Title: Night and Day (4/?)
Genre: dramatic romcom, AU
Rating: currently T, M for later chapters
Couple: Austin/Ally
Summary: Austin Moon is the world's most famous rockstar and due to heartbreak completely out of control. So his agency brings in songwriter Ally Dawson, who is as brilliant as she is desperate. She needs a job - and what she gets is Austin Moon's crazy everyday life.
Note: Sorry this took so long. It's a lengthy chapter. I hope you like it.

Chapter 4 - Electric Pink & Unicorns On Ice

Ally found her new surroundings confusing. It was like living away from the world in a beautiful garden. It was so quiet, so perfect, so very much away from all that was bad in the world. Denny loved it - it was the kind of stability he needed and as for Ally …

Inspiration seemed to attack her from everywhere. Sometimes, she woke in the night and instantly words came floating toward her and she had to write them down. Her songwriting book sat next to her lamp on the nightstand whenever she needed it.

It was half past three when her eyes opened and an idea struck her. She had been toying with it all day, but the lyrics still didn't fit.

"When the crowd wants more I bring on the thunder," she sang softly. She sat up and swung her legs out of the bed and got up. "Cause you got my back and I'm not going under."

On the way to her fridge she wondered what would rhyme well to "chord" - and while she hummed the words, she opened the fridge and took out the glass of pickles. Grasping a fork, the mumbled: "Lord? Hoard? Board?" Board. "But what kind of board? Blackboard? Billboard?"

It was billboard that finally stuck. Sliding the door open to the veranda, she struggled to carry her book, the jar of pickles and the fork, while finally aiming for one of the lawn chairs in the moon-lit garden.

The pool sparkled in the quietness of the night and she looked up to find the pair of boxers to wave as quietly on the pole attached to Austin's balcony. She could see faint light up there and a rope ladder leading down from the balcony.

For a moment, she was wide awake as thoughts of burglars and alphabet bandits entered their mind. Then she noticed a figure laying in one of the lawn chairs just on the other side of the pool. Austin slept there, still clothed in something he had apparently worn on his night out. He had brought his glasses with them - they sat slightly askew on his nose. A beer bottle also glistened in the darkness next to his lawn chair.

She placed down her book, the jar and the fork and rounded the pool. She picked up one of the towels from the wooden box by the umbrellas and approached him.

He snored slightly, his hands under his head as a pillow. The position didn't look overly comfortable and Ally wondered why he would sleep out here, in the darkness, when he had a cozy bedroom just one balcony-with-waving-boxer-shorts away.

Sighing, Ally spread the towel over his sleeping form and removed his second shoe. The first one swam happily in the pool.

"No good deed goes unpunished," she thought bitterly. He wasn't exactly nice to her and it was still beyond her why she cared.

Austin turned to his side and mumbled uneasily in his sleep. He punched the lawn chair under him twice, then clawed it desperately.

"Don't go away," he mumbled. "Please stay! Don't leave me alone!"

Ally picked up the towel and stuffed it under his body. He calmed a bit, turned again and drifted away.

"The reason for the sad songs," she whispered, then went back to her glass of pickles, her fork and her book. "Billboards," she murmured. "And what now?"

"A pink guitar?" Mr. Dawson asked. He tried hard not to roll his eyes. What an outrageous wish! "We have paprika red guitars, angel kiss colored guitars, cosmic latte colored guitars and Boston blue colored guitars, but who wants a pink guitar? Tsk!" He shook his head.

The costumer was slightly bemused. In his opinion, he held a guitar in his hands that was completely, utterly, perfectly pink. "Erm, what kind of color is this then? Isn't it pink?" He pointed at a guitar that looked just pink.

Mr. Dawson almost reacted shocked. "No! That's cerise! That's something completely different!"

The costumer sighed. "Then, I pink this cerise kind of guitar, sir."

Mr. Dawson cast him a dark glance. If that guy didn't even know the right color of those instruments, would they treat their instruments well? But nonetheless, he packed the guitar for the man and send him off.

Today was a good day. Lots of costumers, two sold tubas and one trumpet and half a dozen other instruments. Mr. Dawson had feared that interest would die down somewhat, due to Ally's absence. Some people, mostly guys, had come just to see her and she had politely shot them down and sold them whatever they wanted. There had been some disappointment since her departure, of course, but people still came pouring in.

After all, Mr. Dawson was something of an institution.

"Hi."

Mr. Dawson turned around. "Hello, valued costumer." He smiled. "How may I help you?"

