I

Who you might be

A smile to hide and a smile to be remembered.

Breathe in, breathe out, a hand straightening an invisible crease on a Sunday dress. Same usual routine at the Studios. Same usual nausea creeping up from the pit of her perfectly cinched waist.

'This your name, Miss?'

'Yes ma'am, Cornelia, Cornelia Blair.'

'That is no stage name I hope.'

She gulped on lead bullets. Dee had never said this one before.

Her voice was slightly squeaky, scratchy yet resolute in a way that one would be certain to be in the presence of a woman in a position of power. The desk lamp glowed an ochre veil down her face that shadowed her wrinkles enough to match the black ink in her eyes. If Blair ever were questioned by LAPD this was pretty much the view she imagined she'd be staring at.

And there she was again, lazily dragging those eyes painted in dark back up to her concealed tense face as she steadied herself to speak the way she had rehearsed so many times. You could hardly tell this was her fifth reading that week, the only recurring clue being the old, stern woman asking her that same question for the fifth time now.

'Oh I could change it, that was jus-'

'No fret. Now read the script will ya? You're young Beth, desperate and inconsolable, you don't trust the man. Don't trash it.'

Blair was sure she'd heard a yawn from the dimly lit desk where sat Mildred Schuester, Dee for the lucky ones, just one of the living nightmares in the casting area. Beside her was who must have been another of her assistants, a glass-eyed, slimy boy fresh out of the film academy; he'd had it so easy. Mildred's nose was so scrunched up between her eyes that Blair wondered whether she was that lousy looking or if it had just been a long day of other useless plain Janes like her. A thought, however grim and hopeless, that never stopped her from trying.

Breathe in, breathe out again, back was straightened, chest was as full as it could be. She cleared her throat, quietly and ladylike and then began her reading, her cherry lips dancing under a flickery, dusty spotlight,

"No, John, I could never love you like you love me. I would have to know love first, and no such thing has ever left its mark in my heart. Take me as-"

'Thanks, doll. We will let you know.'

Twenty-three seconds before a nod and her nonchalance cut her off. A nod and a sugary smile too. A supposedly pretty mask that softened the pill: "you're not 'it', just another dime a dozen".

For the fifth time that week all Blair could do was to swallow that rising knot of spikes back down her throat before it could sting her eyes too, and once again flash a smile in the hope that someone sitting before her might remember it this time. She fisted her hands so tight as she fast stepped off the dark stage, so extremely tight she didn't notice her fresh lacquered nails marking her skin in the same shade of red.

Los Angeles hadn't been good to her so far, it was a long way from the promised land of dreams she'd thought would be for anyone holding a big one. The majestic Hollywood sign was there of course, guarding its worshippers from above like a saint. And so were the tall palms siding endless, vast roads, the beautiful Californian sun, the fancy cars and the fancy people; it was her own reality that just wasn't as fancy.

Friends? She had none besides perhaps her semi-deaf landlord she'd sometimes recite her lines to; Scarlett's were his favorites and he always said she was stellar at it. And Blair liked to believe him even when she could tell he'd heard half of it at best. But two weeks had passed and she was still the same girl that got off that holy aircraft: alone, angry, hopeful.

Housing? An overpriced pigsty she couldn't wait to be leaving once she'd find a roommate or a man, or both. She had to settle, clearly, this wasn't her mother's flat in New York. But Blair was not willing to look for a miserable, ordinary job offered to every other unqualified twenty-one year old girl off Hollywood and ruin her manicured hands or coiffed hair while she attended every casting call she laid her eyes and ears on. Daddy's stash would still cover her back for a bit longer, she kept telling herself, perfectly enough until her breakthrough.

And Blair would try out all her chances just to prove mother wrong; she could and she would "make something out of her life" outside the plans she'd had for her, and build herself step by step with her legs, her will and her father's love translated into green paper bills. To boot that up, her nightly prayer always wrapped on that same quiet wish; that was usually when she felt her formerly strong belief that "she needed nobody" fading a little more at each time.

Blair was impatient and she didn't care when anything was bound to unlock the first door, even if that meant a pathetic, meaningless background extra or a ten dollars worth walk-on, no matter. All she needed past her first step then was merely a call, a portrait, a cover print, whatever would display that doll face everyone always said she had, a face that would take her far. She could feel it, in her heart she knew something had to happen and fast, the itching was unbearable and it poked her far beneath, deeper than a simple worry. It was a thirst.

