and sparkle in the harsh stage lights and illuminate the front seating of the orchestra in such a manner you'd think the light a natural luminosity from the daylight sun. Or perhaps Brittany sees in their grace and magnificence what you see in her.
You settle in your seat, comfortable and at ease, but you find you pay far more attention to the splendor in the seat beside your own than you do to the regal performances on stage.
As the show becomes more deeply underway, you remain entrapped by Brittany.
Impassioned thoughts and feelings turn and tumble through your mind, your heart, your soul. They are akin to the manner with which a poet can eloquent his sonnets or a painter finds his muse. Though they both depict art unalike to each other, the central vision of both remains the same.
Deep, pure, inspiring.
Your feelings provoke the same within you. Everything you've ever been aware of or have come to know is clear and present and indisputable. The epiphany that you became conscious of earlier in Brittany's bedroom quite readily makes itself known once again. Though it would appear that now you have a much better grasp on the details of the notion.
You find that you are most certainly, without a doubt in this very world, most deeply and ever failingly in love with Brittany Pierce.
You'd known before that you held love for Brittany, but you find yourself amending that notion because it is not just a love. You are in love with her, and you are wise enough now to know the difference.
You could be no more scared of your most inner discovery than the acrobats you paid witness to earlier are of falling. Though you hold suspicion that the performers do in fact covet their lives, and proceed in utmost care and concern in the manner of preserving them, you also suspect they are aware that in the end there is always the chance they too will fall.
Much as you yourself have done. You've fallen so very hard.
There is another thing in which you have discovered. Love is peculiar. It is difficult and disorganized. But it is also passionate and essential. And there is nothing more that you wish to do than to share this with Brittany.
Sweet, brilliant, lovely Brittany.
Who with the quirk of her lips, the scrunch of her nose and the sparkle of her eyes give flutter to your heart and brings warmth to your body. Something settles inside of you as you study Brittany's profile once more. It is only fair to her that she be aware of your feelings, if only to decide for herself what she desires to do with them, or whether or not she possesses ones similar.
With determination, you vow to enlighten Brittany of the truth. You wish not to keep anything hidden for any longer period of time. Not from her and most decidedly not from yourself.
At the moment that you establish this thought, Brittany turns once more to face you. There must be some form of an immeasurable smile spread across your face as Brittany's eyes are drawn to your lips. Your heart thumps once loudly before it continues at a staccato pace. She returns your smile and her eyes soften with that unique shade of silver lining the iris in flecks.
Brittany tilts her head in curiosity when you remain silent, and for a moment the two of you simply gaze at one another. When her lips part open to speak you find your heart rate hastens to match that of a composers tempo.
"San I-" She begins to say but there is an enthusiastic murmur that travels through the audience, which prompts the both of you to turn your attention to that of the stage. A gasp is released from Brittany's lips and you find yourself in a state of awe as you watch a silhouette of beautiful dancers glide across the stage.
You had nod realized that the portion of the program labeled 'Act V: The Troupe of Charleston' with the added addendum of The Abrams family will dance straight into your hearts, would not only involve a group of six performers, three men and three women, dancing but very much involve these dancers completing dance moves that you had never before witnessed in your life.
The dance couples swing and turn across the stage, breaking away from their closed positions on occasion to swing and tap their feet against the hardwood floor in such a manner it produces a sectioned rhythmic beat throughout the theater. These performers are quite proficient in their technique, seeing as how they have the entire theater speechless.
You find yourself wondering why and how this particular act is not the headliner, and judge that if the way Brittany is so intrinsically mesmerized by the show she may be wondering the same.
As the act comes to a close, the audience gives a spectacular ovation to the performers, you and Brittany very much included. When you take your seat in wait of the next act, one labeled Lady Barbara of York, you turn to Brittany to discern her mood.
"That was quite spectacular Santana! They were so splendid and graceful. How wonderful it would be to dance as such." Brittany exclaims as she reaches out and grasps your right hand in both of her own and holds it close to her chest, a look of fascination remaining upon her features.
"You will dance as such one day Brittany. Your grace and beautiful will surely captivate the world." You return to her, genuine and straightforward. She glances to you with a look of reflection, as if attempting to garner the depth of your words. She must find what she was searching for as a moment later another gentle smile graces her lips and her eyes soften in such a manner you feel it likely to cause your heart to melt from its place in your chest.
That overcoming warmth returns and you try to hide your smile as you turn your attention back to the stage.
