A/N: "I'm Gonna Change" lyrics written by Barry Harman. Composer uncredited. Performed by Roxy/Ellen Bernfeld in Jem S2E13 (Roxy Rumbles, first aired October 20, 1987).

Chapter 37

Stephanie sank down onto one of the wide window ledges in the common room, her heart thundering in her chest. Maybe she'd been wrong. She hadn't heard both sides of the conversation. She wasn't even positive she'd heard Emma's name; she'd only thought she had. Before she did anything, she should talk to Jerrica. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.

She stared out the window blankly, not really seeing anything going on outside.

Until she saw the mansion's gate open and Jerrica's Saab drive through. Stephanie winced. So much for talking to Jerrica, at least right now.

She hunched forward and drew her knees to her chest, half-hoping and half-dreading the moment when one of the other girls would ask her if she was okay, but everyone seemed to be hanging on Lindsey Pierce's interview with some boy band on KBOT TV and nobody paid her any notice.

Stephanie thought about joining the group clustered around the television, but decided against it. Instead, after a few more minutes, she slipped out and headed back to her room, where it would be quieter and easier to think.

Phyllis's phone wouldn't stop ringing. She wished she hadn't given Rory her work number; he'd called five times to talk about their last meeting. If it had been about the benefit, she would have gritted her teeth and dealt with it, but this felt like… like…

…Like he was using Hanna May to lock her into a relationship. If he got custody, he would take her away and then, if Phyllis decided that things weren't going to work out between them, then she'd never see Hanna May again!

It did no good to remind herself that, at least on paper, she had no legal right to that little girl. If Roxy had demanded her daughter back, Phyllis wouldn't have been happy to lose her either, but she would have let it happen.

Really? If I thought she'd leave Hanna May alone in a hotel room in the middle of the night to go clubbing again, I'd be okay with letting her leave?

She remembered again the night that Roxy had called her up, giggling and slurring her words and telling her to come to Vegas for a weekend and loosen up…

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Phyllis hissed. She glanced at the digital clock and groaned. She needed to get up in another hour and a half if she was going to be out the door in time to make it to work. She was too awake now to fall back to sleep and it was too early to be up.

On the other end of the phone, Roxy emitted a raucous laugh. "It's party time!" she exclaimed. "C'mon, Pizzazz, I'm holding a beer for you! Why don'cha drive on up?"

She sucked in a breath. "Because it's four o'clock in the morning in LA and Vegas is more than four hours' drive!" she snapped.

"So, fly! That's only an hour. You used to be funnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!" she whined.

"So did you," Phyllis retorted. "You really having fun right now?"

Roxy giggled, but there was a frantic note to it beneath the surface. "Sure I am!" she insisted. "Great city, great club, great music, great booze… what's not fun?"

"If you're really having such a great time, then why are you calling me at this hour? Look. Go home. Unless your babysitter is cool with hanging around this late, you really ought to get back so they can go home."

There was a long pause. Then, "Babysitter?"

Phyllis's hand felt like ice around her phone receiver. "Roxy," she said, fighting to keep her voice level. "Who's looking after Hanna May?"

"I locked the hotel room," Roxy said. "There's security. She won't even know I'm gone."

Roxy had left a toddler alone in a hotel room. Phyllis sucked in a breath. "Give me your address," she said wondering how her voice was still so even, when she wanted to scream, rip the phone out of the wall, and throw it out her bedroom window. "I'll be in Vegas on the next flight."

And it sure as hell wasn't going to be for a party.

Roxy had seemed more relieved than anything when Phyllis had offered to look after Hanna May for a while. "Just until you get your act together," she'd assured her.

And Roxy had sighed and admitted that maybe the Las Vegas strip wasn't the best place for a child. Phyllis had been back at the airport, a confused little girl in tow, before she'd realized that the work day was almost over and she hadn't even bothered to call in sick.

Luckily, her supervisor had been understanding when she'd explained that there had been a family crisis.

