A/N: Some dialogue taken from Little House on the Prairie S3E3: "The Race" (Original Air Date October 11, 1976). For the record, I'm relying on the internet for my knowledge of AA and sponsorship. I apologize profusely for any inaccuracies.

Chapter Forty-One

"Hey, kiddo," Phyllis smiled at Hanna May across the breakfast table. "You haven't touched your eggs."

Hanna May looked at her. She looked down at her plate. Then, slowly, deliberately, she set down her fork, lifted her index finger, and set it down gently in the middle of the eggs. "I touched them," she said seriously, and Phyllis fought not to laugh.

"Great. Now, how about eating them?"

Hanna May shook her head. "They're yucky," she said seriously.

"Yeah? What's yucky about 'em?" Phyllis asked, not in the least offended.

Hanna May shrugged. "They feel funny in my mouth and they're too cold."

Phyllis sighed. "Well, maybe if you hadn't left them so long…" she replied.

"They were yucky when they were warm, too," Hanna May informed her.

Phyllis considered. "Would you eat them in a burrito?" she asked.

Hanna May perked up. "I can have a burrito for breakfast?"

"If you'll eat it. Will you?"

Hanna May nodded. "But no hot sauce."

"How about ketchup?"

Hanna May nodded again.

"Sold!" Phyllis proclaimed. She practically ran to the fridge. There was leftover rice from the night before. She grabbed that, together with a red pepper and an avocado. Then she took a can of black beans out of the cupboard. She was in the middle of mashing a quarter cup of them when the phone rang. It was Rory.

"Sorry to call this early," he apologized, "but I didn't want to bother you at work."

Her irritation subsided slightly. "I'm trying to get breakfast on for a…" she glanced at Hanna May. No way was she going to call the girl a finicky eater when she was within earshot. "…A discriminating palate," she finished. "And I need to get out the door in about twenty minutes." Marisol would be here in ten. Phyllis hated to leave the washing up for her, but there was no help for it today.

"Then I won't keep you," Rory said. "I was wondering if we could go over some of the details for the Misfits' appearance at the benefit. I thought maybe I could swing by this evening visit with Hanna May for a bit, and once she's in bed, we could discuss business."

Phyllis considered. She did need to do something with the rest of the can of beans. "You like chili?" she asked.

"I do," Rory replied.

She'd been half-hoping he'd say no. "Dinner's at six-thirty," she said. "If you're late, we're starting without you."

Rory chuckled. "Then I won't be late. See you at dinnertime."

Phyllis hung up the phone. She'd ask Marisol to make the chili. At least it came together fairly quickly. Meanwhile…

She assembled the burrito and set it down before Hanna May just as Marisol bustled in. A quick greeting as she jotted down the instructions, a kiss to Hanna May and she was out the door, ready to face the LA traffic and try not to succumb to road rage on her way to the office.

Stephanie was in the common room watching television. She started when Emma sat down on the sofa beside her. "Hey."

"H-hey," Stephanie said.

Emma shook her head. "I just wanted to tell you, it's okay," she said. "I'm not mad at you anymore."

Stephanie blinked. "Really?"

"I'm still upset," Emma clarified. "But it's because I'm leaving, not because you weren't going to tell me. Jerrica and I had a talk."

Stephanie heaved a sigh. "I'm glad," she said with palpable relief. "I-I really didn't want to keep secrets from you. If Jerrica hadn't—"

"I get it," Emma cut her off. "But let's not talk about it anymore." She looked at the TV screen, where a horse-drawn wagon drove across a dusty road, two adults on the seat and three girls in the wagon behind. "What is this show?"

Stephanie's eyes lit up. "Little House on the Prairie," she said. "I've got all the books. The show's not exactly like them, but it's good, too."

Emma watched as the scene cut to the inside of a store, where the girls were sitting on a countertop while another woman spoke in a friendly fashion, but there was something about her that Emma immediately disliked.

"Isn't it something, the way they sprout up?" she was saying. "My Nellie outgrows her shoes before she can even wear the shoes out. Of course, they are better quality than the average."

