Chicago Reverse

Disclaimer: Guess what? I didn't create Chicago ... but I think you know that already ... I used a lot of dialogue from the film in the last Roxie section of the chapter ... all other dialogue belongs to me, though.

Fits of Passion

A few weeks after seeing Roxie Hart's act and making herself gloriously miserable by envisioning herself on stage, Velma decided to get off her butt and do something about it. Not telling Charlie or Veronica, Velma would slip out and fix herself auditions at every, and any, club she could find. But no matter where she went, Velma got the same response every time: no. But it would take nothing short of death to stop her from finding a club that would take her.

One night, Velma was pulling on a coat getting ready to go to another audition. She was nearly out the door when Charlie appeared.

"Hey, Vel! Where are ya goin'?" Charlie asked.

"Out," Velma replied.

"Out where?" Charlie probed.

"I'll be back in an hour," Velma said, before making a hurried exit, leaving Charlie to stare after her as she hastened towards the stairs.

Once she was outside, Velma hailed a taxi. She told the driver the name of the club, and began staring out the window as the taxi began to move. She absently adjusted her short black skirt and lit a cigarette, waiting to arrive at the club. She didn't have to wait long; hardly fifteen minutes had passed before the taxi was pulling up outside the club. Velma looked at it and groaned inwardly. The club looked even seedier than the restaurant she had been fired from recently. Nevertheless, she pasted on a smile and paid the driver.

"Keep the change," Velma said distractedly as she steeled herself for the audition, running over her act in her head.

The taxi drove away, and Velma stepped into the club.

Roxie waited outside the Onyx, waiting for Fred to pick her up. This had become routine now; Roxie would finish her act, Fred would pick her up and take her to dinner, and more often than not, they ended up back at Roxie's apartment in bed. Tonight, Fred was late. Roxie pulled her coat around her petite figure more tightly, reassuring herself that Fred was probably just fixing up some audition details with 'that guy', whom Roxie still hadn't met. Night after night, Fred had assured her that she would be meeting him 'shortly', but nearly a month later, there was no sign of any audition. Roxie had tried to dismiss this thought, but more recently, it had been nagging her whenever the subject of Fred came to mind.

"Hey, sugar, sorry I'm late," said Fred, as he finally appeared.

"It's okay," Roxie said, forcing a smile. She decided to ask about 'the guy' later that night.

"Goddammit!" Velma swore loudly, stomping up the four flights of stairs. The audition had not gone well. The people at the club had cut her off early, and in true Velma style, she thought grimly, she had given them more than a piece of her mind before storming out and cursing loudly. Now she was home early. She huffily unlocked the door, hung her coat up, and, trying to regain her composure, walked more sedately into the bedroom. Little did she know what she would find there ...

Velma's anger fired up again at the sight that met her eyes as she entered the room. How could they? she thought, angrily. HOW COULD THEY?! Charlie and Veronica were both lying naked on the bed, neither noticing Velma seething at the other end of the room.

When she looked back on it, Velma could barely remember anything, she had been so enraged. Without thinking, she grabbed Charlie's pistol from the underwear drawer, tore the sheets off the bed and began yelling furiously at her petrified husband and sister.

"HOW COULD YOU?!" she screamed. "YOU THINK YOU CAN MESS AROUND BEHIND MY BACK?! WELL YOU THOUGHT WRONG!"

In a fit of rage, she pulled the trigger, shooting Charlie in the head. Again, she pulled the trigger, causing more blood to gush from her husband's fatal wounds. She turned to her terrified sister, her hand shaking in fury.

"No, Vel," whimpered Veronica. "No! I'm your sister! You wouldn't ..."

"You know perfectly well I would, you whore!" Velma whispered dangerously.

Velma closed her eyes, and shot twice. When she opened them, she saw Veronica's bloody body lying back across the pillow – she was dead. It was then that conscious thought entered Velma's head, and she saw, as if for the first time, the corpses of her murdered victims.

"Oh, holy shit," Velma murmured as the full implication of what she had done hit her. "Shit!"

She dropped the pistol and ran out the door, hoping she would be fast enough to give herself an alibi. As she stumbled into a classy restaurant, she waited for guilt to set in, but, to her surprise, none came. They had it coming, Velma thought, smugly.

Roxie and Fred were just about to leave the restaurant when the harried young woman rushed in. Roxie glanced at her, clutching her side and gasping as if she had come in a hurry, before shrugging it off and following Fred outside.

Later, at her apartment, as Fred dressed himself, Roxie brought up the topic that had been on her mind for most of the evening.

"Hey, Fred, I don't want you to feel like I'm nagging you or anything, but don't you think it's about time I met that guy down at the club? I mean, it's been a month since you told him about me."

Fred looked at Roxie with a strange expression on his face, almost like exasperation, before looking at her and saying, "It's getting late."

Determined to keep him on the subject, Roxie went on.

"Once I get a name for myself around town, you know, not just at the Onyx, but around Illinois, maybe we could open up a club of our own. You could run it," she said, playfully following Fred around, as he looked for his tie.

"Get off," Fred muttered, shoving Roxie aside.

"Hey, what's the idea?" Roxie asked, put out.

"Wise up, kiddo, you ain't never gonna have an act anywhere but the Onyx," said Fred irritably.

"Says who?" Roxie retorted.

"Face it Roxie," Fred said, doing his tie. "You're a two-bit talent with skinny legs. And I'm just a furniture salesman."

Roxie had never heard Fred talk like this before, and found herself dreading what he would say next.

"Yeah, but you got connections!" she pressed him. "You know, that guy–"

"There is no guy," Fred cut in. "You were hot stuff! I would have said anything to get a piece of that!" he continued, grabbing Roxie's arse. "We've had some laughs, let's leave it at that."

"And ... now?" Roxie, stuttered, shocked. She wandered over to Fred, smiled and said seductively, "Freddie, you can't do this to me!"

For Fred, that was the final straw. He pushed Roxie roughly against the wall and she collapsed, too shaken for words. She didn't really hear what he was saying. All she could think about was how he used her. That bastard! Roxie thought bitterly. All he wanted ... Roxie had heard about other famous people being used and dumped by people who only wanted one thing, but she couldn't believe it was happening to her. The bitterness inside her swelled into uncontrollable anger, as she watched Fred calmly grab his hat and begin to leave.

"You're a liar, Fred!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes. "You lied to me!"

"That's life, sweetheart, that's life," Fred said casually.

Roxie cracked. She grabbed her husband's pistol and turned to Fred.

"You son of a bitch!" she cried, and, almost without knowing what she was doing, pulled the trigger three times and watched as Fred's lifeless body fell to the floor.

"You're a son of a bitch!"