FIC: A Dream That Could Not Last 11 of 12 (Ryan/Simon, Amanda/Carly, Kimberley/Anwar)
Author: Clio
Title: A Dream That Could Not Last Chapter 11 of 12: The Awful Truth
Pairing: American Idol: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell, Amanda Overmyer/Carly Smithson, Kimberley Locke/Anwar Robinson
Chapter Rating: NC-17
Chapter Summary: All is revealed.
Chapter Length: 10,000 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: A Dream That Could Not Last is an AU romantic comedy set in 1939 London, when everyone knew war was on the horizon but no one was sure when or how it would arrive-which made love of all kinds that much more important. Follow a year in the life of three groups of (mostly) Americans: pilots who joined the RAF, singers and dancers in a swing music revue, and reporters for BBC Radio. As usual there will be plenty of songs along the way to set the mood.
This was a big undertaking, and needed a team. If I was the writer/director, then locumtenens was my editor, lillijulianne, musicforcylons and evil_erato my producers, dana_kujan the actually helpful studio executive; and ali_wildgoose my executive producer who kept the train on the tracks in ways so numerous I cannot list them here.
Prologue | 1: The Lady Eve | 2: Adam's Rib | 3: His Girl Friday | 4: Bringing Up Baby | 5: Stella Dallas | 6: Pursuits of Happiness | 7: Gaslight | 8: The Philadelphia Story | 9: Contesting Tears | 10: It Happened One Night
Chapter Eleven: The Awful Truth
25 October 1940
Amanda immediately jumped up and ran to the landing strip. The plane in trouble was attempting a landing near the end of the runway, where sandbags had been set up as a barrier. Some mechanics were clearing a bit of debris that had gathered there, as the area was generally unused, while Castro and Rogers were readying the fire equipment.
The plane sputtered, and Amanda looked up and recognized the little blonde pin-up that decorated Chris's plane, and could see him struggling to keep the craft under his control. One wing dipped slightly, but he managed to set it down solidly on its wheels, and the plane coasted down the runway, skidding a bit sideways as it went, though it had slowed a great deal before hitting the sandbags. The boys were spraying down the burning engine before the fire could get any bigger as Amanda made a beeline to the door.
Chris pushed back the glass cockpit and pulled off his helmet, and Amanda's heart came up in her throat as she saw how pale he was. "Gonna need help getting out," he gasped. "Bastard shot up my leg."
"Medics are coming," Amanda replied, hoisting herself up to lean into the cockpit. The metal frame was hot from the fire, though not so much that it might burn her through her jumpsuit and gloves.
Chris grimaced, and Amanda saw that he was trying to move his leg. "Think I've done it this time, Amy," he said with a weak smile.
"Naw," Amanda said, keeping her voice steady. "Remember when you fell outta that tree out at Manchester's farm and landed on your head and we had to keep you up all night 'cause the doc was busy delivering a baby? I thought your mama was gonna kill me if something happened to you. 'Course, you bein' so hard-headed and all …"
"No harm done," Chris said.
She bit her lip. "Didja get 'em?"
Chris grinned. "Yeah, we did, all three of 'em."
Amanda felt hands pulling her down, and patted Chris's shoulder again. "Hang in there." They locked eyes and he nodded.
Medics scrambled up the sides of the plane-the fire was well out by now-and as her boots hit the ground she realized that the rest of the squadron had gathered around, watching as the medics carefully lifted Chris out of the cockpit and onto a stretcher. His left leg hung limply from the knee, and his trousers were covered in blood, but he was safely landed and still conscious and that was what really mattered. Blake was standing in the middle of the crowd, his face almost as pale as Chris's, and Amanda's heart went out to him.
Cook walked forward then. "All right, men, Capt. Johns is waiting for debriefing, same as always." He stopped, and sighed, and then said, "Remember, it isn't how many of us go home, but how many of them don't." He walked over to Young, who was staring at the ground, and put a hand on his shoulder as he led the rest of the pilots toward Johns's office.
Amanda looked around then-since Chris had landed she hadn't thought of anything but Chris-and saw Robinson among the crowd of pilots.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "Daughtry."
Kim took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. Tonight was the debut of her new song, the one Carly had suggested, the last song she'd worked on with Paula; it was being given pride of place, at the midpoint of the show. Randy had held it back, after Paula died, but it had been a month and the company could now absorb a change to the show, which he was putting into the second, later performance. Simon Cowell was sitting in the front with Ryan, Carly and Joel; she'd noticed them earlier. She stood alone behind the curtain, waiting, nervously wringing her hands, impatient for the dancers to clear the floor from the previous number.
Randy stepped behind the bandstand and looked over at Kim. "Ready?"
She put her hands down at her sides and straightened a little, tossing her hair, pushing her shoulders back. "I'm ready."
"That's the way," Randy said, nodding.
