A/N: C.C. Brown's was an LA Ice Cream Parlor. Before it closed its doors in 1996, it was popular with celebrity clientele, including Mary Pickford, Joan Crawford and Bob Hope.

Chapter 31

"Uh… Shana," Shana looked up to see Aja standing nervously in the doorway. "Do you still… do commissions?"

Shana laughed. "Sure, when I've got time! The benefit's taking up a lot of it, but when that's over, I should be free. Why?"

Aja looked away. "I was wondering if you could design a wedding dress."

Shana jumped up and took Aja's hands in her own. "For you? Of course!"

"I don't want to take advantage of our friendship—"

Shana interrupted her before she could complete the sentence. "You'd better not be even thinking of paying me," she snapped. "And what's with this 'friendship'? The last I looked we were sisters!"

Foster sisters, technically, but Aja knew that Shana's mock outrage would morph into genuine hurt if she were to add that qualifier. They were sisters by choice and had been since they were twelve. "Sorry," she said at once. "I didn't want to make you feel like I was trying to score a free dress."

"Call it a wedding present," Shana said firmly. "And tell Craig I've got his tux covered too."

She didn't tack on an 'or else', but Aja heard one all the same and smiled her gratitude.

"Hey, kid," Phyllis said, "morning. Time to get up."

Hana May opened her eyes, stretched, and yawned.

"Sleep well?"

The little girl rubbed her eyes. "Is Mommy here?" she asked. Then she frowned. "Did I just dream she came?"

As much as Phyllis wanted to confirm it, she'd never lied to the kid—except about Santa Claus, so far, and yes, fine, she was probably going to tell her there was a tooth fairy in a year or so, too—but she wasn't going to start lying about the important stuff now. "You didn't dream it, Hana May," she said soberly.

A wide smile split the child's face. "Then where is she?" she asked. "Did she sleep here? Is she in the kitchen already?"

Phyllis put a hand on her shoulder. "She left," she said.

Hana May frowned. "Where did she go?"

Phyllis sighed. "I don't know."

"When's she coming back?"

"I don't know that either."

"Is she coming back?"

Phyllis tried to smile. "I hope so."

Hana May looked away. "I don't."

"Kid…"

"It's not fair!" The sentence seemed to explode from her mouth. "Why'd she even come if she was just gonna go? I thought she was gonna stay here with us forever! I thought…"

Phyllis had never thought of herself as especially loving, but she acted on pure instinct as she folded the girl into a hug. "I know," she said. "I know."

And for a few minutes that felt like forever, she let Hana May cry. Gradually, the sobs faded to whimpers and the child relaxed. Phyllis shifted her onto her lap. "You up for a story, kid?" she asked quietly.

Hana May gave a slight shrug.

Phyllis held her tighter. "Once upon a time, there was a princess with long green hair. She had a mommy and a daddy who loved her very much. But the princess's mommy didn't like living in the castle. She wanted blue skies and open fields and lots of adventure. And even though she loved her daughter and the king very much, that didn't stop her from getting up one day when the princess was about six and walking out of the castle and never coming back."

"I'm not six," Hana May protested.

"And your hair's not green," Phyllis smiled. "But I can tell you a different story if you want."

Hana May shook her head. "I wanna hear this one," she said, settling back in.

Phyllis nodded. And then she continued trying to turn her own life's story into a tale suitable for preschoolers.

"So, I won't be in today," Phyllis finished. "Can you call my appointments and let them know I'll be in touch tomorrow to reschedule? Just tell them I had an emergency situation," she added.

"Ain't that the truth?" Louisa Azavedo sighed in commiseration. "You sure today's going to be enough?"

"Let's take it one day at a time," Phyllis said. "Hana May's a tough kid. Today might be all we need; I'll let you know if it isn't."

"Think her mother's going to turn up again?"

Phyllis had been asking herself the same question. "Hard to say," she admitted. "I think she was happy to spend time with her daughter yesterday, but… she's got issues and they aren't all legal ones. She's not under house arrest or wearing an ankle monitor or anything. I know she's been working in Vegas for the last couple of years. Nothing stopping her from going back there, so long as she's in town on the trial date." She sighed. "If she does, and then she pulls another disappearing act, it's going to hit the kid hard. But I don't gotta tell you that."

"No, you don't," Azavedo said. "Well, if there's anything we can do for you besides the time off, let us know."

"Thanks," Phyllis said. "I'll be in touch." She was smiling a little as she ended the call. Once upon a time, she might have tried toughing out a situation without letting anyone else know what was going on, much less asking for any help or accommodation. But she gotten a little older and a little wiser… and a little girl who needed her. And she had to admit that it was a good feeling to know that there were people around who had her back if she needed them.