Snob, Emma thought, as the other woman told her that the shoes would do fine.

The snobby woman named a price.

"Three dollars?" Emma repeated and Stephanie nodded.

"It's about a hundred years ago. Stuff was cheaper back then." She motioned to the screen. "Mrs. Oleson's horrible, but her husband's really nice."

A slender man was explaining that the girls' shoes were to be charged.

At that, Mrs. Oleson answered, "Why, Nellie has two pair of shoes that are practically like perfect, and she has grown right out of them. And I was going to give them to the needy in Mankato, but I think I should give them to the needy right here in Walnut Grove!"

She'd been watching the show for all of two minutes and she already hated this woman! "How can she talk like that right in front of them?" she demanded.

Stephanie shrugged. "She's a horrible person and she doesn't have a filter. The places are real, by the way."

"The places?" Emma repeated blankly.

"Walnut Grove, Minnesota," Stephanie explained. "Mankato. And other places in the books, like Pepin, Wisconsin and De Smet, South Dakota. One day," she said dreamily, "I'm going to go and see them."

"Why?" Emma asked.

"Because that's where Laura lived!" she pointed to the second of the three girls on the screen, a child Emma thought was about her age or maybe a little younger. "When she grew up, she wrote the books about what it was like back then. There are museums all over and I want to see them all!"

Emma couldn't imagine what would be so great about going to museums. She'd been on school trips to Boston historical sites before. There were only so many times you could stand behind velvet ropes while someone told you how the furniture and clothes were all handmade. But Stephanie was her friend, so all she said was, "Cool. I hope that works out for you," and hoped she sounded like she meant it. Then she settled back on the sofa to watch.

Emma thought that the performance was going well. True, she was no expert, but it seemed to her that everyone was singing on-key. The music was steady with none of the hesitations and lags that marked her own music lessons (all two of them, so far). Giselle's tips on 'moving naturally with the music'—Emma agreed with her that it wasn't exactly dancing—appeared to be paying off; they weren't standing stiffly on stage anymore.

But Jerrica's expression was completely unreadable as she watched from a front-row seat in the auditorium. A couple of times, Emma saw her nodding, but her face remained impassive, even somewhat disapproving, going by the faint frown.

Finally, the last notes died away and Jerrica rose to her feet. For an agonizing minute she regarded them silently. Finally, Kayla ventured to say, "Well?"

Jerrica exhaled. "Well," she said slowly, "I have to say I'm impressed. I can see how hard you've been working on this."

"So, we can perform at the benefit?" Emma asked.

Jerrica was silent. The seconds seemed to drag by as her lips pressed together. Then, "I'm not promising. This is a joint production with Stingers Sound and I need to discuss it with them too. But," she smiled for the first time, "I'm going to push for it."

The girls started to cheer. Jerrica held up a hand.

"Don't get too excited. It's not a 'yes' yet."

"But it's not a 'no'?" Emma pressed, and Jerrica's smile widened as she nodded.

"It's not a 'no'."

The girls exchanged excited looks. They still had a chance. They still had reason to hope.

"Okay, you guys!" Marla said. "Let's take it from the top!" Then, with a quick glance toward Jerrica, she added, "If that's okay?"

Jerrica nodded, still smiling. As the girls began to play again, she took her leave, wondering how she was going to broach the subject with Rory.

The meeting wasn't terrible tonight. Roxy still hadn't spoken up about her 'journey', but when one of the other attendees had gotten up to tell about hers, there had been enough to the story to resonate a bit with what Roxy had been going through. No, Clarice wasn't a singer, but she'd grown up in the slums of West LA with a life very reminiscent of Roxy's own in Philadelphia. She'd sucked at school and checked out mentally years before she'd dropped out. Feeling adrift, she'd turned to drink.

Roxy had no trouble relating to that part. She hadn't gotten into booze when she'd hung out the Red Aces. She'd belonged with them, just like she had with the Misfits. But when the band had broken up, and the gang had moved on, Roxy hadn't known what to do with herself. She'd had prospects, and a couple of romantic relationships. She'd had Hanna May. But she'd also had a lot of long, lonely hours between gigs, no real friends, and a baby she didn't trust herself to be a decent mother to. That had been when she'd started drinking.