She soon heard the band start up to a smattering of applause, and the melody of the chorus playing on the piano. The curtains parted and the spot landed on Kim, making the beads on her deep blue dress glisten. A bit more applause as she slowly walked to the single mike on its stand, just in front of the band. She wasn't directly in front of Simon's table, as the bandstand was a bit to the side, but she turned slightly to sing mostly to him anyway.
They say into your early life romance came
And in this heart of yours burned a flame
A flame that flickered one day and died away
Kim had been nervous backstage but now that she'd started she felt strangely calm and in command, and as a result her performance was better than any rehearsal. She saw Simon sit up in his chair and take a drag on his newly-lit cigarette.
Then, with disillusion deep in your eyes
You learned that fools in love soon grow wise
The years have changed you, somehow
I see you now
Carly was smiling encouragement, as were Ryan and Joel, but Simon looked transfixed. He turned to Carly, who nodded to him, then took another long drag, though his hand seemed to be shaking slightly.
Smoking, drinking, never thinking of tomorrow, nonchalant
Diamonds shining, dancing, dining with some man in a restaurant
Is that all you really want?
Kim was singing to the rest of the audience too, and while the crowds were always attentive, they were unusually still now.
No, sophisticated lady,
I know, you miss the love you lost long ago
And when nobody is nigh you cry
Kim stepped back from the mike as Ricky Smith came forward to play his solo. She closed her eyes briefly, swaying to the music, smiling at Ricky, catching Randy's eye. She came back in on the bridge, delivering the "nonchalant" line to Joel as it seemed fitting. Ryan was still smiling, but Simon was looking straight ahead, staring at Kim, though she wasn't sure he was actually seeing her. She reprised the last verse, and as the final guitar notes faded, she stepped back slightly from the mike.
The crowd was silent for a moment, but Kim didn't panic, as it was an unusually soft and slow way to begin the second half of the show. Then to Kim's surprise, Simon stood up and began to applaud. The crowd followed, roaring and shouting, but Kim only watched Simon, whose eyes glistened. She took her bow, then pointed to Ricky and the band, but when she looked back toward Simon he had left the table. She saw him moving quickly through the standing crowd to the door, Ryan behind trying to catch up to him. Kim turned back to Carly, who shrugged.
As Kim's eyes followed Simon to the door she spotted two men in uniform standing in the back. Robinson and Cook were cheering with the rest, and when he caught her eye, Robinson doffed his cap to her. She wondered what he was doing in town, why he hadn't let her know, but there was little time for that. A last bow and she left the stage to let the applause die down before the dancers started their next number.
She passed Kelly backstage, who was to have her own first moment in the spotlight that night-not a solo, but a featured verse in a choral number. "Did Cook tell you he was coming into the city?" Kim asked her.
"No," she replied, scowling slightly.
"Well, he's out there with Robinson."
Back in the dressing room Kim had a quick change for a three-part number with Kat and Jen. She was a little apprehensive; there was a definite pecking order among the three singers and Kim was not at the top of it, not to mention that things had been tense with Kat in the week since the party. Though after that first night she had come back to their shared room, Kat hadn't yet gone back to her usual chatty self.
Kim quickly shimmied out of her dress and stepped into another. She double-checked herself in the mirror, adjusting her hair slightly, then sped back out to where Kat and Jen waited for her just off stage.
Jen was watching the choral number, her back to the other singers. "It was real good, Kim," she said softly.
Kat nodded, and squeezed her hand. "Paula would've been proud," she added as the dancers started running off stage.
"Thanks," Kim said, taking her place on the other side of Jen as the curtain rose.
Carly had chosen a lovely song, Ryan thought as Kim sang. He wondered why Simon hadn't thought of it himself, as it suited her so well. Simon was listening in a way that Ryan had never seen before, and Ryan had watched Simon listen to many things over the past almost-year: playbacks of his own radio program, listening carefully for flaws; new records or new shows, always on the lookout for something new and exciting; in the shelter, listening to the bombs and praying for the all-clear. But in all those times he'd never seen Simon sit quite so still. After an initial glance at Carly, he stared straight ahead, wide-eyed, taking deep drags on his cigarette. Ryan looked from him to Kim, but as the song went on he watched Simon out of the corner of his eye. At the end, Simon jumped up and as he rose Ryan could just see the tear spill down one cheek. Then, so suddenly Ryan didn't catch it, Simon left, walking away through the standing crowd. Ryan followed, not trusting Simon to be alone in such an odd mood. As they neared the back wall Ryan had nearly caught up, when he saw Robinson and Cook.
"Is Kat on tonight?" Cook asked.
Ryan nodded, and indicated the now half-empty table. "Take our seats," he said, and hurried to catch Simon, who was making for the door.
Outside, Simon leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette, then bent his knees and slid down to a crouch. He wiped his face with one hand.
Ryan stood between him and the door, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "Kinda chilly out here."
Simon nodded.
"Wanna tell me what this is about?"
Simon took another drag. "Not particularly."
Ryan nodded, wincing a bit. "Want me to take you home?"
"No."
