A/N: Let me just go ahead and dispel all your worries about Chloe's health. She's fine, guys! This isn't going to be one of those stories haha.
CHAPTER TEN
"Cut!"
Beca lifted her prop hat and wiped her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. The sun was directly overhead and the Bellas had been on set for over four hours, dressed in cheap pirate costumes and pretending to play music for half the time.
They were playing on a platform made to look like the outside of a restaurant called the 'Prawn Palace.' The swimsuit-clad 'beachgoers' that littered the set had stopped dancing when filming stopped and casually began chatting among themselves.
Beca's makeup was trickling down the side of her face with sweat but the fake double eye-patch prop she wore to mimic her trademark sunglasses made it almost impossible to do anything about it. While everyone waited for the director to finish guiding his actors, she looked around her three-piece drum set at the other Bellas.
Aubrey, whose temper rose at thrice the rate the sun did, got the worst end of the costume deal—the full coat, boots, and pants—and was pretend-playing a guitar with a head shaped like an 18th century pistol.
The director wanted more visual balance in the band's instruments so Emily was idly pressing keys on a keyboard instead of strings on her guitar, while Fat Amy was marveling at her saxophone. Emily's face was beginning to turn a violent pink, given that her bandana didn't do much to shade it against the sun, making Beca thankful for having put on an extra thick layer of sunscreen that morning.
At least Fat Amy was enjoying herself despite earlier reservations about the sun.
"Hey, check this out," she said cheerfully to the others. She blew into the mouthpiece and emitted a ghastly noise, as though someone were murdering a herd of seals.
"This is humiliating," Aubrey said sourly. "We have a Top Ten record."
"Well, the Bellas do," Fat Amy pointed out, her enthusiasm undeterred by Aubrey's lack thereof. "But right now we're not the Barden Bellas, we're Gunpowder Gertie and the Prawn Palace Pirates!"
"All right—positions, everyone!" announced the director through his megaphone. "Let's have the music play… and… ACTION!"
The second the instrumental surf music blasted through the speakers, everyone returned to playing their part: the extras danced and the band pretend-played.
Beca expertly waved her sticks in the air, bringing them a fraction of an inch from the surface of the percussion instruments around her. Even though it was fake, the effort was still extremely tiring especially under the hot sun. She looked jealously past the camera and director to where Stacie and Chloe were sitting on chairs under a large umbrella, sipping iced tea and observing the filming process.
The music softened drastically and the director instructed his actors to repeat lines of dialogue in different tones, so everyone had to continue dancing and playing in silence. After almost half a day of this, the Bellas were used to it.
Fat Amy was having a blast pretend-playing her saxophone, doing unrealistic one-handed stunts while dancing around the stage, and was the only one disappointed when the director called it a wrap.
"Great job, everyone—and a huge thanks to the Barden Bellas, who did a great job playing Gunpowder Gertie and the Prawn Palace Pirates!"
The cast and crew applauded, and the Bellas, in spite of themselves, took a bow. Stacie and Chloe approached the stage carrying bottles of water as they were praising the extras around them.
"Oh, wow, it's a good thing we got those close-ups early, huh," commented Stacie, lifting her sunglasses to the top of her head and scrutinizing their melting faces.
"Yeah, meanwhile you two were having the time of your lives behind camera," grumbled Beca.
"You poor baby," teased Chloe, handing out bottles to the girls. "Aw, Em, your face looks like a Georgia peach!"
"What?" Emily gasped and put a hand to her cheek and winced when she felt it sting. "Oh, no!"
"Don't worry, the same thing happened to me when I first moved here," laughed Stacie. "I've got something at home to help with that. I'll drop it off at the hotel later."
"That's great, Stacie, could you also maybe drop off an itinerary that has us in a recording studio by the end of the week?"
They all turned their heads toward Aubrey, hoping that her expression would reveal a light-hearted sarcasm to her words. Alas, it didn't. But thankfully, whether she was tired of Aubrey's nagging or she actually thought it was justified, Stacie did not engage. "I'll do what I can," was all she said, in a tone that wasn't icy but serious enough for Aubrey to accept without further comment.
The Bellas didn't linger on set, since they all wanted to go back to the cool comfort of their hotel rooms, so Stacie dropped them off before heading to her office at Residual Heat's headquarters.
At around half past three, Stacie visited the girls as promised to drop off a salve for Emily's worsening sunburn. The brunette had been obsessing over her reflection ever since they returned from the movie set and was relieved to finally be able to do something about the red splotches.
"I also got these from the office," Stacie said, pulling out stacks of envelopes, one much thinner than all the others. "These are letters from your family," she handed the smaller stack to Beca and set the larger ones on the table. "And these are fan mail."
When Beca removed the rubber band and began distributing their letters, Stacie added, "Oh, Chloe, our intern said he couldn't find yours; the post office must've sent it back to the return address."
"Oh, okay. No problem." Chloe lifted one of the larger stacks. "Do we answer every single one of these?"
"Hey, those are just the fan mail from the tour. Just wait 'til you release your album," chuckled Stacie. "The Trebles were so overwhelmed with theirs; they were writing letters for weeks. But after a certain point, you can cut down the number of replies until, eventually, it's okay to just respond personally to the really special ones and send a generic message to the rest. But it's really your decision."
"My decision?" repeated Chloe.
"Well, the others get a say, of course, but soon enough they'll get too busy to answer any at all so it's usually Residual Heat's PR department who deals with excessive fan mail," nodded Stacie. "The Trebles have their own person here in LA."
