A/N: Well, we'll see how quickly plot comes now, until I get stuck again. LOL As my next show approaches, I'll have more time at my own theater and less at the computer. But any comments, reviews, or PMs you can send help immensely to keep me going. It's good motivation! Happy reading, all!

Chapter 21

"Oh God," Ang breathed as she pushed herself up and off the ruined garment.

Hearing the echoing thud on the stage floor, Blanche rounded the corner and pulled up short at the sight of the woman on the ground, her hands cradling the silk chemise, displaying the gaping tear down the center. With horror on her face and fire in her eyes, Blanche bore down on Ang and, with blinding speed and painful accuracy, slapped the girl solidly across her face.

"You worthless cripple! Look what you've done to Madame Carlotta's costume! You are finished! I will see to it that you never work here again! Take yourself away!" Spinning on her heel with a flourish, Blanche disappeared back into the costume shop, screaming of Ang's shame to the remaining girls.

Ang sat numbly on the ground, her hand cupping her still-burning face. There would be a hand-print there for days to come, she was sure of it. And she deserved it. Granted, it was an undergarment for all intents and purposes, and not the brocaded outer dress, but that didn't excuse the misstep that caused such a disaster. And now what was she supposed to do? Anyone else would take themselves home, acting on the assumption of their firing. But this was home, the closest she had, at any rate. She couldn't disappear into her closet with so many people around lest she be discovered and then she would really be in trouble, thrown onto the unforgiving streets again. A hard shudder racked her body at the prospect of facing another harrowing assault. No! It was unthinkable. She would figure out what to do. She would make it right! Maybe she could find some extra fabric and make a new one... fabric that no one would miss... that was exactly like the other...

Of course that wouldn't work! But there had to be a way out of this mess!

"La Petit! What happened?"

Gus's voice rang out as Ang hauled herself to her feet, and she felt hands assist in setting her upright and sliding the crutch beneath her arm. She lifted her gaze, shamefaced, and met his eyes, expecting the same reproach she felt for herself. Instead, compassionate eyes roamed over her features while his hand tenderly turned her face this way and that, examining the bruise already beginning to form across her cheek and jaw.

"Hateful viper," he muttered, leading her away from other prying eyes. "Did she hurt you anywhere else?"

Ang shook her head lightly, eyes dropping to fix blankly at his vest buttons. "No. I'm fine. I deserved it."

"Regardless, she should have had more self control."

"It's my fault. My crutch slipped and I fell on the costume and it tore. She fired me, Gus. I don't have anywhere to go. I'll have to figure out a way to sneak out tonight after everyone leaves. I don't think I can get my things with everyone still here."

"Can't you fix it?"

"Probably. Maybe. But she's hated me from day one. This was just the event she needed to get rid of me."

"She's jealous."

Ang blinked hard and stared up at him as they exited the theater through a back door. "What are you talking about? Jealous about what?"

"She hated you to start because you're beautiful and kind and the crew liked you. She hates you now because you're talented. You learned quicker than any other girl back there. You're efficient and work fast, faster than she does. Even Madame Dubois noticed. I heard her talking to Blanche, telling her that if she wanted to keep her current position that she should be doing better work than the new girl."

"I'm not that good."

"You're better than you think," Gus argued. "Don't give up yet. Let me talk to Dubois before Blanche goes on a rampage, and you try to think of ways to fix the costume." He bussed her quickly on her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." And with that, he disappeared back inside.

Ang slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes. What a mess! None of this would have happened if... If...

She sighed. There was no point in borrowing more trouble than she already had. Pushing off the wall, she straightened and hobbled along the alley to the front of the theater's outer facade. It was the end of the day; her shift would have been over in half an hour, anyway. She should get something to eat, although nerves and anxiety had killed any appetite she'd previously had.

She'd spared a few francs to buy herself a palm sized meat pie, and, though she only took a few bites, figured it would be good to save for later since she didn't have food readily available in the theater after hours. How she missed the days of personal refrigeration and food-laden shelves at home. Sure, she'd lived paycheck to paycheck at the beginning and times were lean, but once she began her own life in the city, she never worried about her next meal, even if it was just a banana and a cup of noodle soup. But the days of fresh produce at her fingertips was long behind her, and she missed it. Everything had to be perfectly planned and executed.

"Maybe taking a bed at a boarding house would be simpler, after all," she murmured to herself as she headed back to the costume shop. She felt a chill race down her spine and could almost audibly hear a whispered 'No' to her comment.

She entered the shop with the intention of doing anything she could to mend the rip in the chemise from earlier, but across her small sewing table she found several yards of identical silk fabric, along with the offending costume piece draped over the back of her chair. Her hand slid over the folds, taking a moment to rub the material between her fingertips. Gus must have worked his magic, after all, though she didn't know how! Sitting down with renewed hope, she went to work measuring fabric and cutting out pieces for a new chemise. It would be a long night, but if it meant saving her job, so be it!

"Angelique!"

