Disclaimer: I don't own The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Tricia, it turns out, works from home. Apparently she has a column in a local paper or something. I'm not too clear on the details, though. Either way it means she'll be at the house with Robby and Stella all day.

Somehow I already had a job. Because of this I'd begun to suspect that Marcus was (or, at least, knew very well) a supernatural being of some kind. He'd managed to get me a job at this small 'experimental' theatre called the Royal Court Theatre. I'll be like this weird janitor lady or something. Being an actor had been a secret dream of mine, as it is with many people, though I doubted I would end up actually part of a play. If life were a movie somebody and their understudy would randomly die, and I'd get a starring role by being in the way. Though life isn't a movie so I'll just be this chick sweeping up the floor.

Since she doesn't have a specific schedule of when to write what, Tricia agreed to help me get to work.

"But only today. If you haven't figured it out by this afternoon, don't blame me," she told me at breakfast.

The way I got to work happened to be insanely confusing. Since I'd never lived in a city like this, I'd never been forced to deal with the evil that is public transportation. I was almost late to work because of how strange it all was. I left from an underground station called King's Cross St. Pancras. Don't ask me why it's called that, I've been wondering the same thing. That went to another station, called Sloane Square, which was only a few minutes walk from the Royal Court Theatre. That may not sound very confusing to some people but it sure was.

The theatre itself was interesting. Nothing like those noisy clubs with small, rarely-used stages that I'd sometimes dance at. This place was very different. And it wasn't just one theatre! No, there were two: Theatre Downstairs and Theatre Upstairs. The former had 400 seats, while the latter had merely 63. Very artsy, I suppose. It was really cool.

When I first go there, I entered through the grand front doors. Somebody forgot to lock them… I think. As I walked through the doorway I felt strangely guilty. It felt like trespassing or something.

Slowly, I found my way into the downstairs theatre. Almost none of the lights were on. And, somehow, it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. That statement makes me feel like the Phantom of the Opera. The guy who wrote the book must've been such a weirdo. It was a favorite of Magenta's, like most gothic novels. This strange room reminded me of the way she'd read her battered old copy out loud.

The delicate silence, the elegant outline of the stage…

This lovely vision of was shattered by somebody turning on all the lights and the awful sound of somebody shouting about trespassing being illegal. I soon learned that this person was the stage manager.

"Who the Hell are you?" she asked once she stood right in front of me. Her voice was loud and harshly accented. Being an American, I wasn't sure which accent it was. Though, whatever it happened to be, it sure wasn't pretty.

"Um, I'm Lauren Scott. The new stage hand? From... America?"

Her expression softened slightly, as did her voice. "Oh. I'm Mrs. Josette Buquet, the woman in charge of all the lunacy that goes on backstage."

I shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Buquet."

"Call me Mrs. Josie- everyone does."

"Nice to meet you... Mrs. Josie."

We stood there in awkward silence for a moment. Though they had frightening accents the British were actually rather kind. It made me wonder why we kicked them out of the Colonies or whatever all those years ago. I suppose it's the confusing sense of humor. Americans are too obvious to comprehend the delicate British art of snarky sarcasm.

Mrs. Josie chuckled, eventually. "Well, er… you'll just be helping keep everything organized in the Theatre Downstairs. I'll never understand how they manage to be so messy, those actors!"

"So I'll just be cleaning and organizing things in the Theatre Downstairs?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes. We've already got somebody cleaning that Theatre Upstairs. Much less goes on there, since there are only about 60 seats. Stage is quite small, too."

Then, a young man entered the room. He wore a plaid button down shirt, leather jacket, jeans, and those funny shoes. His face- though not very attractive- had a strangely aristocratic look to it. Though it also resembled that of a dog's. The sort of grumpy dog that barks loudly and gruffly at you. After noticing me standing there, he raised an eyebrow and spoke to Mrs. Josie. At least his voice was smooth and good to listen to, which I hadn't expected going by the face.

"Er, Mrs. Buquet," he said. "Elsie said you wanted to see me."

"Oh! Mr. Sharman showed up a few hours ago, looking for you. Said an old friend of yours is in town."

"Who?"

"Somebody called... Smith? Can't remember his name, not properly. Apparently you co-starred in the funny play about the hippies at one point."

"Don't remind me of that monstrosity. I still hate myself for merely auditioning for that. What if I'm forever remembered as a guy from that musical called Hair? That would be really embarrassing."

Then he stormed off.

"Who was that?" I asked.

Mrs. Josie sighed. "Timothy. He's only 26 and he's already worrying about what people will think of him in a few years. Very indecisive, that boy. He worries too much - poor dear!"

At that point I hoped I'd never have to meet Timothy again. When someone else is very stressed it makes me panic. That's something I wanted to avoid at the lovely knew job of mine.