"Hmm… I think we should try respond to all of these," Chloe said, gesturing at all the mail. "They were fans during the tour and made the effort to write even before the Bellas' rise to the top. I think we should work on cultivating a good relationship with them while they're still few. When the album is released, we're guaranteed that a group of loyal people will be interested in it and would want as many of their friends to hear it, too. So it's sort of like free marketing for the Bellas."
Stacie smiled, looking impressed. "I never thought of it that way. Usually our policy is just respond until the artist gets big enough that it wouldn't matter. That's a great idea, Chloe!"
"Well, you're gonna need a lot of help to get through all of this," Beca said, running her thumb against the edges of the envelopes. "This looks like a couple of hundred letters."
"Five hundred and twelve," nodded Stacie. Chloe's eyes widened as she realized the undertaking she had just signed up for.
"We'll help you," said Emily, emerging from the bathroom with a greenish-white paste all over her face. "Won't we?" she added, looking at Fat Amy and Aubrey sitting side by side on the sofa.
"Better than doing nothing," shrugged Aubrey. She rose and walked over to the mini-kitchen.
"I've never had fan mail before," said Fat Amy, also approaching them and taking a fistful of letters.
"Great! So let's split them up—"
"Maybe we can split them into piles for each state?" suggested Chloe. "It'd be cool to know where the Bellas are the most popular."
"Ooh, yeah!"
Stacie smiled as the girls began unbinding more stacks and swung her purse over her shoulder. "Great teamwork, girls. I'd better go—I'll leave a message with Gail if anything comes up tomorrow."
"Where are you off to?" asked Beca, looking up from the piles of letters. "Hot date?"
"Wearing this?" Stacie gestured up and down her fashionable yet obviously business-oriented outfit. "No way. I'm going back to the office. I've been slacking on some of the Trebles' stuff."
"Oh, they'll understand," Fat Amy waved a hand dismissively. "They know we're better than them. The Bellas are the new stars of Residual Heat now!"
Stacie merely rolled her eyes and waved goodbye on her way out.
"So these states are the ones with the most letters," Aubrey waved a hand over a few tall stacks moments later. "We're pretty popular in Georgia, but not so much from Barden. I guess people back home don't appreciate being put on the map thanks to us."
"We also got a few all the way from New England," said Emily, sounding surprised. She fanned out several envelopes in front of her. "There's like—see? Some from Massachusetts, a few from Connecticut and Maine…"
"Hey, didn't you say you were from Maine?" Fat Amy asked Beca.
Beca stared at the small pile on the ground beside Emily. "Yeah..."
"Cool, they could be fans of yours," Emily grinned. Then she held them out to Beca. "Here, you can answer them. It's your turf so you know best how to relate to them or whatever."
Beca took the letters and rifled through them, the apprehension growing after each passed envelope. It wasn't long before her suspicions were confirmed and she was looking at two more letters from her former band mates.
"Awesome," she said, though her sweaty palms indicated that it was anything but. "I don't know them but… it's nice to have support from back home."
Beca was starting to get the feeling that someone—Chloe—had noticed her absent-mindedly thumbing the corner of the envelopes, so she set them aside and joined the ongoing discussion about what would be their standard reply and, for Fat Amy's benefit, what was not an appropriate response.
The Bellas worked on their letters late into the evening, ordering pizza for dinner and playing music from the radio to keep themselves awake. Eventually, Aubrey and Fat Amy had to carry a knocked-out Emily back to her bed, and they all agreed to turn in for the day.
Beca and Chloe were equally tired, but during a brief conversation after climbing into bed together, they had come up with a fun idea to reward themselves—particularly Emily—for their hard work.
"Good morning, you two," greeted Gail as soon as she noticed Chloe and Beca alighting the elevators. "Chloe, I'm glad to see you're feeling better."
"Thanks, Gail," smiled Chloe. "We were wondering if Stacie left any messages for us?"
"If she did, they didn't reach me," said Gail in assurance. "But it is still quite early for messages. Do you have something planned for the day?"
Chloe exchanged looks with Beca. "Well, if Stacie doesn't say anything about another press event today, we thought we'd surprise Emily with a trip to Disneyland," replied Beca. "And we thought maybe you could help us with that? We don't really know our way around."
Gail's face split into a wide grin. "It would be my pleasure! Hold on, let me make a few calls—"
When Gail's gloved fingers were just a hair's breadth from it, the telephone suddenly rang. She picked it up deftly and automatically answered in her pleasant tone. "Avalon Hotel. This is Gail. What can I do for you? … Oh, Miss Conrad, just in time—"
Chloe and Beca looked up in surprise and mild disappointment. Gail handed the receiver over to Chloe and she put it between Beca and herself.
"Girls, get dressed—quickly! I just found out Mr. Siler cut his vacation short. He'll be at the label sometime today, so the Bellas should be ready to meet him as soon as he is."
"Oh, okay," replied Chloe. Something must have come through her tone because Stacie then asked, "Sorry, did you have plans?"
"Not exactly. We were just about to ask Gail to help us plan a trip to Disneyland," said Beca. "Em wanted to go and she was exhausted after last night. We thought we'd reward her."
"Ah. Well, I really suggest you to put it off until our schedule is more solid. I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine. We understand," insisted Chloe. "We just thought we'd be waiting a while for Mr. Siler."
"So did I. I'm surprised though, Aubrey approved of this?"
"Well, we took the 'act now, think later' approach," smirked Beca. "But we thought getting her to see more of California would cheer her up."
