Warnings: Trigger warning for abuse (let me know if I should add any more).
Notes: Missing scenes set between the end of Jumping Tracks and the beginning of Armistice. Can be read as a continuation of To Be Brave, although it is not necessary to read one story in order to understand the other.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Michael Maclennan and Adrienne Mitchell/Shaw Media.
Filming a newsreel is surprisingly gruelling, but so much fun that Kate doesn't mind a bit about giving up her Sunday. (Although she did feel a little odd about not attending church.) After they filmed the scene on the cordite line, some of the other Blue Shift extras hung about to watch. Eventually, they departed of their own accord, bored with the film making process and mumbling about getting home to their kids or going out to the pictures. Gladys and Kate are the last two left.
Truth be told, Kate is so tuckered out that she might be tempted to slip out too, except for the fact that she's the leading lady's biggest fan. Betty has been chosen to star as the Victory Munitions Girl in Russell Joseph's newsreel, and Kate is so proud she feels ready to burst. The world is finally going to see Betty the way that Kate does. How could she not stay around to watch every minute of the glorious process?
Filming at the factory is finished, but there's one more location to visit. Mr Joseph and the film crew are almost finished packing up the equipment, and Gladys is prepping Betty for her next costume change.
"We'll redo your hair and makeup at the next location, but you might as well change now," says Gladys, handing Betty a neatly folded dress and another pair of heels. "I think this one will look splendidon you, but let me know if it doesn't suit, because I've got a spare."
"You're so organised," Kate compliments her. "You've got everything worked out ahead of time."
"That's why I'm on the crew," Gladys says proudly. "Betty's job, as the star, is to stand around and look beautiful. Mine is to see that everything runs smoothly, threaten people if it doesn't, and fend off Mr Two-First-Names."
"So basically, I'm you, and you're me," Betty teases her. "All right, I'll be back in half a tick." Sheteeters as she takes the corner in her sky-high heels, and curses in embarrassment. Kate wants to laugh, but not in a cruel way. Kate wants to run after Betty, wrap her arm around Betty's waist and tell her she's doing a terrific job. But she doesn't. She stays by Gladys. The way she feels around Gladys is warm and comfortable and much less confusing.
"You're a wonderful wardrobe mistress," Kate tells Gladys. Gladys has been here since the small hours of the morning, organising costumes, doing hair and makeup, even giving fancy manicures to the women whose hands will show up on camera.
"Thanks. It's been fun, being part of a film crew, though Mother would have a conniption if I ran away to Hollywood to become the next Edith Head." Gladys pretends to consider it. "Goodness, what on earth am I waiting for?"
"As tempting as it sounds for you, we'd all miss you too much if you went away."
"I'd miss you too. But I'd fly you, Betty and Carol down by private plane every weekend, so it wouldn't be too much of a problem." Gladys thinks for a moment. "Although on second thoughts, two private planes would probably work better. Carol has to breathe into a brown paper bag when she's flying, and I don't think Betty would be terribly sympathetic."
Gladys is conspicuously failing to mention James. Kate pats her arm and says, "You're welcome to come back to the rooming house for a drink after the canteen dance. I have a new Ella record I'm dying to play for you, and Betty bought a bottle of Scotch especially. She says she got the good stuff." Actually, when Kate mentioned that she was inviting Gladys, Betty rolled her eyes and said, "We'd better splash out on some high-end booze, then, since Princess Gladys is used to the finer things in life. Ain't nobody gonna say we don't get smashed in style." Betty smiled when she said it, though.
Gladys smiles too. "You're a gem, Kate Andrews. You and Betty both."
"Well, we're always glad to have you." Kate looks down at her white overall. "I'd better go change too. I'll see you outside."
The locker room feels bigger when it's not filled with chattering Blue Shift workers. Betty has laid out her next costume on one of the benches and is looking dubiously at herself in one of the mirrors.
"Hello!" says Kate brightly, as she hurries in. "Aren't you changed yet?"
"I was just thinking." Betty doesn't volunteer any more information, just sits down on the bench beside her next costume and gazes at Kate.
"Isn't it exciting? Whoever thought we'd get to play at being movie stars!" Kate gushes as she undoes her turban.
"Yeah, definitely. My mother will be thrilled," says Betty, in a way that suggests that she personally feels precisely the opposite. "I can just hear her now." She puts on a high-pitched voice. "'See, Betty, you don't have to walk around looking so plain all the time. We'll never get you married off if people can't tell you apart from your brothers!'"