He sighed. "I don't want to leave you alone."
Simon snorted, then looked up at Ryan. "Good, as I don't want to be alone."
Well, that was something at least. "Come on, let's go to someone's office, get you some scotch. You won't have to talk at all."
Simon sat smoking, then tossed the end into the street and rose to his feet. "No, I'll tell you," he said. "You deserve to know."
Ryan put an arm around Simon to lead him back inside. "No hurry," he said. "We have plenty of time."
Cook and Robinson had left for London to inform Kat and fetch Carly to Chris's bedside, and for once Amanda was selfishly glad of their ruse, as she needed her girl right now. The rest of the boys had opened a bottle in honor of their fallen brother-in-arms, drinking toasts in the recreation room. Young was the recipient of many pats on the back, and as Rogers was tight by his side, watching out for him, Amanda wasn't too worried about Daughtry's best buddy. While Daughtry had been very popular with the boys in his quiet way, Amanda suspected that the boys were drinking out of their own fear as least as much as for him.
By the time she and Blake, relatively sober, had returned to the on-base hospital, Chris was out of surgery. "He's resting now," Nurse DeMato said.
Blake took her hand, and Amanda was glad of it. "Did you-I mean-does he-" But she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.
The nurse patted Amanda's shoulder. "He's still whole," she said, "but it's early days yet. He has a steel pin in his leg now. If all goes well, he'll be walking out of here."
Blake swallowed. "And flying?"
"We'll have to see about that."
"Can we see him?" Amanda asked.
The nurse thought for a moment. "Well, he should be waking up shortly. He's in post-op, which is empty tonight thank goodness." She led them to a room with two beds against one wall, and two opposite. Chris was the only one there, his eyes closed and an IV hooked into one arm.
As the nurse left them, Amanda pulled a chair over to Chris's side. "He sure looks better now," she said, and he did, less pale than he had been when he was sitting in the plane.
Blake perched on one of the other beds. "Yeah," he replied. He rubbed his face with one hand. He hadn't shaved in a day or so and his stubble glistened dark gold in the lamplight.
"You should be sitting here," Amanda said.
Blake waved his hand toward the door, with its small window. "Anyhow, I'm used to it," he said. "Hafta be."
"Gee," Amanda said, looking at him. "You really love him, don't ya?"
He nodded, looking so exhausted and small, his legs swinging as they hung from the side of the bed. "I've never met anyone like him. Before-out there-when I thought he might not be coming back-"
"He came back," Amanda said firmly.
"I know. Thank God! But it makes a man think, you know? Never thought about the future much before I met Chris. Only ever worried about right now, or maybe next Tuesday, but years from now? Never."
Amanda shook her head, smiling a little. "Me neither. But this one, he was always making plans, since we were kids. Still does."
They were quite for a few minutes, watching the steady rise and fall of Chris's chest, listening to him breathe, just needing that reassurance of his aliveness.
"Amanda?"
"Yeah?" she asked, looking back up.
"The other night, at that party, you said-"
"I said a lot of junk that I'm not proud of."
Blake waved that away. "Never mind that. I meant, about Chris. You said he's the marrying kind."
"Sure is," she replied. "I think the worst of it for him about being a queer and all was that he wouldn't be a daddy. I said sure he could, but he said he'd never do that to a girl, and just made up his mind to be the best uncle that ever lived. You should see him with those kids."
"Never thought I'd say this, not in a million years, but I wish I could marry him."
"What's that?" mumbled a soft voice.
Amanda turned. "Chris! Oh, Chris," she said, clutching his hand to her cheek.
"Hey there Amy," Chris said. "How'd I come out?"
"All there," she said. "Least, as much as you were before."
Chris chuckled, then coughed a bit.
"Here, have a drink of water," Amanda said, holding a cup to his lips.
"I'll get the nurse," Blake said, standing.
"Wait," Chris said, his voice a little stronger for the bit of liquid. "Now, was that a proposal I heard?" He smiled, and the twinkle was back in his eyes.
"Leave it to you to wake up then," Blake said.
"Quit stallin'," Chris replied.
Blake scowled. "I was just-aw, come on Chris Richardson, you know you'd make me just about the happiest man in the world if you could marry me."
Chris's smile grew wider. "That's a damn good reason to say yes. Make you happy, and me too."
For the first time in hours, Blake smiled. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well!" Blake said, and didn't seem to know what to do with himself. "I-I'm gonna go get the nurse now!"
"You do that," Chris said, nodding to him.
Blake trotted out of the room, and let out a "whoop!" in the hallway, which was quickly followed by a scolding from the nurse.
Amanda shook her head. "You sure know how to pick 'em."
Chris grinned. "I do at that."
Simon stared into his second tumbler of scotch. Ryan had brought them back inside and found Ruben, who installed them in his office with a bottle and a set up. Ryan had been as good as his word, not saying a damn thing. Outside the room, the show went on, the dim music a kind of comfort.
