It's been less than a year since I last posted! Go me!
Seriously, though, I just get busy and forget about this. I stand a much better chance of remembering to post again soon if you leave me reviews.
~Chapter 12: A Change of Plans~
"You're not really reading that, are you?"
"Huh?" Neville jerked out of his stupor and looked up, confused.
Hillary was standing a few feet away from the counter on which he was leaning. She was trimming Sandropod bushes with her wand, and Alice was following behind her, collecting the clippings and poking them into her hair, making her look like a leafy, multi-antennaed insect.
"You're not really reading that," Hillary repeated, pointing to the sheaf of parchment in front of Neville containing more of Great-Uncle Jake's musings. "You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes."
"You're right," Neville sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."
She smiled kindly. "Neville, you're fine! You're anxious about Emily. Why don't you just call it a day?"
"No, I already left early once this week," he protested.
"Neville. Don't worry about it. Simon and I really appreciate all of your help and all the hours you've put in this summer, but it's not like we're paying you to be here. We can handle things. You should be at home when Emily gets there so you can celebrate."
"Okay," he relented. "Thanks, Hillary."
"Don't mention it," she insisted. "Give Emily our love."
"I will. I'll see you. Bye, Alice," he added.
The little girl waved a handful of leaves at him. "Bye-bye!"
Neville Apparated back to his flat and changed into Muggle clothes. He washed his hands methodically, but there was very little dirt to scrub away, as he'd hardly done anything at the shop.
It was barely ten in the morning, and he had no idea whether the callback would last as long as the initial audition. He tried to occupy himself with menial tasks, like organizing his sock drawer, but the nervous energy returned, and he gave up on productivity to revert to pacing and stair-climbing.
As Neville set foot in the lobby, he was surprised to see Ed Wylie, the pudgy, pasty building manager standing on a ladder in the center of the room, changing one of the funny little bulbs in the overhead light fixture. Ed didn't seem to take much pride in his building, and Neville had hardly seen him since moving in.
Neville circled the perimeter of the room a couple of times, trying not to be distracting. He walked down the corridor to the laundry room and then returned, and he was about to go back up the stairs when Ed spoke.
"You looking for your girlfriend? What's-her-name?"
Neville paused. "Emily. Yeah, I don't know when she's going to be back –"
"She came in a while ago. Maybe half an hour. Went straight upstairs."
Emily was already back? Neville turned and raced up the steps, trying to ward off a looming feeling of panic. There had to be a reason why she hadn't come to find him. A good reason. A happy reason. Maybe she was so excited about getting the job that she wanted to begin practicing immediately. Maybe she wanted to write to her family before telling anyone else.
He reached her flat and knocked at the door, but she didn't answer. He knocked again. Still nothing. He turned the knob; the door swung open.
"Emily?" he called tentatively. He stepped inside and closed the door quietly. "Emily?"
Still there was no answer. Then he heard her cough.
Cautiously, worriedly, Neville moved down the short hallway. Her bedroom door stood open. "Em?" he asked, peering in.
She was curled up in a ball on her bed, face buried in the pillow, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Neville's heart sank. He was immediately sure she was not weeping with joy.
"Hey," he said gently, crossing the small room to sit on the bed. He touched her shoulder. "Hey. I'm here. I love you."
She didn't respond, and he wondered if he was making her feel worse by being there. Perhaps she wanted to be left alone. He hated the thought of her crying by herself, though, so he tried once more.
"Can I hold you?"
Her shoulder twitched beneath his hand, and at first he thought she was trying to shake him off, but then she sat up and climbed awkwardly into his lap. She tried to keep her face averted, but he could see that her eyes were red and puffy, her hair sticking to her damp cheeks – yet she was still beautiful.
Neville held Emily for a long time as she cried and cried into his chest. He rubbed her back and pressed his lips to the top of her head, murmuring soothing words. At last she seemed to have exhausted her tears and was silent except for the occasional shuddery breath.
"What happened?" Neville asked quietly.