After that little chance meeting, Mrs. Josie showed me all the rooms backstage. I'd mostly just be hanging the many costumes up in the right closets and putting various props on the correct shelves. And, most importantly, not getting in the way of the actors. Since I work from about 9AM to 6PM, that wasn't too challenging. Shows usually started at seven in the evening. Of course, there are sometimes people rehearsing in different rooms during the day. Though it's easy enough to avoid them.

Mrs. Josie was so very nice about everything. When it was time for me to leave, she came and told me. After saying to her goodbye, I walked right to Sloane Square station and then made my way back to Tricia's house. I went right to the kitchen and sat down at the table. At that point, Tricia had begun to cook dinner already. It looked pretty good. Better than my cooking, at least. Though it was simply pasta, tomato sauce, and toast.

"Did Stella behave?" I asked, right away.

She nodded. "Yes. I was able to finish the article I'd planned to write today without any interruptions. Robby played her a song, at one point, to calm her down. But once she got used to the idea of you being at work she was okay."

That's when Stella wandered into the room with Robby following close behind.

"Mamma?"

"Stella? I'm home now," I said.

Then, I walked over to her and picked her up. She seemed quite happy to see me. I never really left that weird underground bunker they'd lived in all their lives. So it must've been weird for me to be gone for so long… even though it was only about nine hours. But now that we were reunited she seemed very happy. I suppose Robby was there all day with her.

The rest of the evening went nicely enough. Nothing strange happened in the. In fact, things felt somewhat normal. Even more normal than back 'home' in the

We ended up enrolling Stella in day care after a week or two. I let poor Tricia handle most of that. Not that she really minded. It seemed to me that, if it weren't for her husband saying something against it. Perhaps that's why she volunteered to have her house 'used' by a bunch of Marcus' friends (meaning Robby, Stella, and I). Anyway... every day save for Sunday I went to work, did my job, avoided talking to the actors, and then happily went home. Since I can't cook, Tricia always made meals. She seemed to enjoy it.

After about a month and a half of this, I made the mistake of striking up a conversation with an actor.

It was late October at that point. The weather was not much colder in London than in Denton. In fact, Denton is actually colder because it's more rural. Though I'm pretty sure London is farther North than Denton. Not that it really matters...

Even though I never actually pay attention to what plays are being performed, I knew that whatever was playing Upstairs was nearing the end of its run. There's something sort of 'in the air' that gives one the impression plays are almost over. Perhaps it's the newfound nervousness of some actors and the recent sadness of others? I'm not sure. What confirmed it was that one of the actors, a young woman named Elsie, was planning a party. It's easier to hear about a party than a play's closing because the actors are usually happier about a party. Though I suppose some particularly unpleasant directors.

I overheard her discussing it with Mrs. Josie, while I was hanging up all the costumes in the main costume/prop room. THat's a lovely place full of glittering, glorious gowns and lovely little shoes and everything fantastical you can imagine. False jewelry that looks so real in the right lighting! My, my. The theater is an amazing place indeed.

Elsie was very enthusiastic. "Ooh, it'll be wonderful! I've invited the entire cast. By now, most of them have said they'll be there. It took a bit of effort to convince Tim, of course. But now he swears he'll show up, as long as we-"

Eventually, Mrs. Josie cleared her throat. "I've got to go make sure the crew is ready for tonight's show."

Then, she wandered off. That left just Elsie and I standing there. It was sort of awkward being alone with that woman. She's got wide, energetic brown eyes and light brown hair that's falls in loose curls not much past her shoulders. That's always tied back. Her eyebrows are slightly darker, though not by much, and rather thin. When it comes to her actual face she's got severe cheekbones and a sort of sharp look to her. This combination reminds me of some sort of aristocrat, I guess. Body-wise she's tall and thin, but still 'curves' properly here and there. Her wardrobe mainly consists of knit dresses worn with opaque stockings, heeled boots, and a colorful knit hat of some sort. Sometimes she looks a bit too professional. I mean she seems more like a secretary than an actress.

"Right, then," Elsie said awkwardly after we'd stared at each other for far too long.

"Do you often host parties when a play's run is over?" I asked her.

She smiled at me, though in a somewhat patronizing way. "Sometimes."

Something about this intrigued me. "Do you host them at the theatre itself? And do only the cast members get invited?"

Still, she smiled. Though it became a bit kinder of a smile and her words were suddenly a bit more inclusive. "Well… we have the party at somebody's house. Usually mine, since I organize this stuff. And it's mostly just actors or backstage people who get invited. Do you want to go?"

Though I was shocked that she'd invite me, I quickly replied: "Yes!"

Elsie quickly scribbled a note of some kind on a scrap of paper she'd found in her jacket pocket. "There. Date, time, and address. By the way, it doesn't really matter what you wear. Just don't dress up too nicely. In fact… what you're wearing now is just fine. We're all rather causal at this sort of thing."