Thing was, Simon wanted to unburden himself. Maybe then he'd stop seeing that ghost around every corner, stop having eerie memories of the last war. The ice bucket rustled as some melting piece settled into a new position, and Simon thought of clocks, and time passing, and cleared his throat. "His name was Kenneth."
Ryan looked up sharply but said nothing, only nodded.
"I met him at Cambridge. He was the leader of his little gang. You know the sort. He was like a magnet-one of those beautiful, laughing boys-and he pulled me in. Not sure why he picked me, as I was never really one of his followers."
"That's probably exactly why," Ryan said. "You're no one's sycophant."
Simon cocked his head. "Maybe so. Anyway, we often went around on our own, rather than with his crowd. And, well, one thing led to another..."
Ryan smiled. "Was he the first man you'd-"
"First lover full stop. Oh, I'd always dated the girls, but I never let things go too far. Probably why I was popular with them, actually."
Ryan shook his head. "You're a charmer and you know it."
"But I was very unhappy then. At school, I mean, not Cambridge."
"Because you were queer?"
"That, and it just all seemed so pointless. Horrible pecking order and we weren't learning anything useful anyway."
"All right," Ryan said. "Go on."
"People knew-well, some people anyway-but that sort of thing doesn't matter much among certain sets at Cambridge. Too frightfully middle class to bother with, I reckon. All those aristos were expected to marry an appropriate girl and further the line, but whomever they chose to have affairs with was their business. Though I was beginning to think that maybe I didn't want to marry a girl, even if I could have a man on the side."
"Ah. And Kenneth was one of those aristos?"
Simon nodded. "First son of an earl. I thought well, he'd have to marry of course, but there was a chance-not that we could have a life together, not that, but something, and a good deal more than I thought I could have with anyone else."
"You were in love," Ryan said, smiling wistfully.
"Thing was," Simon went on, "1916 was no year to be in love. Ken had wanted to join up straight away, back in '14, but his father wouldn't allow it-said what the army didn't need was an adolescent officer. But then lads started dying and we had to go, even if we were all of 20. Signed up on the same day, then went and got smashed."
"Did you sign up because of him?"
Simon drained his glass and poured another. "Perhaps. I thought it was a fairly silly war, and we'd had some arguments about that, but he'd always said I was the practical one in the partnership. And then we received our assignment, same division, but he was on the front lines. I was at headquarters, out of the fight, doing clerical work."
"I'm sure it was important, if the army had you doing it."
"Oh it was, truly, and I congratulated myself on being clever enough to keep myself out of the fight. Not that there weren't bombs flying over our heads, and often. But no one was shooting at me, and more importantly, I didn't have to shoot at anyone else."
"What did you do?"
"Oh, official paperwork. Sorting casualty lists by home district, requisitions, telegrams about this or that."
"Casualty lists?"
Simon spoke rather quickly now. "Yes, so in late 1917, we were all excited that you Yanks were coming in, only you hadn't arrived yet, had you? The boys would come back from the trenches from time to time-by then Ken had a regiment of his own, natural leader and all that, plus so many had died-and if he often vanished with a certain junior officer when he visited headquarters, well, they all preferred not to notice. And then one afternoon, November actually, there was his name on the daily dispatch."
"Oh Simon-"
"I excused myself and went to the latrine and threw up whatever was left of my breakfast and lunch, had a cigarette, realized there was nothing for it, and went back to work. That night I sat in my bunk and drank until I could bear going to sleep, though I dreamt of him anyway. And you want to know the worst of it?"
Ryan said nothing, didn't even shift in his chair.
"I realized that I wasn't clever at all, or doing my part for the army, or any of the other nonsense I'd fed myself since I'd left school. I was nothing but a bloody coward."
"Simon-"
"No, no, must face facts. Ken knew it all along, I'm sure of it. But then, he was the golden boy, and I wasn't. And you know, I think he loved me anyway."
"Of course he did."
"You would say that," Simon said, giving Ryan a quick flash of a smile. "So I went back to work, eventually came home to England, and decided to be very conventional. Finished school, married a nice girl, didn't think about love or any of that. Eventually I was divorced by that nice girl and really who can blame her. I focused on my career, had a few affairs here and there, nothing of any importance. And then..."
"And then you met me?"
Simon looked up, looking into Ryan's eyes for the first time since he'd started talking. "And then I met you, and this bloody war started, only this time it's all around us, and I just-it can't happen again. I won't have it." He took another drink. "But I can't very well tell you not to go, can I?"
Ryan leaned forward then, reaching across the desk to take Simon's hand in his own. "I probably wouldn't listen. Just like you won't listen when I tell you that I think you're plenty brave. Just loving someone is brave, you know."
"Ryan, it's hardly the same thing."
"Well, it's true. And the way you've faced the bombing this summer-you're the strong one. Everyone else looks to you; I know they do. I know I do." He rubbed the back of Simon's hand with his thumb. "I think you'll have to figure this one out on your own, but at least you know how I feel."