She shrugged. "I didn't get the job. There were twelve of us, and they took five." Her chin
quivered pitifully. "They didn't want me."
"Don't say that. This is my fault," he realized crushingly. "I shouldn't have kept you out so late last night. You must be exhausted. If we'd come back earlier, if you'd gotten more sleep –"
"Stop it!" she snapped. "Don't blame yourself; that's ridiculous. Sleep didn't make any difference; I was running on adrenaline this morning. I was great! I sang well and I danced well. I missed one turn – made it a single instead of a double – but no one was perfect. They just didn't want me." Her eyes filled with tears again. "They never do."
"They're crazy for not choosing you," Neville sighed, "but somewhere out there is a director who's looking for you exactly. You just have to keep trying till you find that person."
Emily shook her head. "No. I've been doing this for four years, Neville – four years! – and I've accomplished nothing. All of my friends are going places in this world: Danny and Carson are looking for a larger venue because their company is growing so fast. Holly is becoming the go-to name on the commercial circuit. Hannah just booked a big industrial in St. Louis, and Forest is only working at Junior's until he starts rehearsals for an off-Broadway play next month. And what have I done? Two television commercials that ran for six weeks each and a couple of posters for the Merlin's Square library."
"I don't know why it's taking you longer to get your big break –" he began, but she cut him off again.
"Because I'm not meant to do this! I should just go home to Ohio, listen to my mother say 'I told you so,' and get a real job."
"No!" Neville said sharply, but she just shrugged dismissively in response.
"Emily. Look at me," he said firmly, and after a moment she did.
"I know how badly you want to be in Thoroughly Modern Millie," he said, "and you have every right to feel hurt and upset and disappointed and whatever else you're feeling right now. But it's making you blow things out of proportion.
"Basically everything I know about the theatre world is what I've learned from you, including the fact that this is exactly what you should be doing with your life. I'm sure your mum and dad are very smart people, but I don't know how two people who have known you for twenty-two years can't understand this. Not only are you beautiful and funny and charismatic and talented, but you have so much passion. Anyone watching you at Hairspray last night could see that.
"Maybe a bit of a break would do you some good. Lie around in your pajamas for a few days, or pay a visit home. Wait a while before you audition for anything. Work full time at Junior's, or pick up some more hours at the bookstore. But don't give up, because I know that someday you will be a star, and you'll inspire thousands of little witches and wizards to follow you to Broadway."
Tears were rolling slowly down Emily's cheeks again. "You're very sweet, but you can't actually believe that."
"I don't say things if I don't believe them." He brushed away her teardrops with his thumb. "Promise me you won't give up."
"I-I can't," she murmured, and then her control evaporated, and she was sobbing once more.
Neville held her tightly again, stroking her hair and trying desperately to figure out how to change her mind.
Finally he asked, "Do you know what I've always found sexiest about you?"
Emily blinked, obviously surprised by the apparent change of subject. "Um, no."
He grinned. "It's your confidence. From the moment I met you, I could tell how self-assured you were, and that was what grabbed my attention. Practically the first thing we talked about was your dream of being in a 'real show.' And as we got to know each other, you gave me confidence in myself. I've never thought very highly of myself, but you've helped me believe that I might yet do something useful in this world."
"You will," she insisted. "I know you will."
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "So not all of your confidence has disappeared! I thought not, because I still find you extremely attractive. I think your self-confidence got pretty shaken up this morning, and now it's gone into hiding somewhere deep inside of you. But you've got to find it and coax it back out, however you can. And I'll do whatever I can to help, because I am not letting you give up on your dreams. If I have to believe in myself, so do you. Fair?"
She sniffled. "I guess so."
He kissed the top of her head again. "Good."
Emily mumbled something as she roughly wiped away more tears.
"Sorry?" Neville asked.
She closed her eyes and bit her lip for a moment, as if steeling herself against her own words, then repeated, "This is the worst feeling ever. I hate it."
He shook his head sadly, wishing with his whole being that he possessed a brand of magic to take away her pain. "I know. I hate it too."
