I don't own SMASH…
HELL (3)
Ivy was right. Of course, I suspected that it was another of her obvious Machiavellian scheme. She was right nonetheless. She held a grudge against Karen for numerous reasons, one of them being her chronic insecurities. Ivy toiled up her way to the top, she cannot stop now. Still, it's embarrassing to watch her plot relentlessly behind my back. Well, there's no harm in letting her think I'm not privy to what she's doing, but it will end badly, for her, I mean. She might be Broadway material, thanks to her famous mother, but she puts so much effort into it, it's painful to watch. She is broken by too many years in the ensemble and the prospect of being a star one day is more out of her reach today than ever. She simply doesn't see it and she will never bail.
I followed her advice anyway, after all, she's a manipulative bitch but still a woman. She thought that my helping Karen would hasten her own ascension, so there might be some truth in it, -about the fact that Karen needed my attention.
Knocking on Karen's door was my idea. I simply could not bear to have any conversation over the phone with Oxford what's his name. And if Karen did answer, I'd never see the end of it. She doesn't seem to be able to sustain a conversation without repeating every single word you say. It's terribly boring. She will have to banish this idiotic habit once she's a star, because she will be a star, I have no doubt about that.
So here I am, going up the stairs four at a time. I'm smiling like an idiot. First to apologize for Duvall, second to apologize for my not very subtle move after her audition. I can be humble when it suits my purpose. To be quite honest, I really should have called and get it over with but I had to see her. Don't ask me why because I'd really like to know why I'm in Brooklyn instead of nursing a scotch in a generic hotel bar with a mindless blonde lapping up my every word. Maybe to make sure I'm not turning into a mad man under pressure. I can't afford to become delirious again during a rehearsal. I'm not used to being illogical. Maybe I simply want to make sure I'll see Marilyn one last time before turning into a pumpkin, who knows?
I rapped on her door in a very good mood indeed. I would lie if I said I was not surprised when I saw her in her negligee channelling her inner Marilyn. The poor thing was obviously stricken to find me staring at her on her doorstep instead of her asinine boyfriend. She was quite a sight. My bad. But instead of taking advantage of the situation, I stayed focused and it went well, considering. This apology was a long time coming and I'm quite proud of myself for a change. I could have chosen less arrogant ways to word it, but what can I say? I'm still Derek Wills, she probably didn't expect that much to begin with. Her slight smile was proof enough that my attempt was a home run. We shared a unique complicity for a fleeting moment. It was good to know that she could have a sense of humour.
I won't deny that there was some serious attraction there. She was a gorgeous woman, I was not in any way impervious or immune to her charm. I know for a fact I trouble her. I can see it in her eyes when we rehearse together, or when I summon her a bit too harshly. The sudden intake of breath, the subtle change in her carnation, the panicky wide eyes, all the signs are there. She would tense and arch against me and look away or stare instead, putting on a brave face. I am not about to push her into anything she doesn't want and add to her confusion. It's bad enough that she thinks I chose Ivy over her because we happen to sleep together. I may be difficult, but I'm not old enough to be that kind of man.
Well, perhaps I'm not such a terrible human being after all. Or maybe I am. In my defence, I didn't push my luck, though she was quite the looker in her 20 grams of sheer lace. Of course, she's taken, but it's only a technicality. She's afraid of me because she likes me. I find it quite adorable, indeed. I was on a mission tonight or else I could have played that game again and torture her. I did not. I need Karen. The Duvall won't last and Ivy is unpredictable. Karen will be a perfect Marilyn when that twerp is out of the picture. I'm confident he will be soon, very soon. Nothing like the theater to turn your life into a confusing mess. I'll be there for her.
When I passed him coming home with his hideous cheap bouquet, my heart bled for her. She deserves so much more than that little sod. I let him punch me. Was it on purpose, honestly, I don't know. I was not expecting him to lose his temper. She rushed out of her apartment building in her underwear and came between us. That was brave and really, really hot, indeed.
When I entered the studio with Duvall in my tow the following day, already bored out of my mind, I noticed her make up what different. She was glowing. Our eyes locked. Did taking a beating from the sad prick actually accomplish something or am I deluding myself?
-O-
I hear them long before I reach the dressing room, Bobby's shrill shriek above all others. Striding through the theatre, I cannot help smiling to myself. Bombshell is going to be a smashing success. Despite the hiccups and Ivy's attempt on her life, everything will soon be forgotten. Marilyn would live on for many decades to come and the Cartwright girl will only be the first of her reincarnations. I'm not sure that having her tag along for this meeting is a good idea. Yet, something tells me it is.
After all, I wasn't sure either that I had made the right choice until I joined her in the wings on her first night as Marilyn. I managed to say the magic words. "You're a star." What else could I say at that point? It was too late to have second thoughts. All my doubts vanished the minute she sang the finale. She was a star, indeed. Hence, I needed her by my side tonight.
