I Don't Feel Like Going Home All Alone
Remembering how to empty herself was harder than Phillipa had expected. This morning she had awoken strangely serene, as if sometime in the night she had been reassured that everything would be all right and believed it. She had given the bottle a glance, and wondered what they were putting in Nyquil these days.
Serenity did not last. History of Music promised to be a lesson in extreme boredom, with a splash of entertainment provided by the one girl in class who loved Twilight too much to realize that their professor loathed it. In particular, he did not wish to be reminded in any way, shape or form that he shared a name with its “protagonist.” There was definite potential for bloodshed.
It should have been amusing, but Phillipa could not share it with anyone. Her classmates were busily texting away under their desks, and once again she felt detached from everyone around her. How did they all afford those toys?
Then, the moment she opened her own door, the phone began ringing. She thought about letting it ring, as she had yesterday, but she gave in. Just hearing the voice of someone who cared, or pretended to, should be enough to stop the gloom threatening to settle in. Why hadn’t she grown used to it all yet?
“Phillipa, my precious songbird, how are you?”
“Hi, Jay.” She tried to bite back the sigh, but it was there before she could help herself.
“That bad, my little dove?”
“It’s nothing,” she replied quickly, amazed by how automatically that old lie came to her lips. “I mean: it’s nothing I won’t get over.”
For a moment, Jay was silent, and then he continued on brightly, “Then I suppose you will get over my request even more swiftly. I confess, Phillipa, darling, that I hired another girl to take your place- in the restaurant, I mean. Unfortunately, while some people might be cursed with two left feet, she has not even the slightest motivation to change, nor your sweet smile to make up for it. So I gave her the old boot.”
Resigned, Phillipa said, “Yes, I’ll cover her shift tonight.”
“Oh, you devious little mind reader, you. You are a perfect doll, my dear. From three until midnight, and I’ll pay you as though you were working the stage. Don’t even think to argue. I was so foolish as to wander into a book store yesterday, and I know what prices are- intimately, you might say. A heart-rending experience, it truly was.”
She let him carry on with his monologue, comforted by the inanity of his conversation masking his honest concern. Possibly the best thing about Jay was that he never forced anyone to be happy. He found it offensive, and came down like a supertanker on any customer so rash as to suggest that one of the girls smile. Generally taking them by the ear, he would walk them to the door with the injunction to learn the meaning of “Goth.” To the girls he had said more than once that such commands implied an intimacy none of the customers, no matter how much they tipped, had earned and he would not have it in his club. Even Tony Stark did not dare, Claire tended to say with justifiable awe- especially now that Phillipa knew the billionaire.
“Now, before I completely run your phone bill into the skies, do tell me that you have no classes tomorrow,” Jay said, the question almost lost in Phillipa’s reverie.
“Huh? Oh. I have lessons at ten, so it’s fine.”
“Lessons, my dove? That sounds important.”
Shrugging reflexively, Phillipa had to remind herself to say, “It’ll be fine. I’ll get enough sleep.”
“That was hardly my point, darling. But who am I to judge your sleep needs? Besides, you will need the cash, I fear, my heart.”
Making her excuses as politely as possible, Phillipa nevertheless could hardly wait to hang up after that endearment. It was like a knife, after what Loki had called her. Still, she agreed to another big night on Friday, like a complete idiot. As if she was at all recovered enough to sing for a crowd. Tomorrow was going to be difficult and here she was ladling it on.
She ought to have said Saturday, she thought as she changed her clothes mechanically. Without the Avengers and SHIELD agents hanging over her like vultures, she had absolutely no plans. And there would be no one waiting for her at home either. Slamming that thought aside, as well as the realization that she had not yet eaten, Phillipa grabbed her keys and purse and headed for the bus stop. She ate too much, anyway.
Seeing the club from the street, she had to wonder how it was always so crowded. The façade was old and boring. Little more than a simple black awning announced the entrance. Yet, there was already a line for the club. People would also move in from the restaurant. It was more than simply word of mouth, surely.
The regulars gave her nods and grins, which she did her best to acknowledge. Being here was giving her a strange sense of longing- no, not strange; she knew exactly what it was about. He had been here for her debut, and every performance after. She almost expected to see him at the table in the back, with a smug look and a glass of brandy. Then his eyes would find hers, and she would feel- nothing, she would feel nothing. This reminiscing helped no one. Fervently, she tried to stamp down hard on it all. Loki was gone. That was all there was to it.