As the fifth act takes the stage you notice that it is not a woman, whom you had expected, but a girl and she presents herself in solitaire. She appears proper enough, and you would be inclined to believe she may be predisposed to successfully lead the show into the intermission your program foretells.
You find that you may have spoken all to premature about the act for when she opens her mouth and begins to sing you find your body overcome with a kind of distasteful shiver, opposite of the ones that Brittany provokes.
It is not so much that the girl, who cannot be older than Brittany or yourself, cannot sing, it is more so that in between her melodies you find her smiling at the crowd in such a forced and painful looking manner that it temporarily pains yourself. As if her she is more than fully aware she is providing a simple act and not a show for entertainment.
Your glance towards Brittany affords you with a similar reaction from her. The both of you sit and stare in wonder and intrigue, attempting to compose your opinion of the performer on stage.
You think that Brittany may be leaning in your favor on the manner, in which you wholly are not enjoying this particular part of the show and are possibly deciding that this girl may in fact occupy the 'falling star' side of the act, when she begins a song that you watch Brittany become instantly entranced by.
You've never heard such a song, and are inclined to believe that perhaps this Lady Barbara of York has most certainly penned herself.
"Cloche hat, I adore you most. The way you sit upon my head and bring comfort and warmth to my ears. Your wonder is more than anyone else."
You didn't think that your eyes could widen any further in their sockets, but they have indeed. You glance around the audience in your general vicinity and are relieved to find that the majority of them wear confused and befuddled looks as well. That is not the case for Brittany.
She is positively enamored. Her eyes sparkle, not in the same way they do when looking upon you, but in such a manner that you are confident to extend your belief that she is very much enjoying the performance beheld before her.
For the entirety of the song, most of which you find yourself tuning out, Brittany remains staring wide-eyed and hopeful at the girl on stage. When the performer has completed her act, she is met with scattered applause, but none so more loudly than that which comes from your friend seated in the spot next to you.
As Lady Barbara of York makes her exit at side stage, Brittany turns to you with a genuine elated smile on her face.
"This was truly the most wonderful song I have ever heard!" She informs you in her most sincere voice. You find that you cannot hold your bafflement away and it is replaced with a smile that quirks goofy at the side. Only Brittany could have that effect on you.
"Oh, San, may we go and find the performers during intermission?" Brittany asks you as the both of you stand from your seats and make to shuffle into the theaters foyer for your brief reprieve from the show. You glance at Brittany, hesitant to participate in such an action but the pleading look you find hidden behind Brittany's eyes is enough for you to nod your head in resignation.
Brittany smiles happily and claps her hands together before she reaches out and slides her long fingers through the gaps of your own, undertaking your hand in a warm and calming grip. Your heart skips a beat at the action and you feel a faint blush spread across your cheeks before Brittany is tugging you in the direction of the off stage area.
Somehow, you suspect it is in part due to Brittany's exceptional espionage skills, the two of you manage to sneak into the back portion of the theater and begin to make your way down the hall of clustered props, sets and dressing rooms. Her hand never leaves your own, and you have no intention of releasing hers.
"You two are not supposed to be back here." A deep baritone voice suddenly cuts into your stealthy exploration. You feel Brittany tense next to you, but manage to swallow your fear and the nerves that linger in your stomach to turn and view your addresser.
A man, slim in stature but tall in height, stands before you. He has a stout face, but a chiseled chin, and spectacles perched upon his distinctively large nose. His eyes are dull and brown, and if there were not noticeable laugh lines jutting across his cheeks, you would suspect the man had never smiled before in his life.
"We umm…" You begin to say and then find yourself at a loss of explaining how and why you and Brittany are invading this private secret side of the show. You do not have to think long, or really at all, for in the next moment a boy makes his appearance next to the tall imposing man.
His features are parallel to the man he stands next to, except that his eyes shine caring and clear. Though he is younger than you or Brittany, he holds himself in a manner that suggests he does not see himself as less mature. You refrain from giggling at the way in which he wears his hair, a part down the middle with both sides slicked to his head in a greasy manner.
"Father, they are simply curious to our talents. They do not seem as though they will bring much bother to us." The boy speaks. His voice is as quiet as the look in his eyes, which is shadowed by equally large spectacles similar to those of his father. You notice the boy's glance linger longer on Brittany, and you find your grip on her hand becomes more possessive as you grit your teeth at the matter.