'Ah it's you again, the usual Cor?'

A flick of her hand told the bartender it had been another of those days needing to end with a Bourbon, maybe more. Blair was so lost in her routinary, melodramatic post-stage thoughts that she hadn't noticed she ended up on a shabby stool at the Marquis, the joint you wanted to parade at to be noticed or offered a glass on Melrose Ave. She'd memorized the path connecting the Vega Studios to the hub for aspiring stars by the third day she'd stood at the tall gates waiting for a chance.

'Cornelia? Is that your name?'

She was too vexed, tired, as well as disinterested in a fellow feminine voice at the moment to care enough to turn and face her. So she replied dryly with her back to the speaker, legs crossed solidly under the wooden counter as she nursed her drink, 'Why does everyone keep asking me that?'

A laugh, a pretty one, so pretty that Blair knew from that alone it was a beautiful woman whose attention was drawn by her name, 'Because it's horseshit, makes you sound old. What is your real name?'

Her palms dropped the Bourbon on the bar and in frustration landed flat on her caramel skirt. Huffing, she pivoted on her seat, now curious to see who was insulting her dear middle name this way, 'Why do you care?'

She stirred as the woman slid her heels to her side, long fingers tapping on the counter beside her glass.

It was a blonde girl, a tall, striking, full shaped girl with sky blue eyes and loose, golden waves who must have been around her same age still. Blair tried to mask a surprised look as her eyes wandered down her shape, which was perfectly traceable even under her loose-fitting, ankle long blue dress.

'Because you have a pretty figure and face now that I can see it. That name just doesn't suit you.' The bubbly blonde smiled broadly and Blair immediately thought that was an image worth paying a seat for.

She took another sip, gulping down the amber liquid and smiling at the nice compliment that lifted her spirits despite herself and her tinge of envy.

'Well, thanks. I like to go by my middle name, it sounds dignified, historic. A name making a good signature.' she hummed, smacking her lips at the burning aftertaste.

'A good signature but not a good impression. I'm Celia by the way, Celia Rhodes, Cali girl. You won't hear this name anywhere though!' she chuckled softly and bounced down on the stool next to Blair's as she signalled for a drink, 'There are far too many Celia's in this business, so I went for my late mother's surname then my agent picked me a name that matched my character. Serena Van der Woodsen.'

Hadn't it been for the word 'agent' that sparked a feel in her gut, her eyes would have surely rolled at the way the blonde was flattering herself. But maybe this Serena was someone worth her time, someone worth getting acquainted with on this side of the west coast.

'Mh, European. You could pass for a dutch noble woman or something of the sort.'

'That's the air I'd like to carry. You still haven't told me who you might be, mysterious Cornelia' the blonde smiled again, wondering how much farther she'd have to dig to make the cool, composed brunette open up to her.

'I'm... Blair. Blair Waldorf, from New York City', she sighed, genuinely smiling for the first time that day; presenting her real self out loud to someone new yielded a much better sound than it ever had in her head.

'Wha-, Blair?' Serena spelled, wide-eyed, 'That is the perfect stage name, folks will remember that one for the ages, it's so unique. You are a fool for wanting to change it! And German surnames are in vogue, too.'

Blair let out a snort, swaying the leftover Bourbon in her glass, 'It must've been the war.'

The blonde chuckled back, clinking her glass with her peer, 'You're fun Blair Waldorf, let me offer you this round.'

The bartender politely refused her bills with a wave of his mop, winking, 'No need Miss, both of you's are already taken care of.'

Their curious eyes trailed down the invisible line springing from his gaze as he nodded towards the opposite end in the hazy, faintly lit joint.

'Oh-, it's him', Serena muttered under her breath.

Him.

Blair could barely make out the image veiled behind the thick, white smoke blowing from his cig; had she been in a better mood she would have laughed at how cinematic the whole scene was.