Seeing the disaster area that was to be her section freed her from thinking about it. She was going to have a real fight to clean it. Quickly, she moved to dress, although the grey dress caused a momentary pause. Gritting her teeth, she threw it on and braided her hair quickly. With only eyeliner and lipstick, she probably looked worse than everyone else would, but she had other worries.
Shoving tables back into line, and then attacking them with a cloth and cleaner, Phillipa actually felt accomplished. Whoever Jay had hired knew about as much as a toddler when it came to maintaining order. No wonder she had been tossed out. Even Phillipa had been more organized when she had come here to work. A glance at the clock told her she only had a few minutes before opening. Hurriedly, Phillipa set out candles, menus and chairs in their proper places.
Just before the doors could open, someone laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You are just this side of amazing, did you know that?”
“Amazingly blind, I suppose,” Phillipa said before she thought.
Jessica leaned in to place a light kiss on her cheek. “You weren’t the only one who was fooled, little girl. Without Lexi, none of us would have guessed it. I still have a hard time, myself. I can’t imagine how it feels to you, and I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you better.”
“Maybe I ought to learn to defend myself,” Phillipa responded. “If I hadn’t let him in so easily-”
“Hush,” ordered Jessica. “None of this is your fault. Everyone should be able to fall in love.”
“Now, my precious gemstones, the doors are open. Just look at that milling crowd,” Jay directed from behind them. As he came around to the front he clucked his tongue. “As I suspected. Come here a moment, dearest Phillipa. A little care for your appearance goes a long way.”
Deftly, he combed out and then braided her hair more tightly, twirling it up into a bun. Then he brushed on another layer of lipstick of a different color, and pinched her cheeks to bring out a flush. Tucking the container into her top, he admonished,
“Please do have Erin teach you about your best colors on Friday, my dove. You are such a pretty child, and your ham-handed approach does it no justice.”
Slightly chastened, Phillipa agreed, then quickly went about seating customers. To her surprise, Phillipa was the one who brought the most important guest to a table in her section. Jen Cameron, face of the forgotten mutants, requested her attention personally. With her fiancée, Echo, they took a small corner table. Neither needed to see the menu, but Jen did ask about the specials. Still, she chose a relatively simple selection. Both asked for the same wine, but not a bottle.
Couple dynamics had always made Phillipa curious, but this was something else. They said almost nothing, and never touched. Yet there was an aura of love that was tangible from across the floor. No matter who was performing, they ignored the stage completely, eyes only on one another.
At one point there was a break between sets and dance music, which was not usual, but there were technical difficulties with the new software or something. With a rueful grin to her fiancée, Echo excused herself to assist. Bringing Jen another pitcher of water, Phillipa would have simply moved on aimlessly to look for another customer, but Jen directed a cool comment to her.
“I heard you found out about your father.”
Almost winded, Phillipa glanced away. “Yes.”
“A shame he couldn’t tell you the truth. It was for your safety, of course. But then, SHIELD does everything for our safety.”
“I suppose so,” Phillipa murmured, looking for a polite way out of this conversation. With sharp and still somehow cold insight, the mutant advocate noted,
“You don’t like the policy.”
“Well- I mean, they probably know more about it.”
Toying idly with her empty wineglass, Jen commented, “And yet, do they? Being opinionated is not the same as being knowledgeable.”
“I can’t say,” Phillipa answered, slightly annoyed and largely confused.
“Perhaps you feel you cannot,” Jen agreed conditionally, and then dismissed the subject all together. “I have a proposal for you.”
“Not about SHIELD,” Phillipa immediately countered.
“Hardly. I simply wish you to assist me in a small conundrum.” Jen rested her chin on her folded hands. “You see, I have an event coming up- charity, of course. I wish a singer to entertain those who believe their money is more important than others’. Unfortunately, the cause has turned off a great many people who I would normally consider.”
“And I come into this how?”
“Because I wish you to be my replacement singer.” Seeing Phillipa flabbergasted, Jen added, “You are a phenomenon, you realize. No, you are modest enough not to know that. If that idea upsets you, look at it this way: you are new. And there is nothing the very rich and very snobby enjoy more than being on the cutting edge. That is a simplification, of course, but nonetheless frequently true.”
Grasping at straws, Phillipa managed to find one very important question on her lips. “Why did the other people drop out?”
Smiling for the first time, Jen explained, “Because the benefit is for the Morlocks.”