Afterwards, at the refreshment table, she'd squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and approached Clarice.

"I've never been a sponsor before," the other woman had admitted. "But I wouldn't be five years and two months sober today if my sponsor hadn't decided to take the plunge, even though she wasn't sure if she was up for it. If I do this, though," her smile fell away and her voice took on an added seriousness, "if there ever comes a time when I really feel out of my depth, I'll tell you. If that happens, we'll figure out together what the next steps should be."

"You mean, you'll find me another sponsor?"

"I mean that I'm not some guru with all the answers. There's a story about a man… or a woman… who gets lost in a forest. They wander around, probably going in circles, not finding the way out. And then they see someone else walking close by. They hurry over, sure that they've been saved. Only to find out that the other person has been wandering around even longer. The first person is about to give up. But then the newcomer says, 'Hey. I can show you which ways not to go, because I've already been down them. And you can show me the same. And together, we'll find the right path.'" Clarice smiled. "Now let's take the analogy further. Let's say that the first person gets… I don't know… bitten by a venomous snake. Or eats some bad food. And the second person doesn't know how to heal them but they remember that on one of their wrong turns, they found some… hermit who knew a thing or two about cures. Well, would you rather the second guy kept randomly slapping leaves on the wound or boiling whatever roots they could find into tea hoping that they'd get lucky and hit on the cure? Or would you rather they went to find that hermit? Either way," Clarice continued, her green eyes shining with intent, "I'll check with you first. That cool with you?"

Roxy nodded slowly. Clarice held out her hand. Roxy took it. And she started to think that maybe, things might work out after all.

"Well," Aja said slowly, "I know they've been working hard on it…"

"I've heard Emma's lyrics," Kimber put in, "and they're solid. Stormer and I helped her with the music…"

"They aren't really that much younger when we were when we got started," Raya pointed out. "And it's not like we've never had a Starlight girl perform at one of our concerts."

Jerrica nodded slowly. "Jem got a fan letter from Laura just last week," she said. "She's doing well at Julliard and she's debating whether to apply to graduate school or try to strike out on her own as a performer. She's been doing a few gigs in Greenwich Village right now."

"And she got her start performing with Jem and the Holograms," Shana said.

"Yeah," Jerrica replied, "but it was just a guitar solo in one of our songs, not a whole number on her own."

"Still," Raya said, "there's precedent. And if it's a question of scheduling, how much over can it really go? How long is their song anyway?"

Jerrica's expression relaxed slightly. "About three minutes, fifteen seconds."

Kimber laughed. "So, it's not 'The Day the Music Died' or even 'Bohemian Rhapsody', then. I think we can find room for another three minutes or so."

Jerrica looked around the room. "If we were shooting a music video," Aja said slowly, "every second would matter. But this is a benefit concert. Didn't we factor in time for encores and improvisation?"

"I hope so," Shana said. "Seeing as we've got a couple of straight-up jazz bands plus one punk jazz on the bill. Find me a jazz group that doesn't improvise. I'll wait."

"What did Riot have to say?" Raya asked.

Jerrica winced. "I haven't mentioned it to him, yet."

"Well, talk to him, for pity's sake!" Kimber exclaimed. "He knows you; he knows you wouldn't want to give the girls a chance to shine if they didn't have talent."

"Besides," Shana said, "the worst he can do is say no."

Jerrica nodded. "And if it means that Jem and the Holograms have to cut a number or turn down an encore?"

"Can we please drop 'Taking a Train'?" Kimber pleaded. "I can't believe you guys paid me for writing that one!"

"Well," Jerrica admitted, "we were on a tight schedule and we were short one song for that album."

"Next time," Raya said, "let's just do a cover of 'Shadows of the Night'. Or one of your mom's hits. Sometimes, I still hum 'First Love' when I'm not thinking about it."

"Motion seconded," Kimber proclaimed, not at all offended.

Jerrica grinned. "I'll call Rory tonight."