"Honestly, at this point I think getting her to see the inside of a studio is the only thing that'll cheer her up. But, sure, we can talk about Disneyland later, okay? I'll swing by to pick you up in two hours."
The girls said goodbye, took a rain check from Gail, who promised to have everything ready when they were, and headed back upstairs to wake the others.
"Sorry—hold on!" Chloe cried and rushed forward, putting herself between the Bellas and the cameras. "Let's just fix the record…" She pried the small black disc from the four sets of fingers and righted it. "There we go."
Chloe stepped back in line with the photographers and they snapped away at the Bellas holding up their record with the Residual Heat logo in the backdrop.
The Bellas had arrived at the label a few hours earlier and were immediately whisked off to get their hair and make-up done. The president, Sammy Siler, was expected to arrive by midday and had just enough time for a quick photoshoot with the Bellas and a press statement about Residual Heat's future partnership with the all-female rock band.
"You in the glasses!" A man with a notepad in his hands called out to Beca cheekily. "Are those prescription or do you just wear them to look cool?"
Beca saw Chloe scowl at the man, insulted that he had reduced something that became a nationwide fashion statement to just 'wanting to look cool.'
"Actually, it's so that I can roll my eyes at idiots without them knowing," Beca snapped, and for a moment everyone turned to her in surprise, but the man actually liked her answer.
"Heh, so it's true what they say," he wagged a finger at Beca, smiling, "drummers have the most attitude."
The media representatives laughed good-naturedly and took that as a sign that the Bellas were open to answering questions.
"Uh, Miss Fat Amy—as you prefer to be called—how does it feel as a British woman in America to be going up against The Beatles?" another reporter asked.
"First of all, I'm Australian," corrected Fat Amy. "And—"
Suddenly, a shout from the back of the room caused the press to turn around and start cheering. "Sammy's here!"
Emerging from the elevators in an entourage of beautiful women and intimidating bodyguards was Sammy Siler, president of Residual Heat Records. He was a man in his early forties, dressed in a suave, velvet black and purple suit. His completely smooth head reflected as much light as the jewelry around his neck, wrists, and fingers did.
The crowd suddenly rushed toward him, leaving the Bellas standing alone in the middle of the lobby.
"Hey, Sammy! How was Acapulco?" one of the reporters asked, thrusting his recorder out.
"Terrible. Why do you think I came back so early?" Sammy replied in a loud, cocky tone of voice. He looked like a man that no one could (or dared to) refute, judging by how most of them laughed at his assessment.
"I heard it's 'cause ya girlfriend got upset with you over the bedroom arrangements," teased the same reporter who had harassed Beca about her shades earlier. Apparently he was known—and liked—for pushing the envelope on softball questions, since Sammy playfully replied, "Get outta here! Who let this lunatic in the building?"
The crowd around Sammy followed him like a cult, asking all sorts of industry questions until he finally joined the Bellas in the lobby.
"All right, all right, enough with that," Sammy waved his hand dismissively at a question about drug use in the music industry and whether he encouraged or discouraged his artists from taking part. "We're here to talk about my latest catch, gentlemen: The Barden Bellas."
Sammy squeezed himself between Aubrey and Emily and wrapped his arms around their waists unthreateningly. He flashed a quick, dazzling smile for the cameras and quickly returned to his pitch.
"They're on the Top Ten—the fastest rising record in Billboard history and a sensation among all demographics. Let me tell you a story—I was up late one night, driving down a Detroit street, and what do I see? I see this beat up, dingy ol' dive, right? And it's filled with kids—and all the old geezers, too. Why? The Barden Bellas are playing, that's why!"
With his fast-paced, shoot-from-the-hip manner of speech, Sammy was an effective storyteller, and that was probably what made him a good salesman, too. Beca had no doubt in her mind that Mr. Siler hadn't stepped foot in Detroit in the last few weeks (neither had the Bellas, for that matter) but his emphatic hand gestures and body language painted a picture so clear that the media around him began nodding impressively.
"So I hear them—they're gold, absolute gold—and I sign them," continued Sammy.
In one fell swoop he took credit for Stacie's work, and the stunned Bellas all looked at their manager indignantly. Stacie gave them an assuring look telling them that it was no big deal, but they were still taken aback by Mr. Siler's brazenness.
"Give us a month—two at the most—and we'll be knockin' those shaggy-haired Brits all the way back to their castles," Sammy finished to a round of raucous laughter. "No offense, Miss," he added with a quick jerk of his head at Fat Amy before untangling himself from the group.
"Again, I'm not—" Fat Amy began, but Sammy was already ushering the press toward the food table and answering more questions by himself.
"Well, that was… disarmingly quick," said Fat Amy as the girls watched the president of the label and his adoring crowd of media reps grab sandwiches.
"Does he always take credit for the work you agents do?" Aubrey asked Stacie once she approached.
"I'm just a junior rep," shrugged Stacie. "It helps the band's reputation if there's more star power behind the discovery. He spoke to me about it personally after I got the Treblemakers signed, and I understood him. It just makes good business sense."
"It's a rotten system," said Aubrey.
"He's a good man," defended Stacie. "He's just being smart about your careers. And I'm still working my way up, paying my dues—it's the way things are."
Aubrey didn't seem comforted by that, and she folded her arms and asked, "And our studio contract?"
"The papers are on his desk, I made sure of it," replied Stacie, and before Aubrey could get worked up about another delay, she suggested they all grab some lunch as well. "I know you haven't had any breakfast 'cause I picked you up so early—go on."
Fat Amy didn't need telling twice and she skipped toward the food, with Emily following not far behind.