The other person was a blond man, quite good looking, the surfer kind of guy. His smile was bright as he approached Mr. Dawson, but Ally's father couldn't see the man's eyes. They were hidden behind a huge pair of sunglasses. Mr. Dawson wondered why someone would wear sunglasses in a closed room. Were the lights too bright? Mr. Dawson wondered if that was something he had to fix today.

Somehow the man looked familiar - very familiar, but Mr. Dawson just couldn't place him.

"I'm looking for a guitar," the young man said. "A Gibson, maybe? ES-345?"

A young man with a very expensive taste. "Oh, you have a good taste, but those guitars are rarely bought around here. I'll have to order them, if you want one."

"I see," the man said. He looked around. "Then I try one of those." He picked up one of Mr. Dawson's acoustic guitars and tried to chords. "That color is electric crimson, isn't it?"

"Yes!" Mr. Dawson pointed. "Yes, it is! Someone finally got it right." He bend closer conspirationally and whispered: "Can you imagine someone mistook it for raspberry?" He shook is head. "Unbelievable!"

"Yes, especially since it's so obviously electric crimson," the young man said.

"I know!" Mr. Dawson answered. "So you play the guitar?"

For a moment, the blond guy seemed surprised, but the notion disappeared quickly and an easy smile appeared on his face. "Yes, I play a bit." He hit another chord and then hit a couple of strings. He had some skills, Mr. Dawson noticed. "That one sounds quite good. I think I take it." Then he looked around. "Where's the girl that used to work around here?"

"Girl?" Mr. Dawson asked.

"Yeah, the brunette. Small, spunky." Talks too much.

"Oh, you mean Ally? She used to work here, but now she's working for some kind of popstar. She's a songwriter, you know?" Mr. Dawson said. That guy did look familiar. And, really, why did he wear sunglasses in a closed room? "How do you know her?"

"I talked to her once of twice," the young man said. "She's a songwriter, huh? So she sings, too?"

"And plays the piano and the guitar and has some really weird dance moves, yes," Mr. Dawson said, his hands trailing the guitars. He seemed to miss her. "She is a lot like her mother."

"I see." The stranger accompanied Mr. Dawson to the counter to pay. "Why doesn't she sing herself? I mean, if she plays instruments, writes her own songs and can sing?"

"Oh. She has horrible stage fright," Mr. Dawson said, typing in the price of the guitar. The cash register ringed. "She can't perform, so she writes." He shrugged. "Has been that way since she was thirteen or so." He shrugged.

"I see," the blond man said, now with more conviction. "You don't need to wrap it, it's alright, thank you."

Mr. Dawson took the man's money, wrapped the guitar and was mostly happy about the purchase and that somebody had identified the color as crimson electric. A part of his brain wondered however:

Where had he seen that guy before?

Austin's car rolled up the huge drive way. The garage door lifted up and he let it roll inside. Carefully, he slipped out of the car and removed the object from the passenger seat. Then he opened the door that lead toward the house and listened.

He could hear faint piano tunes in the distance. So she was in the recording room, practicing, composing. She was occupied. Maybe it was possible to sneak just past her toward the second floor and ditch today's composing session.

He shouldered the thing and sneaked up the stairs and opened the door toward the mansion. The living room seemed empty. And there was still music in the distance. She was still playing.

He ducked a bit and, on tiptoes, made his way toward the staircase. Still music playing. She wouldn't make it out to catch him. He was save.

"Austin?"

He froze and turned on the ball of his foot. Ally stood by the fridge, a milk beard surrounding her lips. In her hand, she held a half-empty glass.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Then she motioned toward the object on his back. "Is that an electric pink guitar?"

"Yes," he said slowly. His thoughts raced. How was he going to get out of this situation? "Why aren't you in the recording room?"

"Oh, I'm currently listening to what I wrote this morning," her voice grew darker. "When the two of us were supposed to practice together."

"Oh, that was today?" he asked. "I had an appointment - with my dentist."

"And that's why you are carrying a guitar?" she asked. "What do you need it for?"

"He gave it to me?" he said in a small voice. Then, he cleared his throat and said, more convincingly: "He gave it to me. Yes. My dentist. This morning. It's for me, because … fans give me stuff all the time."

Ally stared at him. She didn't look that convinced, but let it go. "Want to hear what I wrote today?" she asked.

There was a long moment where Austin was almost said "No", but then he just sighed. "Sure," he said and was immediately dragged away.

She had recorded ninety-three minutes worth of material. Pieces of paper were all over the piano with notes and lyrics written over them. She had been a busy girl.

