Session 19
Author's Note: In the swing-jazz round Spike and Faye dance to a song called Zoot Suit Riot. This real song is by Cherry Poppin' Daddies and is amazingly fun to listen to. Their routine was choreographed to it. There are two versions of this Session published: AO3 (under my account ShadowcrestNightingale) has the lyrics worked in so you can envision the timing better, Fanfiction does not have the lyrics due to the site rules. The second set of lyrics is made up by me just for amusement sake. ENJOY!
The jazz band on the stage was small, but man they made up for it in sound! Faye tapped her hand on the table to the lively rhythm of each jazz number, letting it carry her away. This round was going fast, their turn on the floor approaching swiftly. This time the order had them before the Espositos, it seemed they'd chosen this as their wild card round, previous champions could select one round to pick their place in the running. They chose to go last. Probably to be the last in the judges minds. That didn't bother her.
What bothered her was that she hadn't seen Spike yet. True, the dance rounds came earlier in the day this time, he'd dashed down to Fernando's room for some vague reason with the parting words not to worry, they just had something to work out before the round. Her searching eyes picked out Fernando and Cygne barely concealed in the shadows. Where the hell was Spike?
She smoothed out the navy blue A-line dress tailored specifically for her. Beneath, a pair of matching tap shorts, because going completely vertical meant her skirt was bound to fly all the way up, or rather down in the handstand. That wasn't counting the throw. The leather soles of her shoes were perfect for sliding around the floor. They were going to rule this round. Excitement thrummed, mixed with anxiety. Their names on the board were right after this routine, and this song was winding down! Where the hell was that lunkhead?
At the last note, before even the announcers could cut in, she spied the familiar black and white fedora over by the band. Spike, clad in his typical blue suit with the thin black tie, gestured to the trumpet player who bent down. The two chatted for a moment before the player smiled and laughed. He leaned back to the others in the band and they went into a huddle.
Spike turned and hustled toward Faye's table with a swagger in his step, the black-and-white saddle dance shoes in place of his typical boots. That was the only part that remained of the outfit that had been planned. The fedora cocked on his head so the shadow covered his right eye. His hair the bed-raggled fluff it always had been before. He looked like a cocksure gangster. At the edge of the table, he held out a hand for her. "You ready, Faye?"
She blinked up into his eyes, and instantly something else caught her attention. Hard to see, something she missed across the room, but a small device tucked over his ear with a wire. His hand reached into his pants pocket and she swore she heard a soft click.
"Spike where … "
He held up a finger and pulled her to her feet as the spotlight dashed on them.
"Apparently there is a last minute change in the music selection for … haha, well, should have guessed this one, Spike and Faye Sterling."
"Eh? What are they doing, Veronica?"
"We've heard some tame numbers so far, but it looks like the Sterlings are really out for blood in this round."
"That's a serious remark." There was a brief pause then Derrick continued. "Wait a second, their song is called Zoot Suit Riot? Alright, I wanna hear this!"
Zoot Suit Riot! That isn't the song I picked! Faye snapped her head up toward Spike who stood halfway across the floor from her, striking that pose that only now, back in his typical attire, she realized embodied the slick criminal.
Beneath the brim of the hat he grinned at her and mouthed soundlessly, "Trust me."
Faye's breathing quickened. What the hell was he doing? Fernando's words from the rehearsal echoed, Spike knows what he's doing, the authentic swing-jazz born of rebellious spirit. The judges, used to the neutered style of the dance halls, won't be expecting a performance anywhere near this. Fernando wouldn't have let them take the risk if it wouldn't pay off.
She met Spike's confident gaze and swallowed. Planting a hand on her hip she snapped it out and flared her attitude, letting it show. Trust him. If anyone can steal the win, it's us.
Suddenly she felt a little like Bonnie to his Clyde.
Spike pointed his finger like a gun to the drummer and pulled the trigger. The drum beat on alternating toms started everything. Their feet tapped to the rhythm that only now made sense to Faye as she heard this song for the first time. The guitar started a downscale run that signaled her to spin into Spike's waiting hand. He took it and slung her out to the other side and back into his embrace.