"Oh yes, we had simply desired the opportunity to look around." Brittany speaks from your side. Her voice is it's extra sweet honey and sugar voice that would have bees trailing in straight lines for miles to follow the bright noise. The boy smiles largely at Brittany's words, his father does not.
"This is surely no place for an outsider. Arthur, will you be so kind as to show these girls back to their proper state of place." The tall, sullen man speaks and then turns swiftly on his heels to walk in the opposite direction. When the boy is done following the trajectory of his father's departure, he turns back to you and taps his foot. You suddenly remember where you had seen him before, or rather what you had seen him and his family perform earlier.
"You are part of the dancing troupe?" You inquire and the boy, Arthur, gives a sharp incline of his head in indication to the truth in your words. Brittany claps excitedly next to you.
"Oh your dancing was quite a sight!" She informs him and a smile overtakes his features once again. You do not feel that you like or readily welcome the look that he bestows upon Brittany, and you are angered to admit you have seen it before.
You have seen the look many times before, in fact.
It is the look that any boy who meets Brittany eventually develops across his face. It is the look of fascination and admiration. A look that when taken in context with these boy's undisclosed intentions and never ceasing leering, proves unfavorable to yourself.
Before the boy can speak in any other manner towards Brittany you pull her hand closer to you, and her body thus follows. You open your mouth and speak clearly for Arthur to hear.
"We had best be going now. Our many thanks for your assistance and well wishes to your success." You say and turn to walk away from the boy but find that Brittany holds you back.
"Wait, San, I wish to ask him a question." She tells you, pleading once again with such a pout that your heart clenches. You could no more say no to her than you could change the color of your skin. It is impossible.
It is Brittany.
You nod your consent and Brittany smiles and turns back around to address Arthur.
"Did it take you long to learn the dancing?" She inquires.
Arthur provides a shrug of his shoulders that does nothing for his appearance and lends you no further reason to like the boy.
"I grew up dancing, but practice is always helpful. All you must do is get the proper set of shoes and dive in. Once you understand the basics, the rest is just practice and precision repetition until you are able to do the moves with your eyes closed."
Though you find yourself loathing this small small man, you also have the capacity to realize that he provides some very useful information. Brittany smiles at him and thanks him before the two of you are delightfully on your way.
You have almost made it back to the foyer of the theater when something more catches Brittany's eyes.
"Look! San, there's the vaudeviller, voodooville…hmm there's that girl that sang really loud for a long period of time." She informs you, turning her attention to somewhere just over your left shoulder.
You turn to glance the girl, whose title had been Lady Barbara of York during her performance, standing off to the side of a scattered dressing area. There are vanity mirrors placed precariously about and bundles of costumes and clothes draped over every fixture imaginable.
The girl seems to hear Brittany's words and with a look of curiosity, makes her way dutifully over to where you and your friend stand.
"Hello. I am Rachel. Would you like me to shake your hand?" The girl speaks and you find that her voice is slightly more grating than it had been when she was singing. You stare at her incredulous, entirely uncertain as to why she has offered to shake your hand. It is as though she believes herself a bigger star than she really is.
Of course, Brittany holds other views on the matter.
"Oh wonderful! I truly cherished your song about the hat." She says as she grasps the small brunette girl's hand and shakes it about a few times more vigorously than you feel necessary in normal circumstances. Again, this is Brittany.
You find Rachel's face void of any understanding, despite her larger than average forehead and nose more prominent than a flashing marquee sign. It makes you almost want to laugh aloud at her incompetence. There are not many people who understand the genius that is Brittany.
"Oh, why, my deepest gratitude for your kind words. I heard you bare mention to the act of vaudeville." Rachel speaks in such an unpleasant and trifling manner, as though she says far more words necessary than those needed for her true meaning. Brittany's forehead scrunches at her words and she shrugs.
Normally, this would be a sign that one does not entirely care about what the other is speaking. In this girl's case, you find, it implores her to continue.
"It's vaudevillian, if you must know." Rachel speaks aloud in that same all proper and pretentious manner. Brittany frowns, possibly at the notion that she doesn't know why Rachel is telling her that and also at the tone with which the small girl addresses her. There is never a time where it is intelligent to speak down to Brittany.
"Aren't villains the bad guys? Why would you want to be the bad guy?" Brittany returns in true form, her face free of any indication that she is most undoubtedly mocking the singer. Rachel in turn becomes exasperated.