"Sometimes, even when the work day is over, you're not off the clock," she'd told Phyllis. "If it happens again, call sooner. And Phyllis? Don't do it too often. Burnout is one of the hazards of this profession and as well as you're doing, I'd hate for you to take on too much too soon."

She was going to have to childproof the house. Hell, she was going to have to make over one of her spare bedrooms. The kid was too big for a crib, but would she need railings on her bed? Toys. Phyllis needed to get toys. What else, what else?

The enormity of what she'd just done crashed down on her. What the hell did she know about toddlers? (Being able to throw temper tantrums in her teens and twenties wasn't exactly a good qualification.) How had she started her day by answering a drunken phone call at four AM, only to find herself with a not-quite-three-year-old in her charge less than twelve hours later?

"Azevedo?" she ventured with uncharacteristic hesitancy, "I think I'm gonna need a week to sort things out."

There was a moment's pause. "You've got the PTO accrued," her supervisor said. "I'll take care of it."

Phyllis exhaled. Then she smiled down at the little girl whose hand she was holding. "It's gonna be okay, kid," she said. "We can make this work."

She'd call Jerrica when they got back to LA. Yeah, the kids at Starlight House were a few years older, but some of them might have arrived when they'd been Hanna May's age. And if Jerrica couldn't help her, she'd know someone who could.

Of course, Phyllis knew she could have spoken with the department, but she wasn't sure if she wanted one of her colleagues stopping by her apartment on a professional visit. It would feel too weird. And what if someone decided that Hanna May needed to be in some group home, because Phyllis wasn't a certified foster parent or…?

She was being silly. She knew she was being silly. Probably. But she still wasn't going to take the risk.

Besides, Roxy hadn't seemed to be doing that well in Vegas. Maybe in a week or two, she'd be back in LA, knocking on Phyllis's door and asking to crash on her couch until she could find something more permanent.

And Phyllis would let her, of course. And she'd hook Roxy up with whatever parenting and counselling resources she might need to give Hanna May a good life. Meanwhile, at least in the short term, Phyllis could look after Hanna May and give Roxy a chance to really take stock.

This would work. She knew it.

The phone was ringing again. Angrily, she got up and walked down the hallway, glad she'd only installed one in the kitchen and one in her home office. She could still hear the noise as she made her way to Hanna May's room, but it was faint now enough to be a minor annoyance.

She opened the door and looked in on the sleeping little girl—with the light coming in from the hall behind her and the window opposite, she could see her well enough, slumbering peacefully without a worry in the world.

Phyllis shook her head, as a sad smile came to her face. "It's okay, kid," she whispered. "I can worry enough for the both of us."

"Stephanie?"

Go away, Stephanie thought desperately. Please, don't come in.

Her prayer went unanswered, as the knob turned and Jerrica entered. "You're missing supper," Jerrica said, coming forward to brush her cool hand on Stephanie's forehead. "No fever, but, are you feeling okay?"

Stephanie took a deep breath. "Is it true you're sending Emma away?" she asked, fighting back tears.

Jerrica's eyes widened. "How did you hear—?" She took a breath. "Never mind. It's hard to keep secrets with so many people living here. I'm not sending her away, Stephanie." Stephanie started to smile, but Jerrica wasn't finished. "She is going to be leaving us, though. A place has been found for her in Boston. I-I know you two are friends, but this is out of my hands."

"No!" Stephanie whispered. "No, it's not fair!"

"I know," Jerrica said sadly.

"When?"

"In a couple of weeks. Hopefully, after the benefit, but I just don't know."

"She's been working so hard on…" Stephanie's voice trailed off. "On that song."

"Uh-huh," Jerrica nodded. "I've seen her. I haven't had time to listen; I've been breathing this benefit morning, noon, and night, but I'm definitely going to do my best to make time for her before she goes."

"And we'll have a going-away party for her, right?"

Jerrica hesitated. "We can try, but… Stephanie, who else knows about this right now?"