Simon smiled, just a little. "I think I always knew. But thanks." He paused, cocking his head. "Sounds like the show's ending. I should go make my apologies to Kim; she was fantastic, and I want to be sure she knows that."
"Did you notice that Cook and Robinson are here?" Ryan asked. "I wonder what that is about."
"Fantastic show, ladies," Randy said when he came backstage. Now that they were without Paula, everyone else tried to do little pieces of her role-Melinda went from vocal coach and arranger to general sounding board, Brooke started designing costumes as well as making them, naturally shy Mandisa started greeting guests before the show, and Randy gave the singers and dancers their post-show notes. And this night he was full of praise for Kim's new song. "You really laid it down, sister! Talk about solid!"
Kim laughed. "Thanks!" Looking up, she saw Robinson and Cook in the hall, Carly and Joel just behind them. "Why didn't you tell me you'd be in town?' she asked.
"Last minute plan," Robinson replied. Taking her two hands in his, he went on, "You were truly amazing tonight, Miss Locke. I'm real glad I was able to be here, whatever the circumstances."
"Oh, thank you!" she said, giving his hands a squeeze. "But, what circumstances?"
Before he could answer, a shout came from behind them. "Hey Cook!" A blur flew past, and Kim turned to see Kelly jumping into the arms of a very surprised Lt. Cook, her rather short dancing costume allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist. "Whaddya think?" she asked, pulling off his cap and putting it on her own head.
"I think you were pretty fantastic," Cook said.
"Kim was great too, wasn't she?"
"She sure was," he agreed.
Simon Cowell came into the backstage hallway then, Ryan with him, and walked right up to Kim. "Miss Locke, I must apologize. My departure had nothing to do with your performance, which was superb."
"Thank you, Simon," she said. "I appreciate that."
"I've rarely observed a singer grow as you've done over this past year. Truly admirable. You must perform that song on my show. And Randy, I really think she should record it."
"I was thinking the same thing, Cowell," Randy replied.
"Well!" Kim said. "Thank you both. I'm only sorry that you didn't see Kelly."
"Who?" Simon asked, turning in the direction Kim indicated to see Kelly, who'd now slipped down out of Cook's arms. "Oh! Yes, of course, and I shall rectify that tomorrow night, I promise." He smiled at Kelly. "So, what brings you men into the city?"
Cook and Robinson exchanged a look, then Robinson turned to Kim. "Miss Locke, where is Miss McPhee?"
"Oh, she's changing I expect. Why?"
"Could you fetch her for us?" he asked. "Maybe we could talk in Miss Abdul's office?"
"No," Kim replied, her heart dropping at Cook's uncharacteristically serious expression. "Whatever it is, she'll want to have people around her." She let go of Robinson and went into the dressing room. Girls in various states of undress were laughing and smoking as they changed into their after-party clothes. Jen was near the door, dressed but seemingly in no hurry.
"Your admirers finally let you leave?' Jen asked.
"Um, yes?"
Jen smiled. "C'mon, I'm just teasing. You know I'm happy for you."
"I know," she replied, touching Jen's arm. "Where's Kat?"
Jen gave her a look. "At the mirror, where else? Why?"
Kim walked to the other side of the room, Jen in her wake. "Kat, Cook and Robinson-"
"Want to talk to me?" she asked, her voice hollow.
"Yes," Kim replied.
Kat nodded, her face blank. "Just let me-" she began, and looked into the mirror to reapply her cherry-red lipstick. "All set," she said, standing and smiling a little. "Where are they?"
"In the hall," Kim said, and led her two fellow singers to where the others were still standing. Kat looked around, hesitating, and then, as she so often did, she went to Simon's side, taking his arm. "You wanted me?"
Cook and Robinson exchanged glances, then Cook spoke. "Kat-Katharine-I don't know how-"
"He's gone, isn't he?" she asked with a fixed smile. "About two o'clock this afternoon?"
Robinson was wide eyed. "Yes."
Kat nodded. "Remember, Kim? I was reading in our bedroom and I came all over cold."
"I remember," Kim said.
"So I decided to take a walk, get some fresh air, and I found myself in that little park he loved. You know the one, Cook, where we picnicked?"
"I know it," Cook said. "Very pretty."
"The roses are gone, of course," she said, "but it's still a lovely walk down that central path. I felt so close to him; it was like he was all around me. I never thought-" She stopped talking, swallowing hard, and Simon opened his arms to embrace her. "I never thought he was saying goodbye." She turned her face into Simon's shoulder, the tears coming now. "Tell me-do you know? Was it painful?"
"It was very quick," Robinson said. "He went after the Kraut who shot up Richardson, and you bet he got him, Miss McPhee, only the other fella got him, too."
Kat looked up at that. "Oh no, Richardson, is he all right?"
Cook nodded. "When we left he was in surgery-they're tryin' to save his leg. I'll be taking Carly here back with me to the base."
Kat walked over to Carly and embraced her. "My prayers are with you both," she said.
