Same disclaimer as last chapter!
A/N: Thankyou soooo much for your reviews, two in one day! Wow, I'm getting good... Your lovely comments have inspired me to write this next chapter so soon; don't get used to it, though, I'm hopeless about updating!
My notes throughout the fic are in bold...
Roxie may meet Billy and Velma, but, at present, I'm not at liberty to say...
Oh, by the way, I love putting... at the end of sentences...
Roxie had been walking for about fifteen minutes when she saw the hotel she was looking for. Seedy, run-down, but most importantly, cheap.
"Thank God!" she exclaimed. Her pointy stilettos were starting to pinch, and she feared that she might have broken a nail. Shock Horror! (Seriously, broken nails are no joke....)
Roxie pushed the door open- it spoke volumes about the hotel that its front door was left unlocked until after midnight- and stumbled inside the hotel. Its broken sign proclaimed it to be ' he Hote R plende t' (The Hotel Resplendent, for anyone who doesn't realise), and of the few remaining letters, half of them looked ready to fall off as well.
There was no clerk at the front desk, as she half expected, so Roxie rang the bell a couple of times, then, fed up stormed down the passage way into the staff quarters.
"Excuse me," she said, shaking the snoring clerk. There was no response, so she tried again, shaking him more roughly, and shouting louder.
"Whasamatter?" he said, grumpily rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"I want a room, and I want it now," Roxie replied smartly. Never one to say please, her technique made the man move, at least. He walked slowly to the desk, and, equally slowly, took down a key.
"Number 4, first floor," he said in his slightly nasal voice, "Name and address, please."
Roxie began to tell him, then hesitated. Her cunning mind was at work, and she was beginning to figure out a plan.
"Roxie Bell, Apartment 15, Fifth Avenue," she said. (By the way, I'm English and I live in a house, so I don't really know how addresses work for American apartments...the point is that this is not Roxie's real address)
The clerk, who Roxie noticed had greasy hair and dirty fingernails, filled in a small book with her false name and address, and nodded.
"That's all. Pay when you leave according to how many nights you've stayed, we don't do meals. I'll carry your case for a dollar," he added, hopefully eyeing up the small suitcase.
"No chance," said Roxie in disgust, and started up the stairs. The man shrugged and went back to his office to sleep.
One of Roxie's heels got caught in a tear in the heavily frayed carpet runner.
"Shit!" she cried, and waggled her foot to get it loose. It came-but without the shoe. What the hell am I doing here, thought Roxie to herself. If I'd just kept my stupid mouth shut!
She went to fetch the wayward shoe, then carried on up the stairs with her case.
She reached the door of number four, and realised that she didn't need her key. It swung open when she pressed it lightly with her perfectly manicured, blood red fingernail (not the one she'd broken).
"Okay," Roxie said, and walked in. She had been faintly surprised when she was given room number four- she hadn't thought there were that many.
Concealing her disgust at her surroundings, Roxie put her case down just inside the entrance, and shut the door. Roxie was a perfectionist. She loved order, cleanliness and tidiness, and she hated living in squalor. She couldn't stand dirt, dust, blood, spiders (or any other kind of creepy-crawlies, especially cockroaches), mice, rats, or vomit. (Question: is this in keeping with Roxie's character? Please say if it isn't!)
Gingerly, she picked her way over the debris and forced the window shut. The ragged curtains stopped blowing frenziedly, and the room took on a slightly more ordered appearance.
"Jesus!" Roxie exclaimed, upon poking her head into the painfully tiny bathroom. Alright, she thought, her bathroom at home- no, Amos' bathroom- wasn't the largest ever, but this was pushing it. Roxie stopped herself from thinking this. She had to make do with what she could afford; beggars can't be choosers, as her mother would say. She smiled.
"What would Mom say if she was here now?" she wondered aloud, "Something like: "Well, Roxie, you know I didn't approve of your marriage to Amos in the first place, but you should have stuck with him, not gone off with all these 'fancy men'. But, as you can't undo what you've done, my advice would be to follow your dream." Suppose you're right, Mom. Gee, thanks!"
Roxie did a very good impression of her mother's voice, when she felt like it. Suddenly, she was aware of how silly she would sound if anyone walked in now, and collapsed, red-faced, onto the bed. It was one of the few pieces of furniture in the poky suite, along with a small desk, a stained rug and an ancient wooden wardrobe.
Roxie slept well that night, in spite of the lumpy bed. That morning, she felt revitalised, and set off to find breakfast. A cup of coffee and slice of toast in a small breakfast bar sufficed, and soon she was ready to set off on her new life...
Details of this new life will be revealed...soon. But only if you review!
Actually, I probably will carry on writing, even if nobody reviews me...cos I luv this story!