To the blare of the trumpet, he winked at her and released for the series of tandem tap-like steps, their feet sliding across the floor in what so far would be the typical style. But she knew it wouldn't stay that way. She grabbed his wrist and swung out, oh this was going to be fun. A moment later the smile dashed away in shock. A smooth voice over the speaker joined the eight-piece band.
A collective gasp around the room carried over, but as Faye glanced at Spike he completely ignored it continuing to sing into the tiny microphone secured over his ear. That's what she'd seen! A performance mic, the wire must've gone to a battery pack in his pocket. In practice he hadn't been counting, he'd been mouthing the damn lyrics to set the timing.
His voice … she'd never imagined for a second he could sing. No wonder he had called her out for being off-key on the ship. Spike swung her down into the deep dip and winked at her, tugging down on the fedora's rim with the next phrase.
She wanted to punch him for this blatantly secret plan, and yet, as he spun her back up she couldn't help but glimpse the shocked faces all around. They thought they'd seen something? Nothing yet!
He grabbed her wrists and she prepared. In a swift reversal he slid her beneath his legs for the momentum and threw her airborne. She flew into the air to the lyrics, shifting her core and limbs to propel her higher into the air.
She tucked in as gravity seized her, falling toward the polished wood. Faye couldn't look, she shut her eyes and whispered to herself. Trust him, he'll be there. Time took too long to pass as she plummeted. A soft embrace, she landed across his arms. The one beneath her legs bounced her up and dropped her around into a tight wrap over his shoulders. She landed on the floor and shoulder vaulted him to the chorus.
Spike pointed at the band and those who weren't on horns shouted back, "Riot!" He threw his head back and smiled into the lyrics. Meanwhile they danced in tandem, tapping and shuffling their feet in time. They never stopped moving.
Faye grabbed onto Spike's wrist and as he bent over she rolled across his shoulders, throwing herself into it. The judges weren't writing anything that she could see, they were staring at the spectacle before them.
Truly into it, Spike slid down on his knees, hands in fists to his chest like he was begging.
He came back up and locked eyes with Faye. Snapping his fingers as he stalked toward her.
She closed the distance in a swift run and grasped his wrists. Up she went, feet into the air, stalling at the perfect moment straight vertical. Eyes locked, Faye grinned as Spike belted out the next line before dropping her off to the left and swinging her like a jump rope.
Swinging all around the dance floor, Faye lost herself in the exchange from Spike to the band and back again. This wasn't the type of dance she'd been taught by her dance tutor. This round went to the wild side.
Spike pulled off the fedora and held it up, framed by the spot light as Faye slid across the floor by her own momentum. He put the hat back on, and in the same motion caught her wrist and brought her back to her feet.
They swayed together, forehead to sweat-caked forehead, chest to chest. Father might have been mortified to see such a scandalous posture as Faye cupped the back of his neck smiling coyly.
He dipped her low and ran his hand up the outside of her leg, disrupting her skirt. She shivered at the touch, but reined in the sensation. This was a dance move, practiced. He meant nothing more than style points. No more than this next little number meant. Coming upright she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist and flung herself backward as he spun. He secured her arm and she released her legs, spiraling outward in a vertical top spin until he brought her to her feet again.
Taking to the rhythm, Faye and Spike traded swinging one another across the floor. No one else had done that trick. Not many had tried half what they had.
As the beat wore down, they released their grip in mid spin. Spike slid across the floor on his knees, skidding sideways until he lost momentum and flopped onto his back, arms outstretched. The fedora flung up into the air. Faye closed the distance and struck a pose, fingers like a gun. She aimed them at him and pulled the trigger just as the fedora fell over his face.
Chest heaving, Spike lay there in the silence. Faye huffed each breath, smiling at this little heist. A lack of immediate applause meant one helluva performance. The Espositos always received that response. This is what they'd aimed for.
Applause eventually broke out!
"Wow! Ok, folks, let's hear it for the band … and uhh … that unusual performance."
"The next team better watch it, that floor is on fire now."