For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, Neville tried in vain to distract Emily from her misery. They lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and talking quietly, and though he tried to change the topic often, the thread of the conversation always seemed to wind around to something else that was sad or unfair, as if they were under a curse. Neville could not help thinking of the days when Hogwarts had been guarded by dementors, and before long he too felt the weight of depression bearing down on his shoulders.
After several hours they realized they were ravenously hungry, and Emily used the telephone in the kitchen to order a smorgasbord of take-out food: ham-and-pineapple pizza, mozzarella sticks, Chinese fried rice, Belgian waffles with powdered sugar and maple syrup, spicy Indian curry for Neville, and an enormous burrito for herself. Neville discovered a large bottle of wine hidden in a cabinet, and though she protested that she had been saving it for his birthday, he convinced her that they couldn't gorge themselves properly without it.
Certain that he had just eaten his weight in salt, sugar, and grease, Neville dropped heavily onto the sofa beside his girlfriend. "Ugh. I feel terrible."
"You look terrible," she giggled. As the wine was nearly gone and they had consumed approximately equal amounts, she was more than a little drunk. "I bet I look terrible too."
Neville hiccuped. "No you don't," he said a few seconds too late, but she didn't seem to have noticed.
"Tha's because this's a terrible day," she continued, slurring her words. "The terriblest day ever."
He laughed stupidly. "I don't think 'terriblest' is a word."
She shrugged. "Whatever."
Salem the cat emerged from his usual hiding spot under the old, pink armchair and rubbed along their ankles, and Neville took another swig from the wine bottle.
"I wish I was a cat," Emily said suddenly, reaching down to pet the furry creature with more force than she would normally have used. Old and fat though he was, he scrambled away in a remarkable display of self-preservation.
"Even Salem doesn't want me. Nobody wants me," she grumbled.
Neville shook his head vigorously. "No. I want you. Even if you were a cat."
"Meow," she said, and she laughed as though she had said something hysterically funny.
It was good to see her laughing, he realized, and he was seized with a sudden desire to tell her wonderful, romantic things. However, the alcoholic haze in his brain made it hard to extract the appropriate words, so he settled for taking her face in his hands and kissing her clumsily. She kissed him back briefly and then pulled away to give a huge yawn.
"I'm sleepy," she sighed. "Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy..."
Neville yawned too, his passionate feelings gone as quickly as they had come on. Now that he
heard the word, sleep seemed like such a welcome prospect – enough to drive away his disappointment at her lack of interest in snogging.
Emily's head lolled, and she leaned sideways and curled up on the lime green cushions. His last conscious thought was to do the same at the other end of the sofa. Then the wine pulled them into numbness as the sun sank behind the New York skyline.
It seemed that only minutes had passed when Neville drifted back into consciousness, but the overbright sunshine filtering through his closed eyelids meant it must be morning. Something tremendous was pounding at the window over and over and over again, making him feel that his very brain was shaking inside his skull.
Forcing himself to open his eyes, he stood up slowly and made his way across the room that swam before him. Pigwidgeon was perched outside the window, tapping the glass with his tiny beak.
How could such a little bird make such a deafening clamor? Wondering only made his head ache more, so he carefully slid the pane of glass up and let the owl inside.
Pig didn't even wait for Neville to remove the letter from his leg before taking off around the room with his usual squeaks of frantic excitement.
Emily raised her head and blinked blearily. "What the –?" she mumbled.
Apparently thrilled that she was awake, the frenetic owl zoomed past her face, causing her to yelp in surprise and then moan in pain as she grabbed her forehead.
Desperate for quiet, Neville picked up the nearest wand (Emily's) and used an inordinate amount of brainpower to Silence and Summon Pigwidgeon. He untied the letter, which was addressed in Ron Weasley's characteristic scrawl. He was in no state to try to decipher such writing at the moment.
Emily had gotten up and was standing on a chair, gingerly searching through the cabinet above the refrigerator. Each time she clinked two bottles together, both she and Neville winced.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"My brother's potion. Trust me, we need it," she replied. "Why don't you make some toast?"