"Just me, I think." She lowered her eyes. "I-I was passing your office yesterday. I didn't mean to hear, I…"

"It's okay," Jerrica squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Listen, I don't want the other girls to know, yet. And if we started planning a party, they'd have to. Before we go ahead with it, let me talk to Emma and make sure it's something she really wants, okay?"

"I could ask her."

"Not yet," Jerrica said. "I want you to leave that with me. Please."

Stephanie lowered her eyes. "Okay," she mumbled, and Jerrica squeezed her shoulder again.

"Come downstairs when you're ready to eat. I'll tell Mrs. Bailey to save you a plate," she said gently. Then she left, closing the door behind her.

Once in the hallway, she breathed a sigh of relief. Emma had been making such progress! She was going to be sorry to see her go. And as much as she did think that Stephanie had a point, and that Emma should be told what was happening, Jerrica had read the girl's records. In the last four years, she had run away from no fewer than eight placements—several of them more than once. She'd even tried it here when she'd thought she might be sent away, Jerrica remembered. Under those circumstances, she didn't think that it would be wise to let Emma know what was in the offing too far in advance. Los Angeles could be a very dangerous place for an eleven-year-old girl on her own, and if Emma bolted, if anything happened to her, Jerrica would never forgive herself.

She only hoped that, when the time came, Emma would forgive her for her secrecy.

Roxie pulled the few remaining bills out of her wallet, and emptied the coin-purse part. She bit her lip. This wasn't going to last long, not even with her room at the Y and the basic foods she was buying. What would she do when it was gone?

Her eyes fell on her guitar case. She could sell it. Maybe some auction house would be interested. If not, a pawnshop might be. Whatever they paid would be more than she was likely to earn going forward. After Hector Ramirez had run his segment on her legal issues, her agent had all but dropped her.

"No, I'm not firing you. I'm just saying that until this blows over, I'm not sure I can find you work with a singing telegram company. Nobody wants to be associated with you."

"I thought there was no such thing as bad press."

"Roxy. You kidnapped a teenager."

"She was twenty!"

"If you think that's helping your case, then maybe you can find a gig closer to home. In Fantasyland! Look, Roxy, save your dimes for the next few months. Give me a call when the court case is settled. Until then…"

She sighed. "Yeah."

Damn, Lonnie was a jerk, but no other agent was willing to touch her now either, and Lonnie was the only one who'd even suggested she call him 'down the road'. She was done.

She reached for the guitar and sighed. So many memories. So many dreams. She'd been playing for loose change in front of the Metro Rail stations when Eric had found her a lifetime ago. She'd only had the guitar a few months then and she still couldn't quite believe she owned something that gorgeous. She'd sold off a lot in the last few years, but until now, she'd never contemplated giving this up.

A thought came to her and she smiled. Maybe, just maybe, there was another way.

"So," Emma said, "I think I might have another song idea. You know, in case the crowd wants an encore."

"That's outrageous!" Casey exclaimed. "And now that you know how to write songs, I bet this one'll be even better, right Stephanie?"

Stephanie blinked. "Uh, yeah," she said vaguely. "Sounds good."

"Stephanie?" Casey asked, "Are you okay?"

Stephanie forced herself to smile. "Sure. Never better."

Emma frowned. "No," she said. "Something's wrong."

"Wrong?" Stephanie echoed. "No, what could be wrong?"

"You tell me," Emma said.

Stephanie shook her head. "I can't. I mean, there isn't anything. I mean…" She got up and hurried out of the room, "I-I have to go!"

Emma and Casey looked at each other. "What was that?" Emma asked.

Casey shook her head. "I don't know, but I'll try to find out later, once she's calmed down."

Roxy swallowed hard. She hadn't done this in years. She was used to playing for larger crowds, crowds that paid money to see her before the performance. Crowds she couldn't see in the dark when she was blinded by the stage lights and high on excitement.