Slowly, Spike reached up and plucked the hat from his face. He clicked the microphone off before sitting up. Taking Faye's offered hand he used it to lever to his feet, holding the hat to his chest. He leaned close to her. "So, am I dead yet?"
"You will be if that little secret cost us the contest! What about the rules?"
He turned and waved to the audience. "Relax, Fernando and I poured through them to make sure singing wasn't against the rules. We'll know soon enough what the judges thought of that little stunt. For now, shit, I could really use a beer!"
She tugged on his arm. "I'll break the bottle over your head if you are wrong."
He tugged the fedora back on. "Better keep this on, then."
The dance hall wasn't quite empty. Though most had left, the eight-piece band kept the stage warm surrounded be a handful of dancers. Spike sat on the edge of the stage, one leg hanging off the edge with his eyes close, wailing out the fast-paced lyrics as the trumpet belted out the harmony.
"She's got me in her sights tonight
The barrel's loaded, trigger finger tight
If I'm not careful it'll be the grave
Beneath the pale moonlight
The rain is falling no doubt its beat
And in its rhythm I feel complete
But there's still something got me questioning
If you know what I mean!
She's my shot gun girl
A riot on my tail
I'll never live to see the dawn
My trigger happy gal!
If you ask me in my dying breath
When fate casts the roll of death
I'd tell you I'd gone down content
She's got me right between the eyes!"
Drowned in the music, Spike swayed to the rhythm gladly surrendering to the back-room ditty most bands didn't know. This fast-paced piece had been one of the Skeleton Key's staples, and though he hadn't performed it, he'd still quietly sung along. A cold beer in his hands, he could have been back there now instead of space bound in a swanky cruise ship.
The trumpet player leaned back and blasted the final chord. Spike lifted his beer mug in a toast. "Man, you can play, Tony. You guys really bring me back."
Tony gave him a hi-five. "You jokin'? When you came up right before and told us the gig I laughed, we all thought it was nothing but a punk scheme by some rich-ass fucker. Never had something like that happen before. And damn that worked. Hey, after hours, you know we'd love to jam."
Spike glanced out at the empty tables. Faye had been lingering on the edges for a while savoring their victory. They'd nailed first place in the round with such a huge lead that their collective score now had them in a solid second and an ample threat to the now severely disgruntled Espositos, who'd only had a lackluster score this round. Everyone who had seen them before confirmed, their routine had not changed one bit. Even Spike had savored the glint of anger in the couple as they argued with the judges about the legality of adding vocals to a performance. Spike and Faye said nothing, they just stood by the table and waited. No deliberation. No wavering, the ranking stood and the Espositios were warned about sportsmanship. By now Faye had left in the company of several couples, long ago forgiving Spike for keeping his secret. He'd been forced to confess that he was certain she would have told him no. He'd been right.
Spike finished his beer and shook his head. "Eh well, I better be heading back." This round took place in the morning into the afternoon, it should have concluded hours ago, but the jam session never seemed to stop. "You know, we do have a couple more rounds to prep for."
Maria Lansing leaned on the edge of the stage. "Jim's glad we didn't have to go against you two. I remember swing dancing was mentioned, but I had no idea."
He shrugged. "Just a bit of my rebellious side."
A slight blush bloomed on her cheeks. "Well, turns out you and I have something in common. I'm also a singer. Have you heard of Morella?"
Spike leaned forward. "Wait … you're her?" As she confirmed it, he shook his head. "Damn, I've heard a few of your pieces on the radio." She had a solid mid-range, a touch husky toward the lower range, but it lent her voice body. She was indeed talented. "Who would have thought … "
She flashed him a grin. "Likewise."
Spike's phone rang, he picked it up to Faye. "Darling, are you done playing around?"
He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah yeah yeah, I was just having a bit of fun shooting the shit with the band. I'll be there in a few. Alright?"
She hung up and he turned to the others. "Sorry, gotta run." Despite the fact that they kept playing, he waved and padded into the corridors, heading through the winding decks toward their room.
He hadn't seen anyone for a few minutes when a hand grabbed his shoulder. A cold voice rasped in his ear. "I know who you really are, Spiegel."
Spike turned slowly, wide-eyed.
See You Space Cowboy