Stacie then turned to the band's PR manager. "Can I talk shop with you just for a second, Chlo?"
Before leaving, Chloe mouthed to Beca, "Please stay with Aubrey?"
Beca nodded dutifully and remained standing beside the blonde, despite the growling from her own stomach. "So, uh," she began hopefully, "want to get some food?"
She wasn't sure if Aubrey was even going to answer her; Aubrey had been staring straight ahead, frozen, for the past minute. Beca followed her gaze and watched Mr. Siler holding up a slice of bread and bragging about how he learned to make the perfect sandwich from some famous chef in New York.
"Yeah, let's go."
Beca didn't register Aubrey's words until she was looking at the back of Aubrey's head. Beca jolted herself into focus and attempted to catch up to her in quick, brisk steps. But her scrawny legs couldn't keep up with Aubrey's long and determined ones and Aubrey arrived at the table faster.
Beca's heart leaped into her throat when she realized what Aubrey's plan had been.
"Excuse me, Mr. Siler," Aubrey said, cutting into the man's appraisal of how thinly sliced the ham was. "I'm Aubrey Posen, lead singer of the Barden Bellas—"
"What the—who are you?" Sammy did a double take when he realized that someone was actually talking to him, which meant he hadn't heard a word Aubrey had said.
"I wrote 'That Thing You Do,' as well as a number of other songs for the Bellas," Aubrey barreled on. "I was wondering if we could talk about the album—"
"Beca!" Stacie accidentally bumped into Beca in her hurry to intervene the moment she saw Aubrey speaking to her boss. "What the hell is she doing? Oh, no—"
"Look here, Miss," Sammy said, sounding agitated but thankfully still in a decent temper. "I just came back from a disappointing vacation to see a stack of papers on my desk that I need to sign. Do you think you're the only artist who needs studio time? Do you think it's that easy to schedule sessions for, and finance, your album—?"
Stacie hurried forward before the encounter turned into a full-blown scene, and Chloe smacked Beca on the shoulder. "I told you to stay with her!" she hissed.
"I thought you meant for moral support," Beca hissed back.
"You supported her on this?" Chloe waved a hand toward Stacie apologizing profusely to her frowning boss while inconspicuously shoving Aubrey away from the president. But Chloe quickly put on a neutral expression when Aubrey and Stacie returned to them.
"Okay, I'm not going to say that was a terrible idea," Stacie was saying to a fuming Aubrey, "but it was a really, really bad one."
"He doesn't even know us!" Aubrey spat. "And he called you 'Stephie'!"
"To be fair, there is a Stephie in Accounting, and he hasn't seen me as a brunette yet—"
"You're making excuses for him!" accused Aubrey. "All he has to do is sign one lousy document for us to start doing our jobs and he doesn't even give a fraction of a shit about it."
Stacie pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Look, I promise—no, bear with me, Aubrey," she added when her words were met with immediate skepticism. "I promise to have the papers signed by the end of the day, but please try to understand that even if you do have that paper in your hands, it doesn't mean we go into the studio tomorrow. It could be the next day, or the next week—we'd still have to follow the schedule the recording studio gives us."
Aubrey pursed her lips and folded her arms, but that was the end of it; she couldn't say anything on account of everything so far being reasonable. She would have to be satisfied with Stacie's word.
"Which is why," continued their manager, "it is important for the Bellas to spend their downtime wisely. Doing press events does nothing but help the band, and…" She shot a quick glance toward Chloe and Beca. "So does taking a day off to relax and have fun with each other. You know, I heard Disneyland is great in the summertime."
The two gave her a grateful smile and Chloe looked at Aubrey hopefully. The blonde gave a small, noncommittal nod to show that she understood, although not that she was all in for a trip to the theme park.
"Good," sighed Stacie. "Now, you really should have your lunch before Fat Amy clears the tables..."
"No worries, she's on the phone."
The four girls jumped at the sound of Emily's voice. "Where have you been?" gasped Chloe.
Emily scowled. "Come on, guys, I'm a big girl. I can walk around without needing a hand to hold. Stacie told us to get lunch so I got us some." She raised a tray of food and Beca reached out in grateful desperation.
"Fat Amy's on the phone?" Stacie asked curiously, biting off a carrot stick.
"Yeah, it came from the receptionist's desk," Emily jerked her thumb toward the entrance of the lobby. "I dunno who it was."
"You don't think she's…?" Chloe said nervously.
"A wanted criminal in Australia?" finished Beca. "The thought has crossed my mind more than once this summer, yes."
"Having trouble with her visa, silly!"
Stacie shook her head. "There should be no problem as long as she's still technically enrolled at a university. If I could guess, I'd say she has an overzealous fan. Wouldn't be surprising if he was one of her hundred and fifteen lays."
Dinner at the hotel restaurant later that evening was filled with awkward silence, punctuated by even more awkward clatters of utensils against plates. Barely touching her food, Aubrey was clearly the soul-sucking elephant in the room. There had been no word from Stacie since they left Residual Heat, and every hour that passed—and there were many—got tenser and tenser for the Bellas, who had spent the day lounging in their hotel room waiting for Stacie's call.
While Beca was content to continue in this all-too-familiar dinner dynamic, Chloe and Emily were struggling to decide whether to address the issue outright or distract it with happier thoughts. Beca caught Emily opening and closing her mouth more than once and assumed that the latter wasn't so easy.
"Well, the silence and palpable tension have been pleasant and all..." said Fat Amy, dabbing the sides of her mouth with a napkin before throwing it down, "but I've got plans. See ya."