"Oh, Kat, thank you," Carly said, returning the hug. "And ours with you, of course."
Kat nodded and turned to Kim and Jen. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'll be much for the after-party."
"Of course not," Kim said.
"We'll get you home," Jen said.
"Yes we will," Simon said. "I have my car here, I'll take you girls straight home. Ryan?"
"I'll get your things, ladies, and be right behind you," he said, seeming to read Simon's mind.
"Right," Simon said. "Shall we?" And off they went, Kat huddled between Jen and Kim, Simon leading the way out the stage door.
As Kim passed Robinson he gave her arm another squeeze, and she looked back at him, locking eyes until they were out the door.
It was amazing, Kim thought, how quickly people came together in a crisis. Any awkwardness from the night of the party was gone as Kat leaned on Simon, Jen and Kim. Ryan had brought not only their things but also Mrs. Studdard, who immediately started bustling in the kitchen making up some tea and toast for Kat. Rabbi Yamin had been summoned and arrived quickly to counsel his friend through her grief. Once she'd got home, away from the soldiers, she'd fallen apart all at once, and the rabbi was the only one who could calm her down. Kat was lying down in Paula's old room; they'd given her something to help her sleep. Jen was downstairs helping Mandisa clean up after a late supper and had chased Kim out of the kitchen. Most of the dancers were still out on the town as it wasn't particularly late by show people standards-only about 1 am.
Kim sat on a chair in the bedroom trying to read, though she felt restless and sad. She kept thinking about Daughtry and Kat and the little mementos that Kat had been looking at that evening. If Kim was honest with herself, she'd spent much of the past year being envious of their romance, and she was even now. She doubted that, as kind as Lt. Cook was, she'd be the first to hear if anything happened to Robinson. She might merit a quick postcard, and that was what her own memento box was filled with-postcards and some pressed flowers. She was glad they sang Ellington in the show, rather than Gershwin, as "A Fine Romance" would have been a bit much. It was a little shameful, wallowing in self-pity when poor Kat was the one truly suffering, but there it was.
She was roused from her thoughts by an insistent tapping on the door to the balcony. Scowling, she walked over, intending to let whichever Smith brother had come to see Jen know exactly what she thought of him. She opened the door, but couldn't make out the face in the dim light from the street beyond.
"Hello, Miss Locke. I saw your light on; I hope it isn't too late."
"Robinson? I thought you went back to the base with Cook and Carly."
"Well, Lt. Cook and I agreed that my talking to you is more important just now, so long as I'm back by 6 am."
"So you climbed the tree?"
"Yes, I did."
"To talk to me?"
"I was worried that Mrs. Studdard might not let me in at this hour." He turned and looked at the garden and then said, "If I could come in? It might not be proper and all, but-"
"No, come in, come in, I'm sorry." Kim indicated a chair and sat down opposite him. Her mind was a muddle; it was as though she'd summoned him with all her thinking about him. "Well, I must admit, I'm surprised to see you. Here, now." He sat up a bit and she quickly added, "Not that you're unwelcome. I mean, I'm glad you're here." She was also glad that upon coming home she'd changed into a day dress, rather than her nightclothes or a housedress. "Well," she went on, smiling nervously, "I should be quiet and let you say … what you need to say."
Robinson did look a bit tense-she could see it in the set of his shoulders. He took off his cap and rested it on his knee, and as he started talking he looked around the room-anywhere but at her. "It's been a real long day, and I've been doing a lot of thinking. Daughtry, he died keeping Richardson from being even more shot up. That trip back to the base was pretty slow, let me tell ya, and I could tell Richardson was doing all he could just to say alert and flying. So I kept him talking, about home, about his girl-meaning Lewis, of course, but just in case anyone was listening."
"Oh those boys," Kim said. "My heart goes out to them."
"Well, that's the thing right there, Miss Locke. Daughtry-it's terrible, but Miss McPhee knows how he felt about her, and he knew how she feels about him. And Richardson and Lewis-they have so much against them, but they know, too." He chuckled. "I told Richardson if he didn't stay with me and get back to the base Lewis would get hopped up on Baby Ruths and fly across that Channel and shoot down every Kraut he could find, single-handed."
Kim smiled. "He definitely would."
Robinson sobered. "But that could have been me today, and you wouldn't have known. So I made up my mind to come here and tell you."
Kim's mouth was dry. She blinked; she could scarcely breathe. "Tell me what, Robinson?"
He looked up then, straight into her eyes. "That I love you, Kimberley Locke, and if you could find it in your heart to care for me-"
It was like an enormous weight had been lifted, and she might float right out of the chair. The words bubbled up; she couldn't have stopped them if she tried. "Find it in my heart?" she asked. "Anwar Robinson, you'd better kiss me."
Robinson's eyes flew open, and he started to say something, but thought better of it and did as Kim suggested. They each leaned forward in their chairs, hands reaching out to balance on shoulders. To her surprise, it was different than any other kiss she'd ever had. Was it because she felt so much, or their circumstances? Did it matter?