"What is all of this?" he asked and picked up a piece of paper. The tears of your sadness, was all he was able to read, then she snatched it away.

"I was trying to find your style - or synchronize myself with it," she said. "But it's kinda difficult, if the person who is going to sing the song isn't here, so I listened to your old albums and tried to come up with something."

Good, she was a goody two-shoes. Did the girl have any hobbies?

Austin knew he was going to regret his next words: "So show me then."

And she did. Everything. Songs about heart break, songs about no heartbreak. Ballads, rap passages, jazzy jingles, poppy jingles, rocky jingles. refrains for half a dozen unfinished songs, several bridges, twenty one pages of lyrics, some of them so bloody sensitive, Austin thought he was going to loose all his manliness by just looking at them. They were horrible.

Ally, however, wasn't stopped by his total lack of enthusiasm. "And I thought, here it would go kinda like this." She touched some piano keys and started to slowly sing:

"It's like I'm balanced on the edge
It's like I'm hanging by a thread
But I'm still gonna push ahead."

She looked up at Austin who stood by the window. "What do you think?"

"I think it's nice," he said.

"Just nice?"

"Yeah, it's nice," he said. For a moment, he got caught: "I like the lyrics, but I can't sing that as a ballad, it should be faster. And with a more prominent beat, so you can, I don't know, clap to it." He sat next to her and touched some keys, indicating another, faster beat.

His eyes froze on the piano keys and slowly, he removed his hands. He shook his head and was about to get up, but Ally grapped his arm and made him sit down again.

"Why don't you like writing music anymore?" Ally asked. "I listened to some of your old songs and they were very energetic."

He looked at her, opened his mouth to say something, but then stood and moved quickly to the window. When he turned, his smile was mischievous. "I'm going to host a party tonight. You should come."

"A party?" Ally was surprised at the sudden change of topic. "But I really need to work some more. We only have eight months for an entire album and you haven't even begun to give me input."

"Here's some input," he said. "You need to get to know me to write songs for me. I like to go to parties. Lots of my friends will be there too. It will help you understand me better."

"I really don't do parties much."

"You should," Austin said. "All the important people will be there. Folks from my lanel, some stars, Dez, Trish. It's good to mingle."

"And I don't mingle," Ally said, her voice crisp.

"Why? Is there a rule against mingling?"

"Look, Austin, it's really nice of you to invite me, but I'm really not a party animal. Lots of people, lots of alcohol, people being loud and talking and somebody asking you to dance and their sweaty hands around yours - ew! No, thanks."

"But I can't show up there without my new songwriter," Austin argued. "People want to meet you. It's business."

"Austin …"

"Please? Please, please, please, please?" he whined, giving her his best puppy impression.

She considered him for a moment, then sighed. He was right, of course. She needed to get to know him better. "Alright, fine." But her threatening index finger was immediately in his face. "But I won't stay until after midnight. Got it?"

She was already out of the room, when he said: "Got it," and rubbed his hands, grinning mischievously.

Ally left Denny with his grandfather for the evening. Mr. Dawson was happy to see his grandson again and vice versa. Plus, even though she wouldn't admit it, she was glad to have an evening off being a mom. Denny was the easiest child ever, but his presence came - naturally - with a constant feeling of worry; and though that hadn't diminished completely, it had descreased a bit.

She couldn't remember when she had been out for the last time.

That evening, when she left the pool house for the garden, the preparations for Austin Moon's party were in full swing.

Ice sculptures of Austin Moon were everywhere in the garden and a small stage had been built. Austin was probably going to sing. Fake marble pillars were placed around the stage to hold up the lightning - and the band was about to set up their instruments.

Most guests had not arrived yet, but a blond girl in a shrill, pink dress shot through the garden and the house and photographed everything.

"Hi," Ally greeted her. "Are you the interior designer? May I help you?"

The girl turned around sharply and her left eye trembled slightly. "No," she said and the word was long-drawn and sharp, spoken with a kind of urgency that Ally found slightly disconcerting. "I am not the interior designer."

"Are you one of the press people?" Ally asked, already regretting this conversation.

"No," she snapped. "I'm not," she raised her fingers to indicate a quote: "'one of the press people'. I'm Tilly Thompson. I'm president of Austin Moon's fanclub and his number one fan."

"I see," Ally said. Her good manners prevented her from fleeing. "I'm -"

"I know who you are," she said sharply and stepped a bit too close to Ally. She ducked away. "You are Ally Dawson, his new songwriter and currently the only eligible female living around Austin Moon."

"Eligible?" Ally echoed. "What exactly are you -?"