"Wait, what plans?" Emily asked in surprise.
"The kind that involves sucking chocolate off of various body parts."
"Aurgh—I thought you were done with that?" Emily called after Fat Amy's retreating form and received no reply.
That left the four of them at the table to return to picking at their food in silence. Until, finally, Chloe and Emily made eye contact and telepathically agreed that it was time to break it.
"Bree…"
"It's fine, Chloe. You don't have to say anything." Aubrey wasn't oblivious to their glances and exchanges.
"But I do," Chloe argued. "Bree, I know you're upset about Mr. Siler. We all are—"
"Are you, though?" Aubrey challenged skeptically. "Because Amy's back to doing—god knows who—and you're planning trips to Disneyland instead of planning which songs we'll be putting on the album."
Emily's eyes widened at the mention of Disneyland, only to be filled with guilt a second later. "I—I didn't mean to cause anyone trouble…"
"You didn't," Beca assured her quickly.
"Bree, all I'm saying is that we're on your side," Chloe said gently. "I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to us when things upset you."
"What do you want to talk about?" Aubrey's fork fell on her plate with a loud clatter. "How we've been asked to leave the tour and fly to LA by some asshole who doesn't even know who we are?"
"I'm sure he knows—"
"Or how we were promised an album—which was our priority when we signed, not the tour—but now that we're here, it's being held up by trivial paperwork?"
"Stacie already said there's more to it than that—"
"Or do you want me to talk about this sick feeling I have in my gut that all of them—Smith, Stacie, Siler—are all just a bunch of snakes trying to milk our hit for as long as they can before they dump us?"
Aubrey's words were met with stunned silence. It had never occurred to them to think that badly of Residual Heat. Granted, Mr. Smith and Mr. Siler weren't the most feminist of men in the industry, but the Bellas had wholeheartedly trusted Stacie since they left Atlanta.
"Who knows, maybe Stacie really is looking out for us," Aubrey said, though her tone suggested she didn't think so. "But I can't be the only one suspicious of why all we do here in LA is promote ourselves, when having our song at number seven on the Top Ten should be enough to get people interested. Or why we've been signed up to do these radio shows, movies, and TV, that have nothing to do with making music—but then I realized it. Didn't you read our contracts? We get ten cents for every dollar our record makes and Residual Heat gets the rest! This industry is all about selling."
When no one said a word to counter her suspicions, Aubrey tossed her napkin on the table wearily and stood up. "I'm going for a walk," she said dryly before leaving the three in a mix of emotions.
Emily was anxious about the fight her two sister-figures almost just had, already thinking of ways to get them to make up. Beca was fuming over the way Aubrey wouldn't let Chloe get a word in edgewise, causing her to go back to having low spirits so soon after recovering from the flu. Then Beca decided she'd had enough of seeing Chloe's opinions getting trampled on by someone too stubborn to loosen up.
"Why do you let her do that to you?" she asked, her tone somewhere between hard and soft.
"She just needs to vent," sighed Chloe.
"But still…"
Chloe stared thoughtfully at the saltshaker for a long while before she spoke again. "You once asked me… what Aubrey's deal was, remember?"
Beca nodded. "You said she has high standards, that she's a perfectionist. But I don't see how that explains her treating you this way."
Chloe took a hesitant breath. "The thing is," she began reluctantly, "Aubrey… she's had to work hard all her life. Not money or anything like that, it's just that… nothing she ever did seemed good enough for her parents. You know what it's like at home for her," she grimaced at Emily, who nodded sadly.
"I overheard my parents one time saying," Emily swallowed nervously, uncomfortable with gossiping, "that Mrs. Posen was a—a 'bland' woman who cared about nothing except keeping an image and status. And they said it wasn't surprising since Mr. Posen was hardly home."
"Aubrey had to earn their attention with material things—awards, trophies—things that were permanent and obvious that they could see as a sign of her achievements. Even if the attention lasted for only a minute over dinner, she craved it that much," said Chloe. "And because of how hard she worked for everything, she grew to despise people who sailed through life without deserving their success—"
"So that's why that petty bake sale made her hate Stacie so much," Beca realized.
"And why I always had to be careful around my own best friend," confessed Chloe. "I love Aubrey like a sister but I couldn't always tell her everything. Growing up, my father's influence and position gave me opportunities that I knew I didn't deserve on my own and that Aubrey despised in other people, so I tried to show that I hated it, too.
"When Aubrey got the idea to start taking our music seriously, I saw it as a chance to rebel against the future my father was handing out to me. Aubrey saw it as possibly her biggest achievement in life, and she wanted to do it on her own terms—she wasn't going to settle for what's popular. She wanted to make something of herself; let the world hear her voice. So, please, try to understand that when she lashes out like this, it's because she wants it so badly."
Nobody had spoken for a while after Chloe shed light on the difficulty of being Aubrey's closest friend.
Beca always assumed, because of her parents' divorce, that she had the claim on family issues. But when she thought about her life before and after the divorce, she realized that her mother had always been there to support her and her father, as much of a pompous jerk Beca thought he was, only ever wanted what was best for her. That type of family life was better than what Aubrey must have had, even with parents still married to each other.
But even though she felt sorry for Aubrey, Beca couldn't bring herself to accept that this was the way things were going to be. It didn't seem likely that Aubrey was going to lighten up before their album was recorded and published, and Beca was worried about what her sour mood and distrust were already doing to the band. It was not a good environment to begin building their discography.