"What are these?" Wendy asked, gesturing toward the sheets of paper that Joellen was beginning to distribute.

A row of narrow, beaded braids flew smoothly in a half circle as the older girl turned around. "Permission slips," Joellen grinned. "There's a concert coming up to benefit Parkinson's. Since the concert is organized by Starlight Music and…"

"And we're Starlight Camp!" Wendy exclaimed.

"Yup! The camp's run by the Starlight Foundation, which is run by the music company, so every so often," Joellen's grin widened, "we get perks like this."

"You mean," Emma's eyes widened, "we're going to the concert?"

"That's what I mean," Joellen nodded, putting a slip in Wendy's outstretched hand.

"Uh… what about me?" Emma asked.

"You're a Starlight girl, Emma," Joellen said. "Jerrica or Mrs. Bailey will take care of it for you."

"Oh, right," Emma mumbled, flushing a little. A small smile played on her face. She turned to Wendy. "Can I catch up with you later?" she asked.

"Of course," Wendy said. "Why?"

"Oh," Emma replied, "I think that maybe, just maybe, there's a way for the Starlights to play that benefit after all…"

"But I didn't abandon her," Rory protested. "I didn't know she existed until two days ago, and if I'd known it sooner, I would have been there!"

Phyllis fought down a surge of temper. "You don't work with kids like her day in and day out, Llewellyn, I do. I'm not blaming you, but whether you knew about her or not, you haven't been in the picture until now. Last night, her mother walked out on her for the second time. As far as she's concerned, you walked out on her before she was born." Rory started to say something, but Phyllis wasn't done. "I know that's not fair to you, but Hana May is four. She's not so good at seeing things from different perspectives, yet. She's not ready."

There was a long silence. Then, Rory asked hesitantly, "How about if you brought her to a park and I met you there? Let me see her, let me talk to her. She doesn't have to know who I am yet, but we can meet, we can talk a little, we can start to get to know each other…"

Phyllis considered. "No gifts," she said.

"Pardon?"

"I'm going to have to take a raincheck on our lunch date, I think, but there's a park three blocks away from me I'll find out what it's called and get back to you; for me, it's just 'the park'. Anyway, I'll tell you when I'm taking her there, but if she's tired or cranky or bored, we won't stick around for long. If you show up, I'll introduce you to her as a friend of mine. But don't give her a toy or a candy. Don't try to win her over at the first meeting. And if she just says 'hi' and then runs off to play on the slide, don't take it as a rejection. She has to get to know you."

"I won't push," Rory promised. "I just want to see her."

"Seeing her won't be a problem," Phyllis told him. "But if you want a relationship, that's not going to happen overnight. She needs time."

After she hung up, Phyllis whispered to the empty kitchen, "…And so do I."

"I don't understand," Marla said. "So, we're going to the benefit. Jerrica said we're not—"

Emma interrupted her, excitement trumping politeness for once. "Yeah, but once we're there, I bet we can find a way to get backstage, and if we can do that, then maybe when they break between sets, we can just run on."

Kyla frowned. "Don't they have security? What if we get arrested?"

"Jerrica won't let that happen," Emma said.

"If it's even up to Jerrica," Julie said. When the other three girls turned to look at her, she took a hesitant step back. "I'm just saying she doesn't own the stadium. She might be able to ask whoever does to let us off with a warning, but if they say no…"

"Guys," Emma said, "seriously? We get up there, we start playing, and once they hear us, they won't let us leave the stage 'til we're done. We just have to be amazing, that's all."

"No," Kyla said. "Not amazing. Outrageous!"

"Or at least, professional," Marla nodded with a grin. "Let's get back to practicing."

"Roxanne?"

Startled, Roxy whirled to face the person who'd just called out to her. Her eyes widened. She recognized him, too. "Link?" She broke into a broad smile. "I haven't seen you since Philly! What the hell are you doing in LA?"

Link grinned back. "I'm a mover these days, babe," he said. "Just got paid to freight some family's stuff from West Philly to San Pedro. I was going to head back, but my boss called and offered to pay me to stick around so I can move some other folks from Westwood to Center City over the weekend." He chuckled. "Of course, I said yes. So, I'm doing a little sightseeing for the next couple of days. How about you?"

Roxy hesitated. "Oh, I'm… hanging in," she said. "Hey, you want to grab some coffee and catch up?"

Link nodded. "Sounds great. Oh, uh," he reached into his pocket and came up with a small notepad. "My wife, she's been a Misfits fan from way back. I kind of think one of the reasons she took a chance on going out with me was because I told her I went to school with you and she wanted details. Somewhere along the way, we started talking about other stuff, but… yeah. Guess you could say, you got us together. Anyway, she asked me to bring her back a souvenir, and I know she'd rather have your autograph than some Hollywood mug. You mind?"

