Let's Go On With The Show, chapter 3
A/N: Man, sorry guys! I've been so freaking busy, and thoroughly tired, I've not had the time to update anything! Lots of love to my reviewers for giving me your feedback, Randomcat1832; BowtiesSouffles and izzyclaire. I hope you enjoy this next installment of Let's Go On With The Show!
Rory's head hurt.
It pounded. It shook his entire body as he slowly began to wake up. He hasn't had such a hangover since that last drink with his best friend, Danny. Closing his eyes, he saw stars. Sitting up quickly, he regrets it when a sharp pain thrums through his skull. Bringing tears to his eyes, he blinks them away, taking a careful look around the apartment.
The mantle above the fireplace is cracked, the fire long gone since the hours of night. Bright light shined through the curtains of the window, nearly blinding him at first. White soft curtains dance lightly, as the apartment's small rinky dink fan keeps it cool in the July weather. It's already over 20 degrees, even though it's not even noon. Rory knew it would be scorching in his uniform, thank goodness he didn't have to go to training today-
"Morning."
Rory turns his head to see his best friend, Clara Oswald, standing in the doorframe of his bedroom. She holds in her hands a glass of water, a few pills and a blanket. Rory didn't realize until now, he was shivering. Clara comes over to his cot and wraps the knit blanket around his bare shoulders, handing him the glass of water with a disapproving look. He gives her a questioning look, swallowing the pills dry, and it's not for a good five minutes does he understand why she's staring at him like that. He must have done it again.
"Look, Clara, it was only a few drinks-"
"A few drinks?" She interrupts sharply, "You were gone for two hours! And for what, just for a few drinks? You KNOW the law! If you were to get caught, you'd be bumped off the streets with a gun!"
"Clara, c'mon, don't be such a bluenose," Rory says, rolling his eyes, "It was only a few drinks-"
"A few? A FEW?"
"Well, maybe a little more then a few..."
Clara gives him a good smack to the back of his head, and he cries out. Rubbing his head reproachfully, he glares at her as she hops off his bed and sits in the rocking chair by the window. Her expression shifts from anger, to something he didn't quite recognize. Something sad, something strange he didn't understand. What was the word? There's a word for it, he couldn't quite figure it out. Sitting there, he pulls the blanket closer around him, trying to ignore the pain in his head that was beginning to leave.
"What do you remember from last night?"
What did happen last night? Rory tries to remember. He remembers telling Clara he'd be going out for a drink or so, ignoring the scowl on her face as she finished the dishes they had used for dinner. Walking along the street, avoiding the gaze of flappers who hovered outside the Cotton Club. Rubbing his hands together, to find the illegal bar he favored because it was close to the apartment. Telling Gus to hand him a drink, and after that, having a conversation with a man with an unusually large chin. And then...
Something about Amelia Pond. The beautiful singer in Ziegfeld Follies he's found himself fancying. But then that was it.
Rory told Clara all he knew, and when he was done, she sighs. Brushing a large lock of brown hair behind her ear, her big round eyes eyeing him carefully. Possibly debating whether to tell him the truth. But when she finally did speak, it was with carefully chosen words and a sense of wanting to forget.
"This man...John Smith...I walked in just as he was trying to help you up...I suppose you passed out again...and I helped you out of the bar. Ignoring him."
"Clara...he said something about that Ziegfeld girl, you remember? From last night? Ziegfeld Follies?"
"Rory, I don't think so. He seemed to be an ordinary man, nothing more then a drifter with funny clothes. You were well out of your mind last night, it's best to forget that ever happened."
"But-"
A sharp knocking came from their door, and both of them stop and give each a other a look, as though questioning whether to answer it. They didn't expect any visitor, especially before noon. Clara, straightening her skirt, goes to answer it, and Rory follows, pulling on a wrinkled dress shirt and a simple pair of trousers, just for the sake of being covered. The two make their way through the living room with kitchen and Clara opens the door.
John Smith.
"Ah! Hello, Rory! I see you're up and about!" He takes Rory's hand and shakes it without a warning or care, and Rory finds himself being shaken greatly, even though John Smith is considerably shorter then him. "And the lovely Miss Oswald! Great to see you two up to face the day!"
"Oi!" Clara prods John sharply on the chest with her index finger, and Rory stifles a laugh as John rubs the area where she prodded him. "What're you doing here? I have half a mind to call the police-"
"Woah! No need for that!" John holds his hands up in surrender, "I just wanted to talk after last night!"
"How did you even find out where we lived?" Rory comments from behind Clara, and Clara nods in agreement. "I mean, this is the tenth floor."
"I may or may not have gotten up later, and asked that bartender where you usually head off." John replies, "Got a lot of good looks from the men in the bar, and basically spent all night looking through all the near apartment buildings. Got myself nearly arrested, but it was important."
"Important you stalk us?" Clara seemed about ready to punch him in the face.
"No, important I talk to Rory! Though, it is lovely seeing your face, Miss Oswald, I must talk to Rory. About Amelia."
"Wait...Amelia?" Rory stutters just a bit,"T-The Amelia Pond? Lead Ziegfeld girl?"
"Of course! She told me she would like to meet with you!" Lies through John's teeth, but he had to do what he had to do for his friend, "And maybe meet for lunch today? Maybe in two hours or so? Bills on us. And of course," John waves towards Clara, "Clara, you're welcome to join us."
"Rory, you can't be sure about this..." Clara immediately interrupts, turning away from John and looking into her best friend's eyes, "He could be a liar, a grifter-"
"Oi! Right here!"
