AN: Ah, NYE approaches…and though I know that there is no way I will be able to top Times Square, I'm certain that I'll be able to cause some kind of trouble on the streets of San Francisco…hee.  Happy New Year everyone!

The Nightclub of Your Dreams

Chapter Three: Your Song

"Erm, I uh, I'm not much of a dancer," Chandler stuttered, as Monica pulled him out onto the dance floor.

"Don't be ridiculous," Monica said coyly, "Just move your body to the music!"

Chandler looked around nervously, and smiled uncomfortably when he noticed that several jealous eyes were focused on him.  He couldn't blame them, really; Monica was breathtaking.

"I—uh, I was thinking," Chandler yelled, as he twirled Monica around into his arms, surprising even himself with his natural grace, "That we should discuss this in…private?"

Monica giggled seductively, and pulled Chandler toward her, rubbing her body against his.

"Why of course…I wouldn't have it any other way," she whispered.

Chandler's spine tingled, and he turned Monica again.

"Um, I mean…where…"

Monica smiled, and slid a card-key into Chandler's hand.

"Room 1899," she purred, "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

~*~

Monica stared at her reflection in her dressing room mirror.  This was it; one more trick, and she would be finished with this…horrible life.  No more selling herself, no more pretending to be someone she wasn't.

And perhaps it wouldn't be so bad; this Richard Burke didn't seem quite as vile as she'd imagined him to be.  Using him to get out of this life looked to be a bit easier…he seemed truly enamored by her.  Smiling wryly, she popped a pill into her mouth, and downed it with a gulp of water.

"My darling, how is everything going with Mr. Burke?" Jack asked as he walked into Monica's dressing room.

Monica twirled around, showing off a magnificent blue gown as she turned.  She grinned when Jack gasped proudly.

"He's meeting me in my suite," Monica said excitedly.

"Perfect!  Just get him to buy into the new show, and we'll all get what we want!"

~*~

Chandler paced nervously in front of the hotel room door.  He wasn't sure this was a good idea, him trying to pitch the show alone.  But what could he do?  He'd asked the others to tell him what kind of show Jack was looking for, but they were of no help at all.

"I still think we should set it in India," Phoebe argued.

"I don't know, I mean, do you know anything about India?" Ross asked.

"Okay, guys, this is getting us nowhere!" Chandler yelled.  "Look, I've got…ten minutes before I have to pitch an idea to Monica, and I've got nothing!"

"Well, can't you just read something you've already wrote?" Joey asked.

"I—I don't really have much…" Chandler said, as his cheeks flushed.

"Ha!  Yes you do!  What did you write?" Phoebe asked excitedly.

"Just…you know…some poems…" Chandler shrugged, "She'll hate them."

Shaking his head, Chandler looked at his watch, and started, when he realized he was five minutes late for his meeting.  He took a deep breath, and slid the card-key into the door.

Monica was standing in the center of the dimly lit room, wearing nothing but a deep red corset, and a long, red silk robe.

"You're late," she purred, and moved toward the wet bar.

"I, uh, I'm sorry.  I was, uh…"

"I know.  Come on in, make yourself at home.  Champagne?" Monica asked.

"Uh…uh no," Chandler shook his head, memories of the tequila and it's effects still resonating in his head.

"Okay…mind if I have some?" Monica smiled.

"Not at all, Miss…?" Chandler started.

"Monica.  It's just Monica," she said. A slight, almost unnoticeable defensiveness lined her voice.

"Okay…Monica."

Monica sauntered toward the bed, and sprawled herself across it slowly.

"Join me?" Monica smiled.

"Um, I think…It's better if I stand," Chandler stuttered nervously, and moved toward the large picture window that overlooked Las Vegas Boulevard.

"Okay," Monica shrugged, and pulled herself off of the bed.

"Um, you can sit, if—if you want.  It's usually pretty long, and I think it might be easier for me if I'm not looking right at you," Chandler smiled uncomfortably, and turned back toward the window.

"Ooookay," Monica backed onto the bed, and furrowed her brow.  Did he just insult her?

"Um…I'm not sure what you're looking for…but I was thinking about just winging it…you are…very inspiring," Chandler smiled.

Monica watched his expression through his reflection in the glass.  Her guard lowered slightly, and she allowed herself to smile a genuine smile…for a moment.  A split second later, she came to her senses, and replaced the real smile with the seductive grin that she used with all of her 'clients'.

"Should I…um, should I just start?  I've…um…I've never done this before."

"Really?" Monica smiled incredulously, "That's not what I heard."

"What?" Chandler turned to look at Monica.

"N-nothing," Monica backtracked, biting her lip.  She could not ruin this—Richard was her ticket out of her…she had to make him fall for her.  "Please…begin," Monica whispered, and slipped out of her robe.

Chandler turned back toward the window quickly, his face reddening.  He struggled for a coherent thought, much less some kind of poetry…suddenly, he felt Monica run her hand up his back.  Panicking, he stumbled away, falling hard onto the carpeted floor.

"Oh!  Now look who's on his back," Monica giggled, and moved toward Chandler.

Wide-eyed, Chandler rolled away, and pushed himself off of the floor.

"Uh…It… It's a little bit funny…this—this feeling inside."

"What?" Monica cocked her head to the side.

"I'm not one of those who can easily hide," Chandler stammered.

"Well, there's nowhere to really hide in here anyway," Monica purred.

"I don't have much money but boy if I did, I'd buy a big house where we both could live."

"Very funny," Monica smiled at the apparent irony of that statement.  She knew Richard was loaded.

"If I were a sculptor, but then again, no…or a man who makes potions in a traveling show," Chandler smiled slightly at his last statement.  Hey, not bad Bing, he thought.  His smile faltered, when he saw that Monica seemed to be losing interest.

"I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do!"

Monica laughed, and shook her head.  She moved to sit down on the bed, but stopped cold when she heard the poem melt into a song.

My gift is my song and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you're in the world

Monica sat down, stunned.  It was…beautiful.  Beyond beautiful, it was…captivating.  Chandler turned toward her, his sapphire eyes sparkling. 

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss

Well a few of these verses well they've got me quite cross

But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song

It's for people like you that keep it turned on

Chandler walked toward Monica slowly, and knelt in front of her.  She found herself lost in the sea of blue, her mind transported to a different plane…a different—world.  She was lost in him, and for the first time in years…or perhaps for the first time ever, she felt…exhilarated…alive…swept away.

In love.

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do

You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Chandler smiled and took her hand, pulling her to her feet, and spinning her toward the window, toward the sparkling lights of the city below.  Sin City never looked so lovely as it did tonight.

And you can tell everybody, that this is your song

It may be quite simple but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind

That I put down in words

How wonderful life is, now you're in the world…

"Richard…that's…that's the most beautiful thing I've ever…ever heard," Monica whispered, her face only inches from his.

"Richard?  Who's Richard?"

("Your Song," Music by Elton John / Lyrics by Bernie Taupin)