"Not a 'villain', it's vaudevillian. It means that I am a regular performer and part of the Vaudeville society."
Brittany simply stares blankly at Rachel for a good long moment of uncomfortable silence. The next moment she turns to you and in a stage whisper, speaks in the way that Brittany always has, truthfully and from her heart.
"Sounds like a villain to me."
You cannot help both laughing at the seriousness with which Brittany delivers those words nor the way that Rachel's face morphs into one of anger. At least, you suspect that she is attempting to be angry, but is rather failing miserably and in fact producing more laughter from yourself.
Before Rachel has the opportunity to address Brittany in a manner, which you suspect will be cruel and uncalled for, you raise your palm towards her face.
"There is nothing more you must divulge, miss, we will quite be on our way." You tell her, maintaining proper etiquette. Although Rachel bares a skin tone just a shade lighter than your own, there are still rules within society that dictate you must address her properly and respectfully, despite your very urge to do just the opposite.
It is Brittany this time whom pulls you and her away from any retort that Lady Barbara of York may have had. You find the both of you laughing and giggling joyously on your exit from the backstage area. Your heart has never felt better or more splendidly filled with delight.
It is five hours later in the evening that you and Brittany finally find yourselves at the doorstep of your house.
She is tired and drained of energy but maintains a bright glow that keeps a smile on your face as you carry her to your bedroom with her riding on your back, her cheek pressed into your shoulder and her eyes no doubt closed in exhaustion.
You set her on her feet slowly and with care and turn to hold her by the waist as she sways on the spot. You do not expect Brittany to open her eyes and gaze at you with a smile you've never witnessed before. Further, you find your breath hastily escaping your lungs when she reaches out and wraps her long slender arms around your neck and draws the two of you closer.
She leans in and again her head falls to rest on your shoulder. Brittany starts to sway back and forth and you recognize that she is dancing. She's dancing with you, as sweethearts do in those silent pictures you've seen. Your heart nearly thumps out of your chest at that thought and you pull her closer. Your hesitancy and worries that she will not feel the same fall away from your thoughts for a moment.
All you desire at this juncture is Brittany.
You feel softness against your neck and your breathing escalates when you realize the feeling is that of Brittany's lips pressed into your skin. When she pulls back, her head remains on your shoulder and her face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, but you feel a warm wetness blanket the skin there as soothing words travel up to your ears.
"To-day was more than I could have ever hoped for Santana." Brittany's sweet voice carries to your ears but the feeling travels in a shiver down your spine. "You've always been wonderful to me and to-day was truly magical."
You smile and the hands that rest at the small of Brittany's back pull her in impossibly closer to yourself.
"There's always magic with you Brittany." You tell her, never having felt you have spoken truer words. You feel her smile against your neck and her lips connect with that same spot as before again.
You think now could not be a better time than to share it all with Brittany. Maybe she's exhausted from the day, but she's happy and content and she's in your arms. How could such a wonderfully beautiful thing ever produce anything wrong or unkind?
"Britt I…" Is all the further you get before Brittany's voice speaks louder than yours.
"Te amo Santana." She whispers and your body deflates a little. Though you know the words mean love, Brittany only thinks of them as a way to describe how much you mean to her, how special you are.
You nod your head and squeeze her close, trying to push away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. If only you had had the foresight to not tell her such a phrase meant something else, because now you are unsure of whether or not saying the true meaning will ever mean as much to Brittany as it does to you.
With a heavy sigh, you walk the two of you to your bedside and discard your outer garments in favor of sleeping in light cotton slips. You help Brittany into bed and allow her to curl into you and drift off to sleep. You will suppress your feelings towards Brittany once more, for a while longer until you have the courage to tell Brittany that 'You're special' means so much more to you than just those two words.
That she means so much more to you than the life you can give her now.
"Te amo Britt. More than anything in this cold dark world."
Sometimes I honestly don't know what's wrong with me! I love this story, I absolutely adore it and it's one of my favorite things to write but sometimes I just can't seem to sit down and do that. My apologies.
Many many thanks to everyone who is still holding on and loving this story! I can't thank you enough. And thank you to the couple of you, you know who you are, who are constantly up talking this story and encouraging me to get a move on it and update!
Also if you have any desire to learn more about vaudeville (which is pretty awesome) I can recommend some sweet sights and what not.
See you next time, hopefully it won't be as long :)
-A