Without slowing down, I rush inside, eliciting a surge of excitement within the small group. Bloody hell, she's not ready. She's still wearing her sequined dress. For a brief moment, I toy with the idea of asking her to stay in character and to keep the dress and the wig. It's a bad idea. They have to see her, really her, not a character from a play. I casually drop on the next chair. "I'll wait." It's harmless and childish and I should leave her alone. Man, is she pissed! In spite of her scared rabbit routine, she's hard steel inside, he can see it now. Maybe her determination and her honesty had won her the part on par with her talent and good looks. She's exuding grace and candour. I watch her disrobe and hand her the gown she requests. She's a natural. She could have chosen something more spectacular but she went right to the jugular. This red gown was a statement in itself, she made no mistake. Perfect, it is going to be perfect, I ponder, hiding a grin. She holds on my shoulder to slip on shiny sandals and I catch a whiff of her perfume. Chanel 5. She did her homework.
Yes, tonight will be perfect indeed. I wrap MY star up in the glossy lightweight fur and stand back. White and red. Excellent. But she'll have to get rid of the bling, it's unworthy of her. "Please, loose the cheap rings, they make you look like a call girl." For some reason, it doesn't come out right. She glowered at me. Shall I apologize? I discard the idea. It was not meant to hurt her, quite the contrary. Next time, I'll have Harry Winston on speed dial.
-O-
She woke up to a loud pounding on her door. She jumped up out of bed and opened to find Derek on her doorstep. She flushed and her eyes darted to her feet. There was no stopping him anyway. She was beginning to think that their twin room arrangement was not such a good idea. Man, was he awake; did he ever sleep, she thought for the umpteenth time, hiding a yawn. Her hair was a mess and half blocking her view. She tugged at her t-shirt and let him in. He strode inside, speaking loudly with that infuriatingly sexy British accent. She flopped down on the foot of the bed, suppressing another yawn. Of course, after their first night in Pittsburgh, Derek would storm in with the morning papers and read her the reviews, that was a given.
Even Dev knew that it was her first night in Pittsburgh. He had called her X number of times, text messaged her, called her again until the wee hours. Her eyes crept surreptitiously to the waste basket where she had thrown away his flowers the evening before, all his six bouquets. When was he going to leave her alone? She was a bit apprehensive of their coming back to New York. She had to pack her things which probably will lead her into yet another painful and useless talk with him. God, it was exhausting. She really didn't need the extra pressure.
"I see that you're mesmerized by the critics, Karen," Derek quipped. He dropped the papers on her lap and stood before her, his coat brushing her bare legs, arms crossed on his chest, looking down on her with a half smile. "Do I bother you? Are you already bored with your continuing success?"
She looked up, catching hold of the cascading pile and shook her head. "Sorry, I was distracted."
"So it seems. What's wrong, you look awful."
"Thanks," she snapped, throwing the papers onto the thick carpet. She stared at him with a blank expression on her face.
"Did you sleep at all or that little sod still annoys you?"
She felt instantly the sting of tears welling up in her eyes again and hid behind a curtain of hair. "Let's say I didn't sleep well," she trailed, more embarrassed than hurt. Now that she had rejected Dev, he seemed unable to leave her in peace. "I'm sorry. I'll hit the shower and you can tell me everything about our success over breakfast." She stood up and combed her hair with her fingers, gathering it on the top of her head in a makeshift bun. She stretched, oblivious of his presence.
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, averting his eyes from her nipples pointing through the fabric. "I can come back when you're ready, darling."
She knew that all the darlings and the loves were mere punctuation in his usual speech, but her heart fluttered. She turned around and faced him. He was handsome, charming and surprisingly kind to her. His reputation preceded him and she could use some gratifying sex to put things into perspective. She bit her lip. It was a tantalizing prospect. She was almost certain that everybody thought that she had fallen for him. After all, Dev already accused her of sleeping with Derek, so why bother?
"Earth to Karen…"
"Oh, sorry, did you say something?"
"You don't seem well, love, do you want to talk about it?" he asked with concern. He came closer and tucked her hair behind her ears. He took her hand and kissed it lightly, rubbing his thumb on her palm. "I know I'm not your favourite person, but maybe I can help. Use me."
His sudden sincerity hit her in full swing. Her mouth quivered. Oh no! I can't! I can't cry in front of him, not again. He's going to think that I'm childish and spoiled, she thought. An uncontrollable flow of tears began to run down her cheeks. She repressed a shiver and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm a mess. And we have to rehearse, I'm sorry," she muttered again.
"Come here, you're going to be fine. If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay, I'm willing to volunteer to pay a visit to your ex and provide him with the just chastisement."
Her mouth twitched. Seriously? "No, please, don't," she whispered against his chest.
She heard him laugh. His hand was going up and down her back, soothing and warm. She nuzzled into his neck and finally let go. The intensity of her grief took her by storm. She shuddered in his arms, her legs barely supporting her. She was whispering incoherent thoughts. Oh my god, what am I doing? It's Derek, not my BFF. It made her even more desperate and she clung onto him, too ashamed to move away.
She was sobbing silently now, her hands clenched to his sweater. He was kissing her hair, his left hand stroking the nape of her neck while his right hand stayed flat on the small of her back, fingers spread on her buttock, pulling her to him. She was half naked in her old Iowa State Cyclones oversized t-shirt, tiptoeing to stay in his embrace and god, it felt nice.