Hours later, Blanche's nails-on-chalkboard voice roused Ang abruptly and her head shot up from the desk where she'd fallen asleep.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Swiveling round, she caught sight of a furious Blanche, one hand and wrist wrapped in a bandage which she held protectively against her belly, and a stoic Madame Dubois. "I arrived early to fix my error," Ang explained quietly. "Madame, what happened to your-"

Storming to her side and ignoring her words, Blanche snapped up the ruined garment to examine it with hard, assessing eyes. "I don't see any difference."

"Not that one." Ang lifted the newly completed replica. "This one. I didn't think La Senora would appreciate a long stitch down the front, so I made another."

Blanche's eyes narrowed hatefully on her face, one fist propped on her hip with the injured hand and arm cradled across her body protectively. "Using what material? That was the last of the cream silk. I checked last night myself."

"It was–" She turned her attention to the long work table where she'd left the bolt of remaining gossamer, but it was gone. Even the scrap pieces were missing, the work table and floor beneath perfectly clean. "I found it... amongst the wool. It must have been put away incorrectly."

Madame Dubois approached and took the new chemise from Ang's uplifted hands, held it in front of her by the shoulders to appraise it with an all-seeing eye. "The seams are small and strong. The length and proportions are correct." She leaned closer. "You even added gold embroidery along the collar. Why?"

Ang flushed. "I know our soloist pays attention to every detail. I thought she might like the added bit of finery."

Satisfied, Madame Dubois handed the chemise to Blanche. "I see no problem. In fact, Mademoiselle Angelique has risen above and beyond what was expected. You needn't act as if every small set back is the end of the world." Her attention returned to the quiet seamstress. "Monsieur Legrand will be well pleased with your work. I will inform him of your initiative and dedication."

With a dismissive nod to them both, the costumer swept from the costume shop, leaving behind a livid Blanche.

"Madame, what happened to your hand?" Ang asked quietly, concern lacing her words.

"As if you do not know," Blanche shot, her tone dripping with accusation. "It was slammed in the back door after I made sure to secure it open. I do not know how you managed it, but I will repay you." Spitting at the hem of Ang's skirts, Blanche whirled around and stalked out of the room.

Ang's entire body went cold. While she had saved her own job, working under her superior was going to be unbearable for the foreseeable future.

When she saw Gus at the end of the day – Blanche had made her work through the midday break – Ang hurried to him and threw an arm around his neck in a hug. "Thank you so much! You saved me!"

Gus chuckled as he returned the hug. "I didn't think talking to Madame Dubois would help; she didn't seem impressed with my testament to your hard work."

"Not that," she countered, leaning back. "You found the exact material I needed, and plenty enough to make a whole new piece. There was no way to mend the other one, even if I tried to patch it with new silk." Leaning up, she kissed his cheek.

"As much as I appreciate your thankfulness, it's misplaced. I didn't leave you any fabric. I wouldn't even know where to begin to look for something like that. I work in wood, not cloth."

Ang froze and backed away. All color bled from her face. Her heart raced faster and faster; everything in her longed to take flight and hide. Before she could move, Gus slid a large, warm hand around the back of her neck, anchoring her in place as he brought his forehead close to hers.

"What's wrong? Please, talk to me."

Words dried like desert sand in her mouth as she panted for breath.

"What are you afraid of?" he whispered.

Swallowing hard, she tried to disengage from his touch, feeling cornered, trapped. "Wha- What makes you think I'm afraid of something."

He sighed and used both hands to gently frame her face, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Ang, you are my friend, and I know you, even if you do everything you can to keep me at a distance."

She shook her head lightly. "You know me," she parroted, doubtful.

"Yes. I know you don't have any family in the city," he began matter-of-factly, "and likely don't belong to anyone at all. You rarely talk about yourself and always deflect by asking questions about other people when they start to pry. You've suffered great hurt, although whether physical or emotional I'm not entirely sure – likely both. You feel things deeply but you try to act as though nothing bothers you. Sometimes you are so cheerful, I think you've even convinced yourself that you're happy."

Tears shimmered in stormy depths as she fought to keep the dam from breaking.

"You can trust me. I won't hurt you." Gus's tender smile stayed in place while his thumb caressed her uninjured cheek, despite how she quailed. "I care deeply for you. I hate to see you frightened, and something has you terrified. Let me help you."

The world continued to spin around them while Ang sat frozen, staring into her friend's face, a battle roaring within her. To his credit, Gus didn't pressure her further, didn't urge her to speak, didn't fill the silence with needless chatter. He simply looked back into her eyes, waiting, hoping.

Finally, her voice returned, albeit as a whisper. "There is so much. I'm not sure I can."

With understanding in his eyes, Gus slowly slid his hand around her back to draw her to him. "Then let me hold you and melt away some of the fear, La Petit. No woman should jump at every shadow like you do."

Everything in her wanted to borrow the strength that he offered, to remain in the safety of his arms. But she pulled away again and dropped her voice to barely a whisper. "Not here. It isn't safe."

Gus hesitated only a fraction of a second before straightening and announcing in a normal voice, "You haven't eaten all day, have you? That tyrant worked you straight through dinner. Come. Off to supper we go." He draped a friendly arm across the back of her shoulders and steered her toward the door. With his lips near her ear, he whispered, "We'll go to the river. No one will eavesdrop on us there."