More than a thousand damn good reasons to say no flooded Phillipa’s mind. Firstly, people who associated with Morlocks were always mutants. They had no welcome in them for regular humans. More importantly, humans who allied themselves with those outcasts almost always turned up dead. Even their fellow mutants had similar problems. The most immediate concern, however, was her own suitability to the task.
Yes, she had won herself a position at MSM, and yes, she was doing well enough here. Still, she was surely not what the very refined upperclass was looking for. They wanted opera and-
“You’re thinking that I’ve chosen the wrong person,” Jen noted. “But I know I have the perfect one. Join us on your dinner break and I’ll tell you why.”
It puzzled Phillipa that she did not turn the advocate down flat. Jen Cameron was trouble, for all that she seemed scientific and rational. People who crossed her did not go long before regretting it. Beyond that, her agenda, so everyone said, was known to her alone. Not even her fiancée knew what the whole picture was.
Still, Phillipa found herself at their table with her salad. Being watched, she tried to avoid picking at her food. Echo wandered away to “bother her friends.” With Ren at the bar, Phillipa had to wonder if that was entirely safe. But her attention was drawn away by Jen tapping the table lightly.
“Now then. My reasoning: you know mutants, and something of our unique issues. Further, you have personal experiences that align with the particular conditions of the Morlocks themselves. Sympathy is important to this concert. What I want- no, what I need from you is a guided tour through the hearts and lives of these Morlocks. In song. Through the arts, so many discover what they refuse to learn in prose. Your own talent, which you simply cannot deny, is to convey what you have felt, for others to feel themselves.
“You have an open heart. I want you to use it on behalf of those most people never see after they leave society. No facebook, no twitter, and in most cases, not even a glimpse on CCTV. Unlike you, they have no identity in the world’s eye any longer. They have been lost, forgotten, and hardly anyone wants to change that.”
“You do.”
Jen studied her face. “Yes, I do. So, will you help me?”
To her bemusement, Phillipa heard herself reply without a trace of hesitation, “Yes.”
“You don’t want to know about terms? Or your pay?”
“It’s charity, isn’t it?”
Smiling crookedly, Jen remarked, “Now I see why Jay calls you a darling baby. I’ll give you the check for your services at the event. It’s from my account, so not connected to the charity itself. If you want to negotiate-”
“No,” Phillipa said firmly. She knew about as much about astrophysics as she did about her pay scale.
“Then I’ll have Tony Stark vet my amount,” Jen decided. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think I had treated you unfairly. I’d like your song list by next Tuesday, so that I can find proper accompanists. I’ll arrange practice sessions around your schedule, so don’t be too busy. And I will handle the venue and etcetera. Something slightly more classy than this setup is called for. Oh yes, and I’ll buy you a dress.”
“But I-”
“A college student, even an MSM college student on a generous full-ride scholarship from Tony Stark, cannot afford what you’ll need to match the snobs. Since you’re going to complain about it to soothe your pride, I’ll take the cost out of your check.”
Effectively silenced and, in a sense, shackled, Phillipa went back to her shift. Strange that Echo had been away for the entire conversation. She did not appear to prefer any company to Jen’s. Stranger still that Phillipa had stupidly agreed to everything. Feeling slightly dim, she decided to keep it to herself for a while. Maybe Jen would realize that Phillipa had little to offer the Morlocks, even if it was her voice on the table and nothing more. How could she possibly create a playlist for them? Now she had to do that and more. Fantastic.
One question bubbled away in the back of her mind throughout the rest of her shift. Finally, as she was scrubbing down her tables, it surfaced. Why was she helping the Morlocks? No one, a very nasty thought pointed out, had helped her. Pausing with cloth dripping over the edge, Phillipa was aghast at herself. She sorted through her thoughts to find the answer.
Kneeling to wipe up her spill, she knew why she agreed so easily. She did not want to be the one who could have helped, but chose not to. Yes, no one had been there on her side when she needed them most, but she could not use that excuse comfortably. Even once she had cut out all her pathetic feelings, she would never give up feeling for other people. Otherwise, she would become a monster.
On the basis of that reasoning, when Lexi shyly offered her a ride home, after avoiding her all night, Phillipa felt obligated to accept. Even though the mutant had torn apart the fragile illusion of love and acceptance, Phillipa knew Lexi felt horrible about the need. She had been protecting Phillipa in a way only a true friend would. And while they drove, Phillipa could play “What The Hell Have I Sat In?” It was practically Lexi’s favorite car game, which possibly explained all the mysterious stains that disappeared and reappeared over the months. Also, it gave Phillipa something to think about aside form her impending spectacular failure.