"Oh, go chase yourself!" Clara pushes Rory into the apartment, and shut the front door with her foot, slamming the door in John's face. "My point is, you can't be sure! What if he's lying? What if...what if he's just wanting you to join some gang so you can be a lowlife and a dangerous outlaw! Rory, please."
Rory looks at her expression, the clear concern shown on her face. She was right. Indefinitely, Clara was always impossibly right. But he couldn't take that risk of not meeting her. He's developed a crush on Amelia Pond, and if there was the slightest chance John Smith could lead him to her, he would take it. He would always take it. He shakes his head, much to Clara's chagrin.
"I-I'm sorry, Clara...but I can't take the risk of not meeting her. I have to."
Ignoring Clara's protests, he pushes past her and opens the door, to find John twiddling his thumbs, looking a bit like a lost puppy. Jumping to attention, Rory tells him agrees. John, being extremely excited, dances in place for a moment, before regaining composure and nodding in approval. Telling Rory the name of the restaurant and when to meet, he bids them adieu with a good natured bow. Smiling to himself, Rory closes the door, and merely smiles at Clara who scowls at him once again.
"Idiot."
"Me or him?"
"Both of you."
"Five, six...five, six, seven, eight!"
Amelia counted down for the orchestra, and when they began their overture, she began to dance. A flip, a turn, the head, a bend, every move she performed was all part of a singular dance, that move to the beat of the music. Her hips turned, and her long skirt flew up, purposefully showing her long, smooth leg. She knew every other girl behind her were doing similar movements, but she did what she did that made her Amelia Pond. Taking risks. Being a star. She has taken what the music gave her and doubled it, tripled it, bringing the beats down and smashing them apart, moving and hitting each note perfectly. Her voice emerged from her throat, a rough sound at first, but slowly warms to something loud, beautiful and proud. Amelia Pond is a talented woman, and she always will be.
Once the number ended, she let the orchestra set up again, watching as the maestro instructed his orchestra to switch pieces. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she walks over to Rose, one of the other Ziegfeld girls.
"Hello, Rose! How goes the day?"
"Well enough for myself," Rose replies, braiding her long blonde hair absent-mindedly, "But not so well for Donna, if you've seen her."
"Why's that?"
"Well, didn't you hear? Mr. Ziegfeld had her fired this morning. He said it was for lack of skill, but I wouldn't believe that bushwa even if it was coming from the President. Donna's older then nearly all of us, about in her 30's. I feel bad for the poor girl, but what can you do?"
"That's horrible!" Amelia exclaims, her voice louder and a bit more pronounced then Rose's, causing a few more Ziegfeld girls to scurry over to their conversation, "Donna is one of the hardest working girls we've got, and Mr. Ziegfeld decides she's too old? Bushwa!"
"Indeed, but we can't do much. Mr. Ziegfeld does what he wants. He could fire each and every one of us if he decides we're too old, or too fat or generally not pretty enough. At least you won't have that problem, Amelia." There was a hint of reproach in Rose's voice, that made Amelia raise her eyebrows in a silent question.
"Well, I mean..." Rose begins hesitantly, "You're beautiful. And smart. And there's no chance of you getting fired, because you're not with anyone, so marriage won't pull you out of show, and you're beautiful and talented."
"Thank you, Rose, but you are too!" A few of the other girls murmur in agreement, "This theater wouldn't be the same without you."
"Well, you're going to have to get used to it," Rose looks down at her uniform, sighing, "Because David and I are getting married."
Squeals of excitement, cries of happiness and congratulations swarm Rose, Amelia congratulating Rose herself. The two have been friends since they both started at Ziegfeld, and the idea one of her best friends will be with someone who will make her happy excites Amelia. It made her sad, too, at the same time, but she was happy for Rose.
"That's brilliant, Rose!"
"I suppose so, but Mr. Ziegfeld just found out, and I won't be surprised if he asks me to leave as soon as I return from my honeymoon with David. No longer Rose Tyler, the Ziegfeld girl, but Rose McDonald, the mother. What would my Mum say?" She groans softly, and begins to mock her mother. "You shouldn't have married that strange man, no, but you did, and now you're out of the job! Just like your father, I remember-Ugh!"
"Rose, that won't happen," Amelia assures her, "You'll be one of the best lead Ziegfeld girls there will be!"
"No, Amelia," Rose replies, looking up and meeting Amelia's eyes, "You will. We all know it. And you're in no position to deny it, either. You've always had the lucky breaks, just a bit more fortune then the rest of us."
Amelia stands there in stunned silence, as the other girls comfort Rose, but Rose was right. Amelia had always been Mr. Ziegfeld's favorite, from day one. It had nothing to do with the fact her talent was a bit better then the rest of the girls, her diction crisper and clearer. Her movements fluid and beautiful. No, it was her face. Her beautiful, perfect, porcelain face that carried her from one audition to the other. The only reason Amelia had had trouble getting auditions it was because she was an amateur. The rookie with a beautiful face. But it carried her far, and it was one of her best assets. But now, staring at the reflective metal that was part of the set, she wonders whether she really deserved the position she had. The position that kept her where she is. The position a girl would murder for.
"Amelia!"
She's pulled out of her reverie to see John panting behind. When he wheezes something about meeting a fan for lunch that day, just for some positive look onto her in the news, she doesn't hesitate to agree to it. She had to show the world she deserved her position, and that she was not a shallow doll, a shallow calico cat. No, Amelia Pond was kind. She is clever. She is talented, and though her beautiful face is an asset, she has so much more to offer.