"What on Earth is this for?" Wendy asked, taking the smooth rectangle from her brother. "If this is meant to be me, it's hardly a decent likeness."

"Union card," John said. "Sorry, but there aren't very many twelve-year-olds in the workforce these days, or hadn't you noticed."

Wendy blinked. "I-I hadn't," she admitted more quietly. She knew that some of the Starlight girls had work, but it was mostly the older ones and mainly for pin money. Even the few nearer her own age who had posts did things like walk dogs or deliver papers, and only one or two afternoons a week. How had she not seen this?

"Anyway," John said, "if we're working backstage at a respectable venue, we need to be union members. And since neither of us is, I'm afraid it's forged credentials for us."

Wendy read the name on hers. "Angela Wendt?"

John smiled. "In case I slip up and call you 'Wendy'. It's common enough to refer to people by their surnames here and sometimes, even those might be turned to nicknames."

"So, you're Johnson, then?" Wendy asked.

John shook his head. "No, I've been answering to John for so long that it seems odd being anyone else. I've changed Darling to Darryl, though. Less sniggering that way."

Wendy frowned. "How come you get to keep your name, then?"

"Because," John said, "we haven't yet decided whether Emma's to know you're at the concert. When it looked as though she wouldn't perform, you might have persuaded her to sneak backstage and try to seize her chance, but now that it's looking more and more likely that she'll be doing it with the blessings of her guardian, perhaps you'll need to be more covert. And if that's how we're to play it, then she mustn't know you're there. So, it's an alias for you, and one that protects you in the event that I flub my part. And if Emma does recognize you, despite your disguise—you'll have one, never fear—cries your name, and you should react, you can just…" he gestured with his hands, "…give her that well-bred look down your nose, ask her if you've met, and tell her she must be confusing you for one of her peers. Frightful coincidence, your surname and all, but clearly her mistake."

"I suppose," Wendy said dubiously. "It seems rather… skilamalink. Emma's no great silly, you know. I'm not at all sure she'd be convinced by such a story."

"If it comes to it," John said, "I can come along calling for 'Angela' and send you along on some errand. You'll get by."

Clearly, there was no convincing him otherwise. "If you say so," Wendy gave in, but she wasn't nearly as reassured as her brother doubtless expected her to be.

"Seriously?" Emma squealed, as her friends cheered. "You mean it?"

Jerrica nodded. "I got the go ahead from the producer. One number. You'll open for Jem and the Holograms. After that…" She hesitated. "Well, honestly, I don't know if there'll be anything else in the offing. There will be a lot of people watching and they may see something in you that they want to promote, but," she looked apologetically at Emma, "you'll be off to Boston, and" she looked at the other girls, "I'm not comfortable with the rest of you taking this seriously before you're done with high school. But it's an opportunity, and I think you should make the most of it."

The girls hugged one another. "We will!" Kyla exclaimed. "We will! And thank you!"

Emma cheered just as loudly as her friends, but she was getting a sinking feeling in her gut. It didn't matter how well they did. In less than two weeks, she would be gone, and who knew whether she'd ever see any of these people again?

Roxy looked at the scrap of paper in her hand with Clarice's phone number written on it. She should call. She really could use a drink right now. Except that the last thing she wanted to do was sob into the phone to someone who was pretty much a total stranger. She needed something to fortify herself.

Right. She couldn't talk to someone about how bad she needed a drink unless she had a drink first. What the hell was wrong with her? She snorted. "Hi," she said aloud with a too-chipper smile. "My name is Roxy and I'm an alcoholic! And I'm gonna prove it by going out and getting myself some al-co-hol!"

But if she did that, then how would that look when she had her day in court?

She was trying not to think about that. If she thought about that she was going to need a drink.

And what about the daughter she'd sneaked out on and run from in the park?

She was trying not to think about that too. If she thought about that… yeah, yeah, she knew the drill.

And who was going to hire her if she was too wasted to go onstage half the time and just wasted enough to make a fool of herself the other half?

G-d, she needed a drink now.

Devon would probably give up on her if she did. Or not give up but give her some 'It's not you, it's me' line about how he just couldn't deal with what she was going through without it pulling him down too and he needed 'space'. Just like most the other guys in her life. And here she went with the pity party.