Beca rubbed her temples, the mental exhaustion of having to think about your career at the age of eighteen giving her a headache. She looked at Chloe and Emily, and then out the glass windows of the restaurant. Outside looked clear and fresh, precisely what their heads needed.
"Hey, let's get out of here," she said simply. "We could drive up and down Sunset Boulevard. Or go to Hollywood."
Their replies were slow to start, but eventually the two were nodding their heads and rising from the table. They had just left the restaurant and were on their way to ask Gail for a taxi when a shout from the elevators got their attention.
"Emily!"
Clumsily making his way through a small crowd of hotel patrons, Benji stumbled to a halt before them. But he wasn't standing for long, as Emily launched herself at him with a cry. "Benji! What—how—?"
"The Trebles got pulled out of the tour, too," he explained breathlessly after Emily released her arms around his neck. "We don't really know why yet but Stacie called and when she calls, well, we answer."
"Stacie called you guys?" asked Chloe. "When?"
"Just yesterday. We were rehearsing for the Sunday show when she called from headquarters. Since we had to take the Treble bus back for a tune up she said we could get in on Tuesday but I guess Bumper wanted to prove he could drive halfway across the country in record time and," Benji shrugged, "he did. We got here just a few minutes ago actually."
"You must be exhausted," Emily said sympathetically.
"Yeah, but when I found out the Bellas were in this hotel, too, I just had to see you…"
The conversation quickly devolved into Emily and Benji exchanging furtive and shy looks at each other, so Beca nudged Chloe in the ribs and motioned toward the entrance.
"Come on."
"But Emily—?"
"I don't think she's even going to notice we've gone," smirked Beca, nodding toward the two now catching up in quiet conversation.
She took Chloe by the wrist and pulled her swiftly toward the doors. Once outside in the cold night air, she whistled at a nearby taxi. After helping Chloe in, she asked the driver to simply give them a ride around town. Luckily, he was amiable enough to agree and even acted as their tour guide.
They were cruising along the Sunset Strip, passing the site of the demolished nightclub where, according to their driver, the curfew riots had occurred years earlier, when Chloe looked out the window and asked him, "Hey, mister, is there any place around here with really good jazz?"
Beca gave her a curious look.
"Oh, you want good jazz?" The driver looked up at his rearview mirror at them with raised eyebrows. He didn't expect these two young out-of-towners to be jazz enthusiasts. "Good jazz? Then let me ask you a question—who played the cornet for Jacques St. Clair on Vital Stats?"
The driver might as well have been speaking another language to Chloe and she looked blankly at Beca, who answered as effortlessly as if he had asked for her birthday. "Scotty McDonald."
"Ha!" The driver thumped his palms against the steering wheel enthusiastically, clearly impressed with Beca's jazz acumen. "Then there's only one place that deserves your fine tastes, miss—the Blue Spot."
Minutes later, the cab pulled up beside a modest looking club with a single nondescript door and no windows. A neon sign reading 'The Blue Spot' in cursive letters hung above the door.
"Is this place safe?" Beca asked uncertainly, giving the club's facade a thorough inspection.
"Nothin' to worry about, miss," the driver assured, holding the car door open for them. "Unless you don't fancy people like Bill Evans, Shelly Manne, Billy Collette—"
Beca eyes widened. "Th—they're in there?" she gasped.
"Could be. They have been known to frequent the Blue Spot and jam together."
Chloe smiled at Beca almost bouncing on her feet with excitement. "What are we waiting for, then?" she laughed, thanked the driver, and grabbed Beca's hand.
Inside, The Blue Spot looked just as Chloe would have imagined a jazz club would look like; dark and soft, as though they had gone underground. The lights were dim and there seemed to be a haze of odorless smoke in the air, though the club itself had a pleasant woody smell.
It was quiet, despite being packed with patrons, the atmosphere was quite unlike any of the clubs Chloe had been to before. There was a bar against one wall and a small stage against another, where a trio was currently playing some upbeat jazz piece.
"I could get used to this," breathed Chloe. She found an empty booth close enough to the stage and led the way to it. She had to pull Beca down beside her since the brunette remained frozen, mesmerized by the drummer playing on stage.
Soon, a waitress approached their table and asked for their orders. Beca was still incapacitated, gawking at the musicians, so Chloe ordered on her behalf. "I'll have an iced tea and she will have a vodka martini, please."
"Comin' right up."
Chloe went back to watching Beca drum her fingertips on the table to the beat of the music until she felt it was time to bring her back to earth. "Hey!"
Beca jerked her head around and blinked. "Hm? Did you say something?"
"Not a word for the past two minutes but that's kind of my point," giggled Chloe.
Beca took a moment to understand the words before she twisted her body away from facing the stage. "Sorry! I didn't mean to be rude."
"No, I liked watching your face get all goofy again—"
Beca instantly scowled.
"—but I like talking to it more."
"Well, I'm not making the face any more," huffed Beca, nodding a thanks to the waitress as she served their drinks. "Did you order this for me? How did—?"
"I know it's your favorite drink?" finished Chloe. "How do I know you like jazz music? Or that you hate sleeping when others are awake? After two months together, Beca, at some point you've got to come to terms with the fact that we're friends."
Beca laughed at Chloe's sarcasm. "Fine, I guess you're right. You pretty much called it after all."
"What do you mean?"
"The day you forced me to audition for the Bellas, remember?" said Beca. They paused to applaud at the band after they ended the song. "You ambushed me at my dad's bookstore that afternoon and told me I got the gig, then… you said we were going to be fast friends."
Chloe suppressed a smile. "You've got good memory."