Roxy laughed. "Hey, no prob. Got a pen?"

Link was married. Pity; she'd been thinking that maybe the two of them could recapture what they'd had long ago, after she'd dropped out of high school, before she'd lit out for the west coast. But even if that wasn't about to happen now, Link was still a good guy and, at least for a minute, he'd made her forget the mess she'd been making of her life. And clearly, he'd married a woman with good taste, she mused, smiling just a bit as he handed her a Pilot V7.

"Hangin' in, new kid?" Deirdre looked up from tuning her guitar and smiled nervously at Jetta.

"I'm okay, I guess," she said. "It's all… starting to sink in. I'm jamming with you guys, and… in a few weeks, I'm going out on stage and it won't just be the audience in the stadium; it's going to be on TV."

Jetta nodded. "Yup. Nervous?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

Jetta laughed. "Hell, yeah," she said. "But don't let it show. You're a Misfit, now, Baxter. You're tough, you're fearless, and you don't take no guff from nobody, you get me?"

"I don't feel like a Misfit," Deirdre protested. "Or maybe I do… but it's 'misfit' with a small 'm'."

"A misfit among Misfits?" Jetta asked.

Deirdre winced. "Yeah."

"Well, come and jam with the rest of my crew, then, for a bit," Jetta grinned, gesturing toward the three other musicians, who were setting up at the opposite end of the room. "Hey, and maybe you can help us come up with a name for our ensemble, 'cuz so far, we haven't yet hit on one."

"I-I'm not great with names," Deirdre admitted, already getting to her feet.

"Well, neither are we, so you're in good company. You need the sheet music, or can you pick it up on the fly, like?"

Deirdre hesitated. "I'm pretty good at improvising once I know the song, but maybe I could start with the music, if that's okay?"

"Fine with me, lass," a dark-haired man smiled at her. He thrust forward his hand. "Ken Shaughnessy. Trumpet. I don't think we were rightly introduced before."

"Uh… Deirdre Baxter. Guitar," Deirdre replied. She hesitated. "I never really thought a trumpet could sound punk until I heard yours."

Ken laughed in a friendly fashion. "I'm not the first. Won't be the last. So. Shall we see what a trumpet, two guitars, a keyboard, and a sax can sound like together?"

Deirdre nodded, dimly aware that she was still smiling and hoping she didn't look nearly as scared or foolish as she felt. "I'm game if you are," she brazened. "Let me see the music."

Catching up with Link hadn't been nearly as much fun as Roxy had hoped it would be. Once upon a time, she'd been the West Philly girl who'd left her old gang behind and struck it rich in Hollywood with a hot rock band. Now, her career was more or less in the toilet, and Link had a wife, a kid on the way, and a steady paycheck. From what he'd told her, the other Red Aces were also doing well. Maybe they weren't raking in six-figure paychecks or getting their pictures in the papers, but they were working, raising families, basically living the dream.

Why the hell had she walked out on Hana May? What had she been thinking? Roxy heaved a sigh. She'd been thinking that she didn't want her daughter to know how big a screw-up she'd become. The more time she and Hana May spent together, the greater the likelihood that her secret would come out.

She slumped. She'd been so worried that Hana May would find out she was a terrible person that she'd walked away first. And in doing so, she'd managed to prove that she was a terrible person.

What had she done?

She needed a drink. Something stronger than coffee. No. No, she was better than this, or at least she would be. She had to be. She made her way back to the hotel. Somehow, she doubted that Rory was going to keep footing the bill for it now. He hadn't told her otherwise, but who said he'd have the guts to tell her to her face—or ear—that he was cutting her off? Maybe he'd just tell the hotel staff he was paying through the week or something and leave it to them to throw her out. She'd better find someplace cheap to stay for now. Some hostel or… or… Wait, did the Y only rent to men, or did they have rooms for women, too?

If they didn't, maybe they could point her in the right direction. She started to flag down a taxi, then stopped. If the Y was close enough, she could walk. She just needed a phone book so she could check the address. The hotel probably had one, but she was going to keep an eye out for a phone booth on the way, just in case they didn't.

Rory didn't usually visit playgrounds. Even as a child, he'd only gone under duress. He looked around quickly. One eyebrow quirked up and he made his way to the sandbox and sat down on a bench beside a woman wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat that completely hid her hair and a pair of dark sunglasses. "The leopard-print jacket gave you away," he said.

"Shh!" Phyllis stage whispered. "First, it's fake and second, Hana May thinks it's Dalmatian."

"Huh?"