"Toast. Good idea," he agreed, though he was dreading the sound of the toaster's pop-up mechanism.
The toaster did seem to be at least a decibel louder than usual, but before long there was a nice stack of buttered toast on a plate in front of him. He was grudgingly feeding a bit of crust to a still-silent Pigwidgeon when Emily finally climbed down from the chair.
She placed a dark purple bottle wrapped in a ribbon of yellowing paper on the counter. It was labeled 'Hangovers' in thin, square letters.
"My brother invented this concoction," she explained. "It tastes pretty terrible, but there's no better cure in the continental U.S."
Neville picked up the bottle as she filled two tall glasses with water. It was surprisingly heavy. He uncorked the top, sniffed, and gagged: It smelled of all the putrid things that had lined the walls of Snape's dungeon.
Wonderful, he thought as Emily took the bottle from him. His stomach was already feeling much less stable than usual. He watched as she poured a splash of thick, black potion into each glass of water and gave them a swirl.
"Plug your nose," she advised, handing him a glass, and without further ado, they gulped down the noxious-looking mixture.
Neville grimaced as the potion flowed down his throat like syrup, with a taste that resembled sardine oil, but after mere seconds he felt his insides settle and his pounding headache begin to recede.
"Blimey," he said to Emily, who was looking much less green than she had moments before, "this stuff's fantastic!"
She nodded. "I know. I'm afraid to ask what's in it, but I'm glad it works."
As she wedged the cork back into the top of the bottle, Pigwidgeon fluttered over and landed indignantly in front of Neville, clutching the letter he had delivered in his beak.
"Oh, right," said Neville, taking the folded piece of parchment. He lifted the Silencing Charm with a flick of Emily's wand, and the little owl hooted a less-than-friendly goodbye and took off through the open window.
Emily watched the exchange with amusement in her eyes. "Who sent the letter?"
"Ron." He broke the seal, unfolded the parchment, and read,
Neville –
I'm really sorry I didn't tell you about W.W.W. opening in New York. I can only remember half of what I'm supposed to these days because Mum's driving us all batty about the wedding – and we don't even live at the Burrow anymore!
Anyway, George and I will both be in New York for a few days in August for the grand opening of our new location. There's going to be a huge banquet for all the Merlin's Square bigwigs on the tenth, and I hope you and Emily will be able to come! Let me know and I'll get your names on the guest list.
Hope to see you in a few weeks!
Ron
Neville set down the letter and looked up at Emily, who was munching a piece of toast. "Ron is, as usual, being a git and making up excuses for not telling me important things. However, I'm inclined to forgive him because he's going to get us on the guest list for a big Weasley's Wizard Wheezes banquet on August tenth."
"'Get us on the guest list?'" she repeated. "Well isn't that snazzy! I'd forgive him if I were you."
He grinned as he reached for the plate of toast. "Okay then. I guess I will."
After they had finished eating Emily asked, "Are you going in to the store today?"
"I was thinking about it," he said, "but I was going to ask how you're feeling. I didn't know if you were going somewhere or staying here or if you wanted to have some alone time or didn't want to be alone or what."
"I had planned to go to a jazz class at Steps in a couple of hours, but...I just can't. Not today. And I don't think I want to be alone," she admitted. "Maybe I could come to the store and help you guys? I can do whatever you need. I just want to keep my mind off of...things."
"That would be great!" he said enthusiastically. "I would love to have you there, and I know Simon and Hillary would really appreciate your help. We're hoping to open in two weeks, and we've still got a million things to do."
"Good. Busyness is what I need," she said. "Shall we get cleaned up and then go over?"
Neville nodded. "Sure."
He had to admire her initiative, he realized as he went downstairs to his own flat. She had figured out a way to keep herself from wallowing in disappointment that also allowed her to help someone else. He had known from the start that she was someone extremely special; yet the extent of her kind heart and strong spirit never ceased to amaze him.
-.-.-.-.-
Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think.
-A Chocolate Frog