She was sorry she'd washed out the lousy hair rinse. A look in the mirror had confirmed that she had about a quarter inch of her natural color back at the roots; she was still debating whether to re-dye it white again, let the auburn continue to grow out, go with some other color, or shave her head. Meanwhile, she pulled her LA Dodgers cap a bit lower, so it almost completely hid her newly-short hair.

She'd gone for a t-shirt and jeans today; none of the leopard prints or too-tight mohair sweaters she'd become famous for.

"When you got it, you got it," she whispered to herself, as she set down her guitar case in front of Pico Station, hoisted out her guitar and slung the strap over her neck. She left the case open and, after a moment's thought, placed a five dollar bill and a handful of loose change inside. Then she hiked up the strap so that the guitar sat at chest height, positioned her fingers on the strings, and struck up a fast driving rhythm. Then she started to sing and it didn't matter anymore that she was busking outside a metro station. She let the music take over and transport her back to a better time and place.

Hey, I'm gonna change my luck

I'm gonna change my luck somehow

I'm gonna find another connection

And take a whole new direction

I'm gonna change my luck right now

I'm gonna change my life…

She barely noticed when a passerby dropped money into the open guitar case. She just kept playing.

The social worker from Massachusetts DCF was apologetic on the phone when Phyllis got the call. "I know this has been dragging on for months, but something's come up and the person we had slated to come down for the Swan girl won't be able to make it for another two weeks at least. I hope that's not an inconvenience."

Inconvenience? She'd been trying to figure out a way not to have the kid yanked away before the benefit concert! Aloud, Phyllis said, "Hey, these things happen. No sweat. I'll let the head of the group home know. Just give me a heads up when we're back on track."

She ended the call with a smile, pulled Emma's folder out of her desk, and dutifully jotted down the new information.

Then she picked up the phone again to tell Jerrica.

"You all right?"

Stephanie looked up from the book she was pretending to read to see Casey and Emma peering at her, worry writ large in their eyes. She nodded and pasted a grin on her face. "Sure," she said, trying to sound okay. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"We don't know," Casey said. "That's why we're checking up on you."

"Well, you don't have to," Stephanie said. "Everything's fine."

"Uh-uh," Emma said. "Not buying it."

"You calling me a liar?"

They were, or at least Emma was, but even she knew better than to say it that way. "I'm saying you can't kid a kidder," she said. "Something's up. What's going on?"

Stephanie swallowed. "I…" Jerrica was trusting her. "I-I…" She'd promised. "I'm sorry," she whispered, not sure if she was apologizing to Jerrica for what she was about to do, or to Emma for what she was about to say. "It's just that I…" She couldn't do this. She leaped up from her bed and pushed past the two other girls.

"I have to go!" she cried, hurrying out of her room.

Emma and Casey looked at one another, and then at the empty doorway. "Um…" Casey said. "That was…"

"Definitely not all right," Emma finished.

"Another two weeks?" Jerrica repeated. "That's wonderful. I know Emma's been looking forward to the concert and I was dreading having to tell her she'd be missing it." She sighed. "No, I didn't tell her anything. I was trying to find the right words." She winced, but chuckled a little at Phyllis's reply. "Kimber's hard at work on another song right now. She's got enough words to look for. But thanks for telling me."

She hung up the phone with a smile. Two more weeks. If it weren't for the benefit, she'd think about giving Emma that Disneyland visit after all, but there was just no time. Maybe there would be when it was over. The concert was eleven days away. After that, Jerrica knew her schedule was fairly solid, but maybe she could clear a day from it. Or maybe someone else could take Emma. Or maybe there would be more time.

Jerrica was no stranger to bureaucracy and it was very possible that Emma would be staying with her beyond those two weeks. It was also possible that whatever snarl was currently holding up Emma's transfer would sort itself out overnight and a social worker would show up tomorrow. Not very likely, of course, but still possible.

For that reason, Jerrica resolved that she wouldn't say anything to Emma just yet. Why raise her hopes, only to dash them if things didn't work out? And also for that reason, Jerrica decided, she wouldn't say anything to Stephanie either.