"Well, it's not everyday someone you just met says something like that. You're… you're something else, Chloe Beale."
Chloe didn't respond immediately. She knew what she wanted to say—or rather, what she wanted to express—but she couldn't find the right words.
Or the right time, apparently, because the next musical piece started playing and Beca practically whimpered in delight. "Oh, Chlo, you gotta hear this. This masterpiece is 'Time to Blow' by—"
"Del Paxton," Chloe finished again, to Beca's surprise. "Two months, Becs. This is the song you've been playing in between practice."
"Yeah…" Beca closed her eyes and sighed. "This guy is so much better at it, though."
"He should be. That's Del Paxton playing."
Beca's eyes flew open and she bumped the table with her knees in her hurry to look back at the stage. "Oh my god, oh my god," she whispered. Then she froze and went quiet.
The same waitress passed their table on her way to another and looked down at Beca. "You just lost her to Del, didn't you?" she smiled sympathetically at Chloe. "Don't worry. They all snap out of it in the end…"
Chloe chuckled and rested her chin on her palm. Her eyes flitted between Beca and the legend Beca admired so much. She had always thought jazz was an acquired taste, something only a certain kind of people liked. And she was beginning to understand why they did.
They continued to listen in silence until the last note rang through the club, met with enthusiastic applause. Beca rubbed her face with her hands to calm herself down and turned back to Chloe. "God, I'm so sorry—I promise I won't do that again."
"It's okay. I kind of got lost in it, too."
"Right? I mean," Beca took a deep breath, "Del Paxton is one of my heroes. I wouldn't have picked up drumsticks if it weren't for him."
"Well, in that case, why don't I sit down here and let you buy me a drink?"
None other than Del Paxton himself took off his hat and squeezed into the booth beside Beca, whose jaw just reached the floor.
"Mr. Paxton—" began Chloe.
"Please, call me Del." The musician removed his hat and looked between the two girls. "You know, it's not every night I see ladies as young as yourselves hanging around the Blue Spot. Who are you?"
"I'm Chloe Beale and this is Beca Mitchell," supplied Chloe. "We're from Barden, Georgia and we're in a band called The Barden Bellas—"
"Ah, yes. I've heard of you girls."
"Y-you have?" sputtered Beca, speaking for the first time since Del sat down. "I'm so honored—see, I play the drums so—and you're my biggest fan—I mean—!"
Del chuckled. "Marguerite did say," he nodded toward the waitress approaching them once again.
"I was surprised somebody's actually heard of you, Del," she joked. "So what'll it be?"
"I'll have another Hennessy on her," he pointed at Beca. Then he turned back to the two. "So, your band, are you any good?"
"They're great," Chloe answered at once, ignoring Beca's frown when she used 'they'. "Their record got to number seven on Billboard in just two months."
"Impressive. And where is the rest of this talented group?" Del asked. "Why aren't you all together on this fine night?"
Chloe was relieved he hadn't brought up her involvement but was unprepared to answer that question. "Um…"
"We have different, uh, interests," said Beca.
It wasn't easy to miss the inflection in her tone and, after a long sip of his drink, Del said, "Ain't no way to keep a band together."
Chloe looked up. "Oh, but we're friends. We go way back."
Del winced slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that. But I suppose it's possible, you making it all the way as friends. But listen here," he leaned closer and so did the girls. "Bands come and go; sooner or later something makes you crazy—the money, the road… But the music—now, that's forever. You got to keep on playing no matter what."
"How do we do that?" Beca asked softly. She wanted to believe that the Bellas could make it all the way, but she'd be remiss not to ask a legend about the alternative.
Del smiled. "It's important to have that one thing—a feeling, a person, an idea—that keeps the music in your heart playing. Just follow that and I reckon you'll be all right."
Del thanked Beca and Chloe for the drink and conversation, tipped his hat, and excused himself to return to his friends playing cards in the corner. The girls had lost track of the time they spent talking to Del about his musical adventures, and only realized the lateness of the hour when Chloe yawned and rested her head on Beca's shoulder as they listened to the trio transition to smooth jazz.
"I know people think jazz is some sort of… esoteric genre," Beca mused softly, "as though it's complicated and difficult to understand. But for me it was never about 'getting it', you know? I just love how much was there in the music, whether or not you felt what the artist or anyone else felt—the point was that it made you feel... something... You wouldn't think banging sticks like a madman could produce something so emotional, you know?"
Beca felt a small movement on her shoulder and turned her head slightly to look down at Chloe, who had given a tiny, sleepy nod. She checked her watch and saw that it was minutes past midnight. "It's late. We should head back."
The cab ride back to the hotel was quiet. Beca assumed that Chloe was an inch from dozing off so she pulled her wordlessly back to rest against her shoulder the moment they settled into the backseat. And as they passed brightly lit streets still buzzing with nightlife, she thought about what Del had said and about his advice on keeping the music alive.
Ever since they got used to being on tour, and even more so when they flew to LA, their focus had become sealing their fates as legitimate musicians, making and selling records to millions of fans. It made her wonder what was keeping the music of the Bellas—and for that matter, each individual Bella—alive.
Why were they here? Did they really want this?
Beca knew these weren't easy questions to answer, since they weren't all going to be together at the end anyway.
The girls all knew, but they somehow chose to ignore it as their achievements stacked on top of each other. They knew that Emily was going to have to finish school. They also knew—and Beca was reminded of it earlier that day—that Fat Amy was bound by her status as an exchange student, which meant that she needed a legitimate job in the industry if she wanted to quit school and continue being in the band.