She noticed a leg crossing wide above the other, bold and ballsy but covered in elegant striped trousers and black and white charlestons of the finest leather. Her eyes slithered up, cutting through the haze until she spotted a pair of blue suspenders strapping over a white shirt, with a straight matching blue tie splitting his torso. His face remained a mystery still, she ought not be a starer and his tilting hat was hiding most of him from the angle his head was, anyway. What Blair did notice though, was a sharp, strong jaw with its shadow leaping out in the smoke, along with a thin, dark slit which would have been pitch black weren't it for a glint sparkling in the pupil. He was staring back at her, intently, and he caught her out.

Her eyes shot back to Serena at once, clearing her throat as to muffle the embarrassment she felt rising to her cheeks, 'Who would 'him' be? If the fella's a pimp please inform him there's absolutely no interest from my part.'

'And from mine neither! What a rookie you are,' the blonde teased, 'that fella would be Charles Fisher, but he's about to change name on the other side of the camera. He was picked as an extra in a big picture a few weeks ago and made quite the impression on the clock; he's big stuff, apparently. People at Vega are betting he'll top Clark Gable.'

'And the future King of Hollywood is paying for our Bourbon because…?' Blair spitted out, jeering and secretly hoping he might hear her for some reason.

'I have no idea. Maybe he's bored, maybe we're pretty-pretty!' Serena giggled. Now Blair did roll her eyes.

Charles was gone by the time their heads turned back to the lone chair he'd sat on and Blair wondered if he had indeed paid attention to them. Then she stopped herself from wondering why she cared.

'Listen, Blair, I ought to leave now but hear this,' Serena snapped her out of strange thoughts, although whatever they were precisely about she couldn't tell.

'There's a third gate to the studios, only a few people know that, there's nearly no crowd. I'll try to sneak you in next Monday for this war picture I'm walking on, I know they're still taking extras for background nurses and you'd be fab!'

Blair blinked, much disbelievingly so, 'How? I mean, what's your reason? You don't even know me.'

'I know enough for now. Meet me at Papa Joe's at noon, the diner on Willoughby by the fountain.'

Serena dared and much felt like giving a gentle stroke to the brunette's arm as she stood up, 'What's that face now, I thought you knew what they say about this town is real! And don't be late Cor, I won't ask you twice!'

They both laughed with gusto, though Blair nearly froze from head to toes.

'I won't.'

Just like that, she was alone again, stunned on her stool with a big opportunity suddenly fallen in her lap.

She didn't take a cab back home when she gathered herself again and walked out of Marquis. She looked back at everything that cascaded on her in those last crazy minutes of her life. Blair didn't realize how quick her step was until the heat and her breath caught up with her as her thoughts whirled and swayed. Like a child with her allowance she'd planned to spend that money at the beauty parlor on Monday before walking through what could possibly be her long awaited first door. A background nurse on a picture, a real movie in a real studio, with a nice girl who might eventually be a real friend.

Breathe in, breathe out, but smiling this time and with her nails back in her palms out of excitement and not at all tension; Melrose shone in brighter colors now that she looked at it with a newborn enthusiasm. She tried to keep herself grounded, rational all while seemingly walking mid air; she couldn't help but sense something coming up in her cards and she felt at last less alone, less angry, and more hopeful.

She was ready for the glitz, she was ready to be dazzled and ready for whatever else her future days would turn out to be; and maybe, just maybe she'd really allow herself to believe what everyone said about this town.

Notes:

Hi everyone, thank you for giving this story a chance. This is challenging and scary for me to say the least, but I truly wanted to write something completely new and foreign: not only angst and possibly a slowburn, but also an alternative universe, and an historical one at that - AU being my one chance at writing angsty, frenemy chair, I just can't otherwise. It's definitely a story that's been whirling in my head for a while now and sometimes a girl needs a good time jump and some old-fashioned sexual tension.

I'm just an illiterate enthusiast, most of my inspiration for this story comes from movies, series (Hollywood by Ryan Murphy especially) and books, among which James Ellroy's work and one of my all time favorites, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid. I'll try to be as accurate and real as I can be all while keeping Chuck and Blair true to their personalities, although I do believe there's room for me to bend them a little seeing as the context I've put them in (status and attitude speaking).

This first chapter was to set the tone and jump right into Blair's reality to give part of her POV. Next one will be of course presenting us Chuck's.

Now, please do let me know what you think of this mad idea I had and if it's something you'd be interested in reading!

PS, The title is a quote from Marilyn, sorry Audrey.