"I told her I bought it off Cruella De Vil, okay?"

"I watched that movie," Rory said. "She didn't actually make that coat in the end."

"Yeah, well, Hana May hasn't seen it either; just clips on Disney."

"Is that still on the air?" Rory asked.

Phyllis shrugged. "No, but you can rent some of the old episodes at Blockbuster."

"Ah." Rory leaned forward. "I took your advice. I didn't buy her a pony. But if a Good Humor truck comes by, I'd like to treat both of you, if that's all right."

"Much safer than C.C. Brown's," Phyllis smiled approvingly. "I'm really trying to keep her off the celebrity circuit." She glanced toward a corner of the sandbox. "Hana May," she called, "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine."

"Friend?" Rory repeated.

"Take it slow," Phyllis murmured. "She's just had her mom walk out on her. I don't know how she'll react to her dad showing up out of the blue. Let her get to know you first."

Rory didn't answer. He was watching the little girl with the white French braid approach. "Hi," she said. "I'm Hana May."

"Hello, Hana May," Rory said gravely. "I'm Rory."

Hana May smiled. Then she looked at Phyllis. "Can I play, now?" she asked.

Phyllis shot Rory an apologetic look, but Rory was already leaning toward her. "Can I play, too?" he asked.

Hana May giggled. "You're too old!" she exclaimed.

Rory pretended he didn't hear Phyllis's snort. "You might be right," he admitted. "But it looked like you were having a lot of fun." He sighed. "That's not something I get enough of."

Hana May mulled that over. "You can watch me play," she offered generously. She pointed to another bench, closer to the corner where she'd been previously. "There."

Rory cast a glance in Phyllis's direction. Phyllis nodded. "All right, then," he said. "And thank you."

Hana May shrugged.

She'd bought the auburn rinse at a drug store and applied it after taking a scissors to her long white hair. Roxy wasn't entirely sure she liked the results. She'd braided it into two plaits and then snipped them off, leaving her with a short and mostly-even bob. When she'd applied the rinse, though, the color had come in patchy. She squinted at the label as she held the box with dye-stained fingers obscuring the writing. It looked like you didn't always get the results you wanted if you weren't using the rinse over your natural color.

I was trying to get back to my natural color! Roxy thought to herself. It was a rinse. She could wash it out. She looked at her watch. Damn. There was no time. And even if there had been she was trying not to be recognized. The Roxy everyone thought they knew wouldn't be caught dead looking like this!

She reached for the pamphlet she'd picked up on a table near the front desk. Yep. The meeting was at seven-thirty and it was five to. She sighed. She'd probably hate it and never go again anyway. Yes, she would. She would until the trial anyway. She had to show that she was trying to get her life under control, so maybe the judge would give her a break.

And so maybe, she could be around her daughter and not realize that Hana May was a million times better off without her.

Running out on Hana May might've been a cruddy thing to do, but at least she knew that Phyllis was taking good care of her. With Phyllis, Hana May was never going to wake up crying in the middle of the night with nobody to hear her because Mommy had just run down to the bar for a minute that had stretched to an hour. Or because Mommy had ordered a bottle from room service and was currently passed out on the sofa. Or because…

Roxy bit her lip. Yesterday had been great, but it couldn't have lasted. It wouldn't unless she did something about it.

She locked the door behind her and took the elevator down to the basement.

"Hi, are you here for the meeting?"

Startled, Roxy took an involuntary step back. "Uh… yeah," she snapped. "That okay?"

The woman held up her hands, palms up and out. "Yes, of course. Welcome. I'm Michelle."

"Uh… Roxanne." There had to be a million Roxannes in LA. She had enough on her mind right now without having to remember a fake name.

"Welcome," Michelle said, smiling gently. "Is this your first time at an AA meeting?"

Roxy nodded.

"Welcome," Michelle repeated. "We'll get started in a few minutes, so if you want to get yourself a cup of coffee and some cake, help yourself. It'll still be there after the meeting, too."

"Uh, thanks," Roxy said, looking around. Funny. She recognized some of these people. Or maybe it wasn't so funny. This was Los Angeles and plenty of people in show business drank or took harder stuff. That was Connie Long. She'd used to co-anchor California Beat back in the day. Roxy vaguely recalled reading something about how her contract hadn't been renewed after too many missed shows. And whoa, she'd recognize Devon Silverstone anywhere! Still had those blue eyes that sparkled when he smiled at you. As though he'd read her mind, he looked up and grinned. She smiled back weakly and looked away. Her eyes slid over a willowy woman about her own age with long blonde hair. Slid… and snapped back. For a moment her mouth gaped open. "Minx?" she blurted in disbelief. "Is that you?"