They knew these things, but they just assumed they would make it work for both Bellas when the time came.
The answers were much clearer in her and Aubrey's cases, however. After what Chloe had divulged, Beca was a hundred percent certain that Aubrey was staying here no matter what happened. This was her dream. Similarly, Beca had already affirmed her commitment the day she told her father and Sheila that she was leaving Barden to pursue a music career. For Beca and Aubrey, going back to Barden was not an option.
Bellas or no Bellas, all the girls knew that leaving Barden was the beginning of a new life for some of them.
So why was Beca thumbing the cracks, feeling them split open, and getting a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach now? She could have gone on recording their album without sparing a thought about what kept the music alive and just assuming that, paradoxically, the upcoming album did. After that, it was done. Their contract was fulfilled.
It was inevitable that this would all come to an end, so how could one tension-filled dinner—which wasn't even the first they'd had throughout the summer—suddenly unravel her apprehension?
Beca looked at her reflection in the dark windows of the cab and slowly realized why.
When Stacie had first approached them with promises to make them famous and successful, and the road ahead was vast and hopeful and they were a band of five. When they hopped into that windowless van to Ohio for their Midwest tour, they were different, but still whole. Chloe couldn't perform with them on stage, but her being there that night, in the front seat, to surprise them had filled the girls with joy. Back then, it wasn't about the music; it was a sense of camaraderie, of friendship.
But somewhere along the way The Barden Bellas became the Bellas—Aubrey, Fat Amy, Emily, and Beca—and the 'honorary' Bellas—Stacie… and Chloe. For some reason, it became more about the music and the roles they played than about a group of girls from Barden trying to make it big. They had been optimistic (or foolish) to think that it was the same amateur garage band that made it across the Midwest and, eventually, to LA.
So tonight, after Aubrey's walk out, after Del's shared wisdom, when Beca refused to ignore what they already knew and tried to process the inevitable, she realized that amid the changes the Bellas had gone through, certain things kept nagging her at every turn:
This was never her dream.
I just know that this is where I want to be.
They had been too busy ignoring what they already knew that they didn't realize that one of the things they ignored was a lot less clear than the others, and depended on something very different:
What was Chloe here for?
Beca looked at her reflection once more and discovered that Chloe wasn't sleeping; her eyelids were heavy and drooping but the slow, occasional blink told Beca that she was awake. Beca let her eyes roam over the parts of Chloe's face the reflection showed. She no longer felt that it was creepy to stare at her; somehow she knew that Chloe was aware of what she was doing, and Chloe's silent consent calmed Beca's heart.
And for just one minute Beca let herself believe that Chloe wasn't solely here for her friends. Beca let herself believe that leaving the safety and guarantee of a good home and a better future was a risk people took for something great, something their heart truly wanted.
And if she were to believe that Emily and Jesse were right and Chloe did feel the same way… then she should be happy, right? Because that would mean that Chloe wanted her; that Chloe wanted to be with Beca… that Chloe was here for her.
That should make her happy, but it didn't.
Response to Reviews:
jalex1 (Nov. 3) - Beca read the doctor's note; I don't think she'd take Chloe being seriously ill lightly haha! Emily is the first of the Bellas to push, but let's not forget Jesse's been on Team Bechloe since forever. More Aubrey coming soon. Thanks for continuing to read! Next chapter will hopefully be up soon.
Guest (Nov. 3) - Chloe's all better now! :) Take note that the past few chapters have spanned only three days and Chloe didn't rest even after her surgery. If you've ever been sick after visiting a hospital and still keep working yourself to the bone, I don't think you'll get better soon haha.
Reader (Nov. 3) - Well, Chloe put them together so it makes sense that the band sans Chloe would seem all over the place haha. Take a chill pill ~ she's a-OK haha.
LOVE THIS STORY (Nov. 3) - THANKS! I hope you're wrong, too. Again, she's fine! There will be no tears shed for this story, I can promise that much haha. Thank you and stay tuned for more. :)
RJRMovieFan (Nov. 4) - The lack of interaction between Chloe and Aubrey is intentional. I wanted more Beca and Chloe throughout the tour but not to the detriment of Chloe and Aubrey's friendship. On the contrary, Chloe's illness made Aubrey pay a bit more attention to her (and she did in Ch.9) and Aubrey does still involve Chloe in their musical work (Ch.8). I don't think writing the 'extended tour scenes' I wanted would have changed the amount of time Chloe and Aubrey appeared to spend together so the impression that they don't seem to interact as much seems to be working out as intended haha.
pinappletini (Nov. 4) - *brings in the seal* Gaaaayyyy. And thank you! Oh, I am so glad you brought the 115 up hahaha. Pitch Perfect's worldwide gross was $115m and you might not be that surprised by Fat Amy's defense.
P.A.Q. (Preemptively Asked Questions)
Wouldn't Chloe just continue her job at RH, ergo, still be with Beca, even if Emily and Fat Amy had to leave?
Short answer: It is very likely that she would, but Beca is more concerned with what Chloe really wants, not just Chloe's job. Looking toward the horizon made Beca realize (now that she's getting all feelings-y with the redhead) that it might not be the same horizon Chloe's looking at.
A/N: Sorry for the delay (although strictly speaking this is my best streak of near-consistent uploads so far). I had planned to finish it early last week but then... well, we all know what happened on November 8. It took a while to find the willpower to write the last few paragraphs but here we are. The following chapters are more clear-cut so it's possible to extend this streak until the end. I probably won't be updating any other story until this one is finished though. Thanks for reading!