And then she handed the paper to me. Like her face, her handwriting was sharp and severe. At least it was legible. Before I could say anything more she cheerfully left me standing there. I stuffed the paper in my plain jacket's pocket without even bothering to really look at it. Attending a party would earn me friends besides . But I still had my American accent, which annoyed many Londoners. I'd at least tried - and to some degree succeeded - to lower the pitch of it. I dearly hoped to pick up the BBC-reporter accent. Though London - especially the theatre district - was a wild collection of accents and I was borrowing snatches of each. Only if I tried hard could I manage something that sounded proper.

Hours after Elsie gave me that note, when I got home, I actually looked at it. Apparently the party was next Friday, started at 9:00 in the evening, and was . I didn't know Elsie very well, so I wasn't exactly sure if going would be a good idea. For all I knew her friends would hate me and coworkers mock me for

Though I knew that I would be living here for until 1978. So it might be good to make friends.

I told Tricia about the party after I'd put Stella to bed.

"It's presumably fine," Tricia said thoughtfully. "I mean, you know at least some of these people already. And it's too early in the evening for it to be really wild. Only later do people get funny. Though you're an American, so surely you're used to wild behavior. We Brit's a more civilized when it comes to partying - as with most things. We've a subdued sense of humor which is sarcastic and more sensible than American slapstick. Also, you're a damned lot of Puritan prudes who can't handle the sight of a pretty girl's bare breasts without screaming dreadfully for someone to cover her up. Everyone else in the western world can handle tits, even those surrendering Frenchmen. And you're really bad at swearing. Do you even know how the word 'fuck' is-"

"So... you think I should go?" I asked, haven gotten sort of lost in her anti-American rant. Though she did have a point with some of it.

"Yes, it'll be good for you. You need friends- people to entertain you- who aren't me. I don't mean it in a bad way, but talking to you all the time is annoying."

She had a point, I knew.

The evening of the party, I was a bit nervous. I'd spent the last three years with a social life that consisted solely of meaningless conversations with shop owners and occasionally calling Marcus about something. Of course, I used to be the sort of person who lived a pointless life that could be summed up by the phrase 'Sex, Drugs, and Rock n' Roll'. It was terribly fun being a wild and untamed thing, but it also took a toll on one's overall health.

Tricia helped me find an outfit for the party. Most of it involved her clothes, not mine.

I ended up wearing very short pinstripe shorts, glittery stockings, and a black shirt. Over that I wore black boots and a silvery-blue blazer. It looked a bit like the Glam Rock style clothes I used to wear.

By 1977 Glam Rock inspired fashion was pretty much out of style. But here, back in '72, Glam Rock was around. Though it seemed to be an early form. Pre-Bowie. Though Tricia still found me a real cute miniskirt, a plain blouse with a bow-tying neckline, a glittery suit jacket, and boots. So I looked like a cross between the 1960s and early Glam Rock. At least it all sort of worked.

Since I hadn't really done anything with it in a while, my hair was longer than shoulder length and back to its natural light brown. I just left it down usually, since that was the mainstream style at the time, or wore it in a ponytail. But Tricia didn't approve of that…

"You've got to do something interesting with your hair!" she exclaimed.

"Like what? I used to cut it short and dye it, but I haven't in years," I replied.

Rolling her eyes, she tied it up in a ponytail. "At least that will keep it out of your face."

Then she began to do my makeup. She was having far too much fun dressing me up, I unhappily decided. I was like a cute doll or something!

After a while she'd finally finished my makeup. It actually looked pretty nice by the end. I looked like I used to, all those years ago. When I was still a crazy party girl. Though I also looked like drag queens I'd dated and/or fucked briefly. Yes, I'd known more than just Frankie. Drag queens are pretty cool sometimes but it's weird for a girl to dress like one. Almost-red lips, so much mascara I nearly looked like Twiggy, eye makeup that made my eyelids stand out somehow, and a bit of powder all over my face.

Only minutes after she'd finished my makeup, it was time to leave. We took a cab to Elsie's house, which wasn't too far. She's also in Islington. Once we'd established that this was the right party Tricia left me there on the doorstep. And then I entered the house. Elsie sweetly greeted me at the front door. At the time she wore one of her usual outfits. To my embarrassment she seemed a bit shocked by my more formal clothes. Well, perhaps formal isn't the right word...

"Hello, er, Elsie," I said.

She smiled politely at me. "Hello, Laurie! That's your name, yes?"

"It's Lauren Scott, actually," I told her nervously. "But you can call me Laurie… I guess. It's all cool to me."

"Great!"

Then, she led me into the house. The party happened to be in the living room. By the time I'd gotten there, they were already drinking punch and eating appetizers. In this case, 'they' means a collection of various actors I'd seen around the theatre. And a few people I knew from working backstage, too. Tim wasn't there.

I knew who everyone was to some extent. Unfortunately, I didn't really know their actual names. Thankfully, Elsie decided to introduce me to everyone. This I decided was a good thing because I really wanted to know some of these nice-seeming people better. She never got around to it, however. A distraction stopped her.

A distraction in the form of two people who'd decided to crash the party. Really fun kids, they were...

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