Roxy counted up the bills and change now filling her guitar case and let out a low whistle. All told, there was a bit under three hundred dollars in there. Not bad for six hours work, she thought. Not bad at all. Nothing like the money she'd raked in as a Misfit, or even in Vegas, but it was enough to pay for groceries, another week at the Y, and if she did this a few more times, maybe she'd be able to check into someplace a bit better.

She had a list of meetings in the neighborhood; she knew there was probably one somewhere close by tonight. It wouldn't be the same if Devon wasn't there. Her lip curled. It wouldn't be the same if Devon was there, the creep!

She wasn't being fair, but hell, she was a Misfit. Fairness wasn't part of the job description! Was a Misfit, she thought. Past Tense. They had that Starlight kid now; the kid who'd got her arrested and wrecked her life.

Not that her life hadn't been a mess in the first place.

She'd made almost three hundred dollars today. You didn't collect that kind of dough busking in front of a Metro station if you didn't have something going for you.

And if she could just get on that stage at the benefit, she'd prove to everyone that she could still wow the crowds and the Misfits would beg her to come back!

He was waiting outside the building when Phyllis left. She shook her head. "You know, stalking isn't cute or funny!" she snapped.

Rory flinched. "You stopped taking my calls," he said. "I didn't know how else to reach you!"

She put her hand on one hip and glowered at him. "Did it not occur to you that I don't want to be reached?" she demanded. "If it's benefit-related, talk to Jerrica. If it's publicity-related, talk to Raya. If you're looking to book the Misfits for a gig, we're just coming together for the concert and then going back to our lives, so save your breath and get out of my way!"

"And if I want to see you again?" Rory pressed. "Or Hanna May? Phyllis… I-I don't know what I said that was wrong. I like you. I like kids. And I'm really starting to love my daughter. Would it be so terrible if we… stayed in each other's lives and took things one day at a time until we knew where we were going?"

Phyllis's expression thawed slightly. "It wouldn't be terrible," she admitted. "But the optics…"

"Optics?"

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Roxy's having issues, but she's still a friend. More to the point, because of who I am and where I work, like it or not… There've been enough stories about kids being wrenched away from their parents by overzealous social workers. You and me working together to get full custody of Hanna May, you know what the tabloids are like."

"Does the press have to know?" Rory asked.

"Did they have to know about Roxy getting arrested? They'll find out. Hell, Roxy might even spill the story hoping to drum up some sympathy. Crud, Rory, just because I grew up and grew out of dirty tricks doesn't mean I forgot how to play them. It's a page straight out of Eric Raymond's playbook!"

Rory frowned. "Are you sure? I mean, have you spoken to anyone in your department about this? Maybe they can help you get ahead of this."

"I don't have custody of her," Phyllis said. "Not legally. It's all informal. I'm afraid that if I involve the department, they'll tell me I can't look after her indefinitely, not without doing the RFA training course and getting certified as a foster parent and until I've got those credentials, they might say she needs to be placed somewhere else. I can't do that to Hanna May."

"But you don't actually know if any of that is true." Rory frowned. "Or do you? I mean, you work…"

"If I don't ask questions, they won't wonder why I'm asking them," Phyllis said. "Maybe I'm being paranoid. Maybe I'm being stupid. Probably," she admitted. "But I'm not rocking the boat. And I can't be in a relationship with you if you're going to pursue custody."

"Would you want to be in a relationship with me if I wasn't?" Rory asked slowly. "If I just… let things go on as they are, as far as Hanna May is concerned? Informally?"

Damn it. What was it about Rory Llewellyn that made it so hard for her to think clearly? She wasn't the same hormonal twenty-something who'd made a fool of herself trying to win his heart while he and the other Stingers had been laughing up their sleeves. All the same, when he asked that question, all the arguments she'd been mustering seemed to splinter and shatter and fly around her head.

"I don't know," she said finally. "I just don't know."