Well. What the hell kind of party was it without a dri—

She snatched up the receiver and practically stabbed her finger down on the number pad. "Clarice? It's Roxy. I… I really want a drink right now, but I don't want a drink right now. You get me? Dumb question, right? Like how can you get me when I don't get me? I don't get anything but hammered and I don't know how to stop—Huh? Um… Yeah, I'm at…" She grabbed her room key. The address was engraved on the tag attached to it and she read it off. "Half an hour? I think I can hang on that long. Maybe. Yeah. Yeah, I'll be here. Yeah." She hung up the phone. Clarice was on her way here. To help her. She'd be here in half an hour.

Fully fifteen minutes had gone by before it occurred to Roxy that she hadn't said 'Thank you'.

Wendy stared at her reflection in the looking glass with a dubious expression. "I look like a child playing dress-up in her father's work clothes," she said. "Perhaps if I put my hair up? Or chopped it off?"

"How many women do you see here with their hair up?" John reminded her.

"Well… could I not dye it blue or turquoise or some other outlandish hue? And perhaps pierce something other than my ears?"

John blinked. "How would that help you look older?" he asked.

"It…" Wendy sighed. "Oh, I suppose it wouldn't. I'm just hoping to fit in better is all."

"Has Emma told you to change yourself?"

Wendy looked at him askance. "No, of course not."

"Made it seem like she wouldn't be seen with you unless you threaded a rhinestone hoop through your septum?"

"Septum?" Wendy blinked at the unfamiliar word and John brought his finger to his upper lip and moved it upwards till the knuckle touched lightly the separation between his nostrils. She shook her head. "No, and I'll jolly well hope she doesn't or I'll have to… to… to revise my opinion of her! I-I was thinking of a silver hoop here!" She touched the corner of one eyebrow. "Perhaps a rhinestone stud off the side of one nostril. Nothing ostentatious."

"I wouldn't," John said. "If it were to catch on something and cause you to bleed, well, I should imagine iodine to be scarce in Neverland." He waited for his sister to lower her eyes before he handed her a flat cap and a pair of spectacles with lenses that reflected her face when she peered at them, precisely like a looking glass. "Tuck your hair in the cap. Practice with the spectacles; they're tinted to protect your eyes from the sun outdoors, so if you're wearing them indoors, you'll have to get used to things looking a bit more obscure. I can… make an appointment for you at one of those places where girls go to purchase… powder and rouge and such. They can show you how to do it in a way that makes you look older." He smiled. "Not fast, mind you. More… sophisticated. How does that sound?"

Wendy sighed. "It sounds lovely," she said, but she wasn't smiling. "A-and I suppose it will help." She steeled herself and met her brother's eyes. "For Michael," she said, forcing down her pangs of conscience.

John nodded. "For Michael."

"Excuse me!" Rory exclaimed, covering his mouth in consternation as Hanna May giggled.

Phyllis smothered a grin of her own, as she drawled, "Don't sweat it. You're not the first person I've heard belch before. Besides, in some cultures, it's a compliment to the chef."

"And you feel complimented?" Rory asked hopefully."

"Nah," Phyllis replied. "But Marisol made the chili. I'll pass on your appreciation to her. In words," she added, not hiding her smile this time.

Rory nodded. "Do you need some help with the washing up?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Get back to me if I ever host a dinner party for twelve. We're talking three bowls, three spoons, three glasses, a pot and a ladle. I got that. Meanwhile, if you want to be useful," she added, "you might want to read Hanna May a story."

"Not a bedtime story!" the little girl exclaimed. "I'm wide a-wake!" She brought her fingers to her eyelids and held them up for emphasis.

Rory chuckled. "Let's make it a story-story. We can always say it's a bedtime story if you feel sleepy when I finish. Okay?"

Hanna May slipped her hand into his. "Okay. I'll show you my books." She tugged at his hand. "C'mon!"

"Can't think where she gets her take-charge attitude from," Rory murmured to Phyllis, as he let himself be dragged off.

