A/N: Moulin Rouge, Cabaret and The Money Song belong to someone besides me. If I owned them, I'd be in my London flat writing a great novel, but I'm just a teenage girl in a basement apartment with a headache and a serious lack of cash.

Chapter 2: Material Girl

As she struggled to open her eyes, Hindi Diamant was aware of only two things. One, the man next to her had better come through on his promise to drop her resume by a Broadway producer-- and two, she felt terrible.

Hindi said softly, rolling over and prying the blanket out of-- what was his name again?-- the guy's hands. With a sigh, she pulled the tattered flannel over her body and stared out at the grimy walls. This was the part she hated the worst, strangely. It wasn't their sloppy kisses and crude attempts at pawing her slender body, or the feel of his hot breath tugging at her, or even the sex. It was waking up and feeling the pig lying against her. Like he was a lover. Like he actually mattered to her.

The guy's voice was slurred, and Hindi rolled her eyes. Producer or no producer, she wasn't staying in this bed a moment longer. Ignoring her throbbing headache and sour taste in her mouth, she swung her long legs over to the side of the bed and reached for her bra.

she whispered, catching sight of the large hole in the black lace. She threw a baleful glance back at last night's partner, who was now snoring contentedly with his arms wrapped around a pillow. You're going to pay for that one, buddy. With another sigh, Hindi found her skimpy black dress and rhinestone choker-- this guy had liked them cheap-- and slid her feet into her shoes.

She almost fell over while balancing the siletto heels, but Hindi threw a determined hand out to catch herself. Obviously more than a slight hangover. She suppressed a groan at the thought of today's rehearsal. Harry was going to kill her. Then Mari probably would as well, if only for the principle of the thing.

Can't show up hung-- oops-- Hindi stumbled her way over to the coffee machine and leaned against the dirty countertop. She glanced down, her lip curling at the stack of unwashed dishes. On second thought, maybe she'd forgo use of the kitchen. Stop by Starbucks before she went by her apartment.

The guy was still asleep when she came back into the bedroom for her coat. Fumbling for her purse, she managed to find a grand total of fifty cents in between her lipstick and condoms. Hindi sat back on her heels and sighed, her breath hissing through her teeth.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! she whispered angrily, pacing the length of the room and glaring at the source of all the trouble. She'd bought drinks for him, dinner, the cab ride back. she snarled, banging her hand against her dresser for good measure. He snorted a little in his sleep, but Hindi's attention was no longer on him. His battered wallet had slipped off the dresser and onto the floor.

Hindi raised a delicate eyebrow and bent down for it. Her nimble fingers quickly went through his driver's license and credit cards to find--

Well, well, well, Hindi said thoughtfully as she pulled out a stack of bills. So much for payday being next Friday-- she scanned the license-- Hindi's mouth curved up in the first genuine smile of the day. Finally. A bit of luck. I'll just borrow this, all right?

Five minutes later, a beautiful red-haired woman slipped down the fire escape of an old apartment complex, her heels tucked under her arm and her pocket full of cash. She'd taken her resume with her. Hindi didn't want anyone that would hire this guy to even audition her. And with the amount of alcohol George Matthews had consumed last night, it was a pretty fair bet that he wouldn't remember her eye color, much less her name.

Whistling cheerfully, Hindi signaled a taxi. God, she loved having money. Unfortunately, now that she'd given up waitressing, she had a lot less of it. But there were consolations, she reminded herself as she slid into the backseat of the car. Some extra cash from nights like these, and, on better nights, expensive dinners and posh rides home.

the driver's voice interrupted her thoughts. Hindi glanced up from her nails to smile into the eyes of Audrey Whetton, the one-time playwright at the Rouge, and the author of the play that had shot Hindi to off-Broadway fame. Well, well, if it isn't Miss Hindi D. Hindi groaned dramatically at the nickname and threw herself back onto the threadbare cushions. How's my favorite material girl?

All right, Hindi replied cheerfully, propping her cheek against her hand. Audrey looked her up and down doubtfully, taking in the rumpled dress and flattened hair.

You look surprisingly cheerful for someone that just walked off a bad fuck, the older woman said lightly. She signaled and pulled out into traffic. Unless your tastes have changed, of course. Hindi snorted at the idea.

Hardly. No, something much better. With a flourish, she pulled out the wad of bills. Audrey sent a quick glance back at her and her mouth dropped open several inches.

Audrey whistled. Honey, what in the name of the sweet Lord have you been doing? Hindi winked at her friend and ran her hands seductively down her bodice, tracing generous curves.

Whaddya think? she drawled, running her tongue seductively over her lips. she admitted at Audrey's openly curious look. Let's just say I-- borrowed some cash from a new friend who let me down.

Audrey said, finally understanding. Her teasing expression softened. That bad, huh? Hindi sank back into her seat and stared out at the streets of New York.

she said softly. Audrey stayed silent for a few minutes after that, while Hindi studied her reflection. It was a far cry from the terrified California waitress looking to make some money on the side. Her sun-kissed blonde tresses had been dyed and permed into a mass of flawless dark red waves, and her pale features and wistful blue eyes had been transformed by her ever-present makeup. She'd even lost her ordinary last name to a whim of her agent after the opening of Material Girl.