"What were you waiting for?" Kim asked between soft, slow kisses.
"Glamour girls like you don't go for squares like me," he replied. "Unless they have money."
"See, I thought it was that Morehouse boys didn't go for Spelman girls unless they had money."
"Guess I'm not like other Morehouse boys."
"And I'm not like other glamour girls."
"Come over here," he said, sliding his hands from her shoulders past her waist under her bottom and lifting her into his lap. She straddled him, her dress sliding up her thighs. "Shameless," he said, grinning.
"Now I am," she replied, and kissed him again.
They sat in that chair for a bit, necking like teenagers on a front porch, quiet and a little breathless, Robinson's hands still on Kim's hips, while hers were wrapped around his shoulders. Kim wanted as many kisses as possible, so when Robinson broke off she sighed in frustration. "I should go," he said.
"What?" she asked. "Why?"
"I should go before, well, before something else happens." He turned to the side, bashful.
Kim smiled, and used one hand to turn his head so he was looking at her again. "Stay."
"But-"
"You love me, right?"
"Yes."
"You're going to make an honest woman of me."
"Of course!"
"Then the way I figure it," she said, standing up and moving away from the chair, "we have two hours before you have to catch a train, and I want you here for all of that." She stopped when she reached her own bed, and held out her hand. "Stay."
"But Kat-"
"She's sleeping in Paula's old room."
"And Jen?"
Kim couldn't help but smile a little. "Don't worry about her."
Robinson looked at her, considering, and then stood, taking off his jacket and laying it over the back of the chair. He walked toward her, toward the bed. "All right, I'll stay," he said, and kissed her.
"What a night," Ryan said as he walked in the door of Simon's flat.
Simon grunted in agreement and slumped onto the couch, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.
Ryan squatted at Simon's feet, his hands on Simon's thighs. "C'mon, let's go to bed."
Simon looked down at Ryan and sighed, then nodded and allowed Ryan to lead him into the bedroom. There, he sat on the bench at the foot of the bed as Ryan carefully disrobed, hanging up his formal suit, putting his shoes and Simon's on the tree in the wardrobe, shirt, undershirt and socks in the hamper, tie and sock garter on their racks, studs and cufflinks in their boxes on the bureau. Then he began to do the same for Simon.
"You with me, darling?" Ryan asked, untying Simon's tie and taking off his jacket.
"Yes, why?" Simon asked.
"Not like you to be so quiet," Ryan said.
Simon blinked. "I was just thinking about how freakishly tidy you are," he said, taking off his trousers and handing them to Ryan.
"Ah," Ryan replied, smiling. "I just like my nice things to stay nice."
"Hmm," he replied, lifting his leg to remove his sock and garter. "And all right, yes, you're handsome."
Ryan beamed at the rare compliment. "Why, thank you," he replied. "Now what is it you really mean to say?"
Simon scowled. "I said what I meant."
Ryan shook his head. He stood in front of Simon, hands on his shoulders, then bent over to put his head in line with Simon's. "Hey," Ryan said gently. "Look at me." When Simon turned he continued, "You're stalling again. Just say it."
Simon looked up. "I-" he began, then cleared his throat. "I simply can't understand how you can listen to all my cowardice and then say I'm brave. Either you're mad, or I am."
"Maybe we both are," Ryan replied, and kissed him. "I also don't happen to think that charging out of a trench into no-man's-land is the only way to show how brave you are, or even the best way." He stood up straight. "Now off with that shirt."
Ryan watched Simon remove his studs and cufflinks and tried to think of an example he wouldn't scoff at. "You know that night your square was hit?"
"Yes," Simon replied, handing his formal accessories to Ryan to put away.
Ryan walked to the bureau, knowing it was easier for Simon without eye contact. "And we were tucked in that corner of the tube station-"
"-and you kissed me," Simon said.
"Excuse me?" Ryan asked, turning. "You kissed me."
"However you like," he replied, waving his hand.
Ryan took the shirt that Simon was shrugging off. "Well, you made me feel safer."
He heard Simon tsk at that. "Being in these arms made you feel safer? Right."
Ryan turned back around. Simon had removed his undershirt, and a bare-chested Simon was definitely something Ryan liked to stare at, so he did. "Yes, Simon," he replied. "I was scared and you calmed me down. Really."
"Oh," Simon said. "Well. All right then, I'm not going to disbelieve you."
"Good," Ryan said, shutting the wardrobe door. He slid off his boxers and walked over to the bed, enjoying being ogled in his turn. "So you'll let me take care of you tonight?" he asked.
"Actually," Simon said, sliding back under the covers, "I wish you would."
Nurse DeMato was quite young, recently trained and recruited in Canada, and given that the recovery ward was still empty save for Chris, willing to let Blake and Amanda sit quietly with him until they went on duty at 6 am. She checked on Chris once an hour but otherwise left them alone. So the door opening only a few minutes after her 1 am check was surprising.