"But you will never have him," Tilly Thompson screeched with wide open eyes. "Because Austin Moon is mine! Mine! Mine!" And she tumbled away, leaving Ally standing by a Cupid ice sculpture.

"Yeahh," she said slowly. Definitely an encounter of the third kind.

If all of Austin's friends were like this, this was going to be a short night.

Dez was there - he had brought some of his own ice sculptures. And while they were technically absolutely brilliant, Ally found Dez had used a bit too much of his overactive imagination. One, for example, featured Austin in a gladiator's armor, sitting on a unicorn. It looked very life like - it was the only thing good Ally managed to say about it.

"You came!"

Ally turned at Trish's voice and was promptly caught in a huge hug.

"And you look beautiful." It sounded vaguely surprised.

"Thanks," Ally said. "I tried. So, who is going to be here this evening?"

"Ralphie Hayes, for example!" Trish said. She pointed over at a table where a young man examined the huge pyramid of water melons. He seemed to be quite fascinated with them. "Oh, he so dreamy."

Ally examined him and tilted her head. Except for the wild, dark, palm tree-like hair, he looked a lot like … "He looks a bit like Austin, doesn't he?"

"Ralphie Hayes?" Trish spluttered. "Nooo. They don't look anything alike. Austin's blond."

"Yes, but besides the hair color …," but Trish wasn't listening anymore. She waved at some unknown person in the growing croud. "JStar, my friend! It's TriRosa! How are you doing?" She turned to Ally. "See you later, AlDaw. I need to go and mingle."

"Yeah, right." She watched as Trish disappeared among the people. Despite suddenly being surrounded by people, Ally was struck by a sense of loneliness. She didn't know anyone here, while everyone else seemed to be surrounded by their best friends. For a moment, she considered approaching someone, but there only seemed to be groups of people around.

She spotted Dez' red hair several times in the crowd and Trish wandered around, talking to this or to that person, but they seemed to busy.

So in the end, she took a glass of champagne, wandered over to one of the many palm trees and watched the group of Hawaiian dancers Austin had hired blow huge clouds of fire.

Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. "Hi."

She turned and was surprised to see Ralphie Hayes standing there. He smiled. "I don't know anyone here either. Are friends with Austin Moon?"

Thank God, a sympathetic soul. "Ah, no. Not exactly. I'm his new songwriter."

Ralphie Hayes' eyes widened. "Oh my God, that's you? I've heard about you! You wrote The Greatest Love Song! That was an amazing song!"

"Thanks a lot."

Ralphie Hayes seemed to be almost euphoric. "That I would meet you here. Hey, listen." He leaned closer. "If they treat you badly here, you are always welcome to work as a composer or sound designer at my new movie. I'm quite sure I can pull a few strings here."

"Thank you very much, but I am going to honor this commitment," she said. "It's nice of you to offer, though."

Ralphie Hayes grinned. "For a composer of your calibre, always. Just think about it, alright?"

"I will."

At the stage, the spotlights started to dance. The pillars surrounding the stage seemed to glitter. Someone played a drum roll and finally, Austin climbed the stairs and grasped the microphone.

"Hi, I'm Austin Moon! Welcome to my party!"

The crowd cheered and clapped, some raised their drinks. Even more people poured into the garden. Search light danced the sky.

Ally tried very hard not to be impressed, but it was a feat not easily achieved.

"Alright! Let's kick this off!" Austin roared into the microphone. Somewhere in the back, pyrotechnics went off.

The drums started the entry beat and the other band members joined in.

"Isn't he dreamy?" Tilly Thompson sighed.

Ally almost jumped Ralphie at the girl's sudden appearance next to her. Her heart beat calmed and she shuffled a bit away from the girl. "Yeah," she said. "Dreamy." Though dreamy wasn't the word Ally would use to describe a guy. She had to admit, however, that Austin knew how to rock the house. He had amazing stage presence and was a fantastic dancer.

People loved him.

Ally clapped along - and caught Trish's gaze across the garden.

Trish nodded over at Austin and raised her eyebrows. "Well?" was her silent question.

Ally sighed, smiled and nodded. "Good," she mouthed back at Trish with a cheesy thumbs up.

"Toldja," Trish winked.

The song ended and Austin stood there, his chest heaving, his face aglow, frozen in his trademark crossed-arms pose. His positively bathed in the crowd's response. His adrenaline seemed to bounce off him at his audience - and returned to him, tenfold. He could magnetically draw them with him, could pull them to their feet and dance and cheer at him.