Kate looks at Betty, really looks at her. She thinks about the way Betty is when they're walking to catch the street car at the end of a shift. At the end of a day's work, Betty's hair is mussed and needs setting, though there's a little strand that goes straight upward whether Betty's set her hair or not. Betty doesn't wear makeup to work, aside from a peremptory swipe of lipstick. She'll bemoan her latest batch of trainees, exasperation driving lines across her forehead. Kate always listens gladly to Betty's griping, because the reward for providing an ear is usually Betty threading her arm through the crook of Kate's elbow, and the two of them walking to their stop cosily linked, warming each other against the winter winds.
Betty's the best friend Kate's ever had, and she's so lovely – to look at, to be around – it makes Kate hurt a little on the inside. If Kate were blind, she could never mistake Betty for a man.
She doesn't know if all girls feel like this around their friends, whether other girls just notice and notice until it hurts. She can't ask anyone else about it, in case it turns out she's the only one with this feeling. Kate doesn't know what she'll do if it comes to light that she's not really like all the other girls, if it turns out that her life with her family scarred her too deeply for her to ever be comfortable around other people. What if it turns out that the reason she notices Betty so much, admires her so much, is because she'll never get over those feelings of shame and inferiority? She couldn't stand for her friendship with Betty to be tarnished like that.
Only it seems now that she's been thinking too much of her own feelings and not enough about Betty's. Go on, tell her you think she's pretty, says the bossy voice in her head that Kate used to pretend was her older sister. She needs to hear it, and you need to say it. If you just say it, then it won't feel so awkward, noticing all the time. You're acting like it's a dirty secret, but all women think their friends are pretty, it's not just you. You and Gladys are always complimenting each other. Betty's said as much about you plenty of times, and each time you just stayed quiet, until the day when she happens to look totally different. No wonder she's hurt. Imagine how you'd feel! You've just made it worse, she probably thinks you don't like the way she looks either.
"... I don't think you're plain," Kate finds herself murmuring. Her voice is barely more than a whisper, and it exasperates her. She should be able to just say it, like she does to Gladys.
Betty smiles the slightest bit, but a nervously, like she's wondering if that's all Kate is going to say.
Kate tries to stand taller. "Of course, I think you look great today, all made up like this, but it's not as if I-" She has to pause, to recollect herself. Why is this so hard? "I thought you were pretty the very first time we met. When we first met, I felt like a real idiot in front of you – the door, and everything – so I must've thought you were really pretty, to be able to notice when I was so embarrassed." Kate gets bold, she gets reckless, and so she says, "Just because everyone noticed you today doesn't mean you're not pretty the rest of the time. As a matter of fact, I think you're beautiful."
Betty stares at Kate before clearing her throat and ducking her head. I made her blush, thinks Kate in surprise. This is so much better than stuttering and stumbling over her words, so much better than worrying that any minute now, Betty's stare will last a little too long and she'll say disbelievingly, "That's not how women think about their friends, Kate."
"Well." Betty rubs the back of her neck. "Maybe I will try and steal this lipstick from Gladys. You know, if you think it works on me."
"I do." After another pause, Kate teases, "Although 'borrow' might be a better word."
"Good thinking," says Betty, tapping the side of her nose. "All right, no more stalling. I'd better get changed."
Betty takes off her own turban with a confident, almost theatrical flourish and begins briskly unbuttoning her shirt. Kate knows that this is the cue for her to start changing too, for them to continue their conversation as if nothing is happening, the way they do when they're changing after work.They've changed – even showered – near each other dozens of times now, but it's always been amidst a crowd of other Blue Shift workers. Alone with Betty, Kate suddenly feels acutely, ridiculously shy.
"What's up?" asks Betty. Kate realises she's standing with her hands frozen on her own top button, staring into space. Betty's half out of her shirt, but that's not what's bothering Kate. Betty looks fine. Her body is perfectly normal, perfectly lovely. She doesn't have anything to be ashamed of. Betty's body doesn't tell her secrets of its own accord.
Kate knows full well that Betty has seen her scars already. The scars are mostly on her back, so all she'd have to do would be to face Betty the whole time she's changing, but God help her, the scars aren't all that Kate's concerned about.
"I..." Kate trails off, shrugging helplessly. Just leave, just turn around and leave, her mind is yelling at her. You're useless. You can't do anything. What's wrong with you? You'll never change. You'll never get any better.