Sure, I've done things I'm not crazy about, Hindi said defensively in face of Audrey's silence. But hell, everybody has, right? Audrey nodded slightly, but Hindi noticed with that her friend kept her eyes fixed on the road. Big deal. Regardless of what Audrey-- or anybody else-- thought, it was nothing. Hindi Diamant was not the type to let anything get in the way of being a real actress.

We're here, Audrey's voice broke through her musings, and Hindi shook it off. She glanced up at Starbucks with a wry smile.

You know me too well, you know that? Hindi asked dryly. Here you go, babe. Thanks for the ride. She handed Audrey her fare and a fat tip besides, knowing that hard times had fallen on her friend. Hey, Audrey-- are you coming back to write the next show for the Rouge?

The long-awaited On Spec? Audrey shrugged. Don't know. But, to be honest, it'd be better for all of us if I didn't. Hindi paused in the middle of exiting the cab.

What do you mean? she asked softly. All pretense of irritation or mocking had vanished into her intense concentration. It didn't surprise either herself or Audrey. Whatever was said about Hindi, no one ever said that she didn't take her career seriously. Audrey leaned back to whisper into the younger woman's ear.

Don't quote me on this, but watch yourself. Rumor in the ranks says that somebody's interested in the diamond. Somebody big.

Hindi asked, her voice equally quiet. Audrey shook her head.

Don't know. But with Material Girl having a brief revival, I might keep an eye on any new observers. Hindi wet her lips, trying to will her heart rate back to normalcy. If this was true, her long wait might finally be over. For the first time in four years, Broadway looked within her grasp. Hindi had a sudden vision of herself on those beautiful stages, a rope of diamonds slung around her neck while her fingertips rested on the producer's arm. . . She savoured the idea for a few moments, tasting it like a fine wine.

Thanks, Audrey, she said finally, swinging her purse over her shoulder.
I'll remember that. Audrey glanced down at the bills in her hand and looked cautiously over at Hindi.

she began. The actress spun and glanced at her.

Anything else?

It's not everything, you know. Hindi's face remained blank, and Audrey bit back a sigh. Money, darling. Love makes the world go round, not cash.

Hindi shook her head, her glittering earrings swaying from side to side. She favoured Audrey with a faint smile, and Audrey has astonished at how hard her smile had become. What had become of the pretty girl with stars in her eyes?

No, Audrey. Money does make the world go round. You should know that better than anybody. I am living in a material world-- the her usual flair, Hindi blew a kiss towards Audrey and flounced off to drink away her headache.

And you're a material girl, Audrey finished, a little sadly. Sighing, she put her money away and went to pick up her next customer. It was a shame, really, what Broadway did to kids. Audrey glanced up at her mirror and bit her lip at the reflection. What Broadway had done to her.

An hour later found Hindi to have dismissed Audrey's parting words. Two Advil and a cup of black coffee had relieved her head, and once she'd flossed and brushed her teeth, there was nothing to stop her from humming a tune from Cabaret as she made her way to the closet. Love? Please.

Money makes the world go round, the world go round, Hindi sang softly as she rummaged through her clothes. Money makes the world go round, it makes the world go-- She paused to examine a peasant blouse. She pulled off her dress and stared grimly at the outfits before her. she finished, wrinkling her nose at a tank top.

Need something high class, she said thoughtfully. But not prim. She threw a satin Chinese jacket on the floor. Exotic like that, she said to herself, pacing the length of her closet like a cat. But not cheap.

A whistle interrupted her thoughts, and Hindi turned to see Chas, her dance partner (and best friend, although neither would admit it) leering at her from his balcony. Stalking over to the window, she threw it open and glared at him.

she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth so he could hear her.

Put some clothes on! Chas shouted back. Hindi glanced down at her bra and panties and playfully flipped him off.

Put your eyes back in first! she snapped, grinning at him to let him know she wasn't offended. Chas threw his hands into the air and turned to go back in. Chuckling, Hindi drew the blinds down and sank onto a futon. If she'd read in between the lines right, somebody was interested. And, if she knew anything about men, the guy wasn't going off of how well she could read Shakespeare.

Which meant she needed some great outfits to wear after the show. Her mouth tightened at the thought of reaching into her rapidly dwindling supply of cash for something like new clothes. But then, if, by some miracle, this did work out, money would be the least of her problems.

Hindi said softly, shaking her hair free of a loose ponytail. With feline grace, she stood and stretched. Better take a shower before she hit the shops. Rid her of the last remnants of headache and the greasy feel of makeup. She frowned and fingered the cash she'd gotten from last night's otherwise disappointing endeavour. She'd have to pull something out of the bank. Maybe Harry would let her bum some cash off of him. He owed her something for not telling her about the producer before. Hindi grumbled as she reached for a fluffy towel. Not love, but money, she said grimly after reaching for the nail polish. Makes the world go round.