Phyllis smothered another smile as she stacked the dirty bowls and started carrying them over to the sink.

"Feeling better?" Claire asked and Roxy gave a half-shrug.

"A bit, I guess," she said. "I don't need a drink as bad as I did, but my life is still crap and not looking a whole lot better sober than it would drunk." She sighed. "Okay. I know. If my brain was a car, the booze is behind the wheel right now, and I guess that's probably just as bad as if it were me boozed up behind the wheel of a real car."

Claire nodded. "I like the way you phrase it," she said. "Kind of a bit more colorful than 'We admitted that we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives have become unmanageable.' It took me until my late thirties to finally accept that if I could just quit drinking whenever I wanted to, I would have stopped before my husband and I split and he got full custody."

"But you got back in with them, right?" Roxy asked.

Claire shook her head gently. "Blake and I are civil to each other, even friends, but… I hurt him pretty badly when I was out of control. We're both going for therapy now—not couples therapy, because we aren't a couple anymore, but… I'm learning to recognize that heartfelt apologies don't always get you everything you hoped they would and sometimes, things don't go back to how they were. Susan and I are getting to know each other again. She was eleven when Blake and I split. Before that," she sighed, "she had to deal with a lot of things that never should have been put on her shoulders. Thankfully, she's gone from not wanting anything to do with me to being willing to give me a second chance. We're taking things slow: we meet for coffee every couple of weeks. The last few times, it's been more comfortable and I'm hopeful, but it's baby steps." She winced. "I hope Keith gets there one day."

Roxy pressed her lips together for a moment. Claire's son had been Hanna May's age at the time of the divorce. "Think Hanna May and I have a chance?"

"I do," Claire said sincerely. "You're getting help a lot younger than I was and from what you're telling me, your friend took charge of her before things got really bad for you."

"I left her in a hotel room so I could go party!"

"Yes. You did. But it doesn't sound to me like you ever called her 'Mommy's little mistake' or worse." She shook her head. "Drinking didn't just ruin my life; it ruined my husband's and it ruined my kids'. Just like it's ruining yours. But you're trying to turn things around and there's still time to give your daughter some good memories."

"If I can face her," Roxy said.

Claire nodded. "I think that once you start feeling better about yourself without needing a drink to get there, you'll be in a position to do that. And that's not something you have to do alone. In fact, I'm not sure if it's something you can do alone." She held out her hand. "Fortunately, you don't have to."

Roxy hesitated for a moment before taking it.

"If you're up for some homework," Claire went on, "after I go, I'd like you to make a list of at least five things that pick you up when you're feeling down, and that don't involve alcohol or any other drugs."

"I don't do any other drugs," Roxy said quickly, and Claire smiled.

"Then you're ahead a few other people I know," she replied. "You don't have to show me the list, but keep it handy. And the next time you start to feel like you need to drink, try doing one of the items you'll be listing instead."

"I don't write so well," Roxy said dubiously.

"Use a tape recorder, then," Claire said. "But try?" She smiled when Roxy nodded. "Call me anytime if you feel a need. Otherwise, I'll see you at the next meeting."

After Claire left, Roxy went over the high points of their conversation in her head. She knew that the older woman was right: she needed to find better ways to cope when she was feeling down. And she didn't have to look far to find a 'Like what'. Music had always been her outlet, but busking in the park wasn't enough. She needed it all: bright lights on stage, roaring crowds in the dark, a mic in her face and her fingers on her guitar strings. She didn't need an alcohol high then; she could soar on audience vibes.

The drinking had really been a way to hang on to those contact highs in the times between that final encore and the warm-up act clearing the stage at the next show. If she could get up on stage again, not in some artsy little coffee house—there were probably still a few left that booked live entertainment—and not in Vegas, her reputation with promoters was currently in the toilet, but let her get a few gigs under her belt in LA and they'd forget all that and beg her to come back… Yeah, if she could get noticed again here in LA, score some positive reviews, then things were sure to turn around. She needed a chance. That was all. Just one chance.

And if nobody seemed likely to give her one, now, she'd just have to take one!