Betty holds her shirt closed with one hand, which helps matters slightly. It's no wonder Kate notices her so much. She never had a sister, and she hasn't had any real friends since she was a little girl. She's never had anyone to compare herself with. Now, a whole lifetime's worth of comparison is swamping Kate, all at once.
Kate has awful, red, raised scars, Betty doesn't. Betty is so pretty, whether in pants and boots, a dress and heels, a white work overall and turban, whereas Kate … well, Kate just doesn't know. Sometimes she feels pretty, when she and Betty are standing side by side watching the dancers at the Sandy Shore Pavilion, wearing fresh dresses and drinking punch and laughing. Sometimes – like now, with Betty half-dressed and unselfconscious, and Kate dreading showing even an inch of skin – Kate feels so ugly she would cheerfully wear the same dress for the rest of her life if it meant she could be sure no-one would ever see her.
Betty cocks her head to one side. "You feeling bashful?"
Kate nods, feeling hopeless. It's idiotic how she can come so far and be suddenly defeated by little things like undressing in front of her best friend. All the reasons she doesn't want to jumble together inside her until she can barely extricate them from one another. It's her upbringing, all those years of changing under a nightdress in case the sight of her body inflamed her little brothers' lower instincts. It's her scars, the irrefutable proof that she doesn't come from a nice, normal family, the tangible evidence that she kept being bad and getting punished until eventually, it was easier just to run away than to keep taking the punishments. It's her body, the body she's never felt comfortable in, even though she's twenty-four and really ought to be used to being a woman by now.
Wordlessly, Betty turns her back towards Kate and resumes undressing in the same businesslike way. After a moment, she says, "I grew up in a tiny house full of men. My brothers used to see me change all the time, right up until I was grown up. Still, you wouldn't believe how nervous I was about getting in the shower in front of Mrs Corbett and everybody, my first day here. It took me far longer to strip off than you did at the end of your first shift. You've got some moxie, Kate, even if people don't always see it."
I love you, thinks Kate, so serenely that she can't muster the energy to be flustered at feeling so much for someone she's known for barely two months. She doesn't know whether it's right or proper to love someone who isn't family, who certainly doesn't act like family (Kate's pretend older sister would never undress around men, not even her own brothers), but right now, she can't bring herself to care. She just loves Betty. Pure and true, plain and simple. Being around her makes Kate's life better. Why would you question a feeling like that?
When they are both dressed again, they regard each other. Gladys has struck gold again in her costume choices. Betty looks sensational, and Kate definitely notices, but somehow it doesn't hurt as much now. Not now that she loves her.
Kate resists the urge to compliment the dress, in case it sounds like she's going back on what she just said. Luckily, Betty speaks first. "This really isn't my bag, you know. Dressing up, acting. I was crazy to say yes."
"But you're doing so well! Just think what it'll mean when some eighteen-year-old prairie girl walks in for her first training shift, and her mouth falls open and she says, 'Golly, you're Betty the bomb girl! I put in my job application because I want to be just like you.'"
Betty chuckles. "I guess I could stand that, as long as I don't have to sign autographs."
Kate beams at her. "Attagirl! That's my Betty."
They reach for each other's hands at the same time as they leave the locker room, and hurry outside with their arms swinging like little girls. Gladys (clutching her makeup box), Mr Joseph and the film crew are waiting for them outside the factory. "Get a move on, Killer! We're losin' light!" shouts Mr Joseph, jabbing his thumb at the car.
"Hold your horses, Russell. It's two in the afternoon, even Toronto in winter's not that bad," Betty retorts. Opening the car door, she motions grandly for Kate to climb in first. It makes Mr Joseph raise his eyebrows. Kate can't help but giggle. I bet he's never had a leading lady like Betty, she thinks.
They drive out of the centre of town and into the leafy suburbs, to film the next segment. Kate thinks about how easy it ended up being, telling Betty how pretty she is, taking off her dress near her. She thinks about making Betty blush, about surprising her, about taking charge. She thinks about how she loves Betty – how grand it feels to love somebody in such a warm, uncomplicated way, without it being clouded by any guilt or fear. She's never felt this way before. It gives her hope for the future. Someday, Kate won't be frightened about what her best friend thinks about her scars, about her body. She won't be assailed by those hopeless noticing feelings whenever she and Betty get too close.
She's not quite ready yet, but she will be soon. The thought cheers her, and she links her arm with Betty's, watching the bare winter trees race by outside the car window.