"Thanks a ton," Austin said, after his first performance. "As some of you might knw, I'm working on a new album."

Ohhs and Ahhs echoed, people grinned and clapped and called out for him. "And may lable - thank you, Dez, thanks, Trish - was kind enough to provide me with a new songwriter." Suddenly it struck Ally like called rain when she realized where this was going. "Please give a hand for my new songwriter, Ally Dawson."

The poeple cheered and craned their necks to see her. Ralphie Hayes smiled and pushed her with a lot of good intentions toward the stage, whistling through his finger and pointing to her.

Alle knew he meant well, but suddenly she felt nauseous. Her hands started to sweat and tremble, as she was pushed through the crowd and toward Austin's smiling face.

He pulled her up on stage and she only saw manically smiling people and bright, blinding lights. Austin stood next to her and she was tempted to cling to him. However, he felt sweaty - and Ally didn't really know him and she hated to touch strangers, so she just stood there, frozen to a pillar. She winked mechanically at people and desperately analyzed the situation for the next exit.

"I thought we might convince Ally to play a little something for us," Austin said.

Ally heard the words, but couldn't react. She couldn't say anything, she just wanted to gnaw on her hair and run for the hills. There were laughing people, screaming people, madly clapping people everywhere. And suddenly, it was so hot in here, the sounds to deafening and her clothes so sweaty.

Her throat started to tighten up - she couldn't breath anymore, she needed to get out of there, but Austin held her arm.

"A-Austin," she half-whispered, half-croaked. "I can't. I have horrible stage fright."

He didn't seem to take her seriously. "Oh, c'mon, just one little song. The audience wants it, can't you hear?" He held a hand to his ear as if she couldn't understand the maddening chorus:

"Ally! Ally! Ally!"

Ally's panic started to gain momentum. "Austin, I really can't! I -," she struggled for breath. Her throat was so tight!

I need to get out of here.

She tried to push him away, but she held her in an iron-clad grasp.

"Ally, c'mon …"

"You need to let me go!" Reality started to twist and rotate. Ally tried to put her hand on her ears, but he was just too strong.

"Ally?" His mischievous grin started to fade as he began to realize that something was wrong with her.

His hold on her started to loosen und that was a mistake. She pushed him away and like in slow motion, his arms flailed out and he fell backwards. The collision with one of the pillars next to the stage was like in a bad comedy movie: The pillar tilted slowly and fell into the next, which in turn crashed into its neighbour.

All nine pillars fell over and the last proceeded to fall into the table with the buffet atop of it - right into the water melon pyramid Ralphie Hayes had liked so much.

The water melons burst away like cannon balls into all four directions.

One tipped over the ice sculpture of Austin on the unicorn. In between Dez' screaming, the unicorn crashed into the pool. Other melons collided with the champagne pyramid, chased the man holding the Austin Moon balloons and made the fire-breather swallow his fire.

He gulped heavily, then burped an enormous flame. It set one of the palm trees aflame.

A twig on fire fell into the firework tent - which went up immediately - among chaos and big explosions.

And people started to run and scream.

Austin just stared, surprised, shocked and kind of amused, but Ally was beyond panic and terror.

She just stared at what she had done - and followed the general opinion of panicking party guests and ran away, too.

"Ally!" Austin called, but she didn't hear him - she didn't want to hear him. "Ally!"

She turned once and looked over her shoulder, before she disappeared in the garden. He could see her tears. She cried. He had made her cry.

Dez had dived into the pool to save his unicorn, while Trish called the fire department.

For a moment, Austin considered staying and waiting until the fire fights arrived, but then he decided otherwise. Trish would handle it, she always did.

So he followed Ally, presumably into the pool house.

He wondered: Had he overdone it? Another palm caught fire and small explosions destroyed the music equipment.

Hm. Maybe?

Austin jogged toward the mansion, past the pool and toward the pool house. The windows were dark.

He tried the door - it was unlocked. The living room was empty.

"Ally?"

Nobody answered, but he could hear a faint rustling coming from the second floor. Austin followed the noises upstairs.

Outside, he could hear the noise of an engine being started. Then a car with screeching tires sped from his court.

She was in no condition to drive. She was in no condition to do anything besides cry.

He had gone too far. Damn.

When he left the pool house, he found Dez clutching the head of his unicorn.

"Look, what happened!" Dez wailed.

Austin ignored him and searched his pockets for a key.

"I'll be borrowing this," Austin said, waving with Dez' car keyes and then ran as quickly as possible.

end (4/?)

Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your kind reviews. So, so many. :) I'm hoping for ten per chapter again?