“Don’t you worry,” she was saying. “His pals have been taking good care of him.” She smiled at them, and ushered in Carly, Lt. Cook just behind her.
Carly eyes met Amanda’s for just a second before turning to Chris. “How are you feeling?” she asked, taking Amanda’s place at his side.
“They patched me up,” he said. “Got some hardware in me, is all.”
Carly’s eyes shone in the low light. “I’m just so happy you’re all right,” she said.
“So am I,” Cook said, patting him on the shoulder.
“How’d it go with Kat?” Chris asked.
“She’s a braver girl than I gave her credit for,” Cook replied. “And she has friends-Cowell swooped right in to take care of her.”
Carly nodded. “That’s what he does.”
“Robinson’s not with you?” Blake asked.
Cook smiled slightly. “We agreed that he had better stay in London and see to his Miss Locke. That is, make her his Miss Locke, I should say.”
“Cook, you are doing the Lord’s work today,” Blake said.
“I do what I can,” he said with a little incline of his head. “Which reminds me, Nurse DeMato and I have talked, and we agreed to give you folks a bit of privacy.” He winked at her and she blushed.
“Provided,” she said, “that you all stay quiet and calm, and keep him quiet and calm. Won’t do to have any ripped stitches.”
“We’ll behave ourselves, ma’am,” Amanda said solemnly.
Cook followed Nurse DeMato out the door, pulling down the little shade on its window as he left. The four friends all looked at each other, stunned to be alone, and then in a flurry of motion Blake rushed to Chris’s side and Amanda to Carly’s.
“Rich,” Blake said tenderly, holding Chris’s hand. “Why’dya have to go and do a thing like this?”
“Doesn’t look like I’ll be doing it again,” Chris replied, “if that makes you feel better.”
“Don’t even think that,” Blake said. “You’ll be out hunting Krauts in no time. I’m just sorry I can’t personally tell the one who got you just what I think of him.”
Amanda smiled-she felt the same damn way, but since they’d arrived in England she’d gotten more used to this new kind of powerlessness. She and Carly sat on the other bed, hand in hand, and Carly was warm and soft next to her.
“I’m glad you’re all right, too,” Carly said to her.
“I am,” she replied, “now that I know my boy is. Or, I guess he’s really your boy. Except of course that he’s Blake’s.” She shook her head. “Gosh.”
Carly kissed her temple. “Sometimes I feel like all of us belong to each other, all four of us together.”
“Me too,” Blake said, looking up at them.
Amanda cocked her head, wondering about that, and caught Chris’s eye. He looked relaxed, rough edges smoothed by the narcotics flowing into his arm, but not sleepy, and he was smiling, holding Blake’s hand tight. She smiled back, and it was like that perfect sunlit day back in May, swimming in that cold brook at the estate, the four of them together. She turned to Carly, who pulled her into a sweet and loving kiss that she was reluctant to break off.
“Don’t stop on account’a us,” Chris murmured.
“Yeah,” Blake added. “Chris here’s not up to much more than kissing, or we’d be doing the same.”
“I think we’re all in the mood for some celebration of life,” Chris added.
“I’m pretty sure that when our reverend talked about celebration of life he didn’t mean Sapphic love,” Amanda replied.
“Well I do,” Chris insisted. “C’mon, Amy, you always like to have an audience.”
Blake said, “And Carly, you just said-”
“I just said,” she whispered.
Amanda turned, glancing up at the clock on the wall, and saw that it was only 1:15. “What was it you were saying?” she asked Carly, and kissed her.
Kimberley had been to petting parties in college with her then-boyfriend, and had fooled around with a few boys here and there in Harlem. But she'd decided to save her virginity for marriage, corny as that was, and now she was so glad she'd waited. Robinson removed her clothes almost reverently, stroking his hands across each bit of newly exposed skin. She did the same, marveling at the strong body that was only hinted at by his shape in uniform.
They were in the bed now, kissing, and she could feel him hard against her. But it wasn't alarming in the least, as it had been in the past, or annoying, like an obligation she had to fulfill. It excited her, that she had done this to him, and she couldn't wait to feel him inside her. He was humming softly, and she found herself doing the same, as if they'd already said all the words, or written them, and there was no need for speech now. His hands were everywhere, rubbing her breasts, her legs, the side of her face, stroking her hair. Mostly she concentrated on kissing him, now that she finally could, and arched up against him, loving the feel of him, solid against her. She'd already been so bold, asking him to stay, that she figured it didn't matter how bold she was in bed. She was so excited, so wet, she was sure she was dripping all over the sheets.
The room had always been a bit drafty, but the cool air felt good against her skin. He rolled them so that he was on top of her, and feeling his weight above her excited her even more. He slid down, kissing along her neck, then sucked the nipple he'd been rolling between his fingers into his mouth. She rubbed her hands through his close-cropped hair, loving the rough feel of his natural hair. But when one hand started to slip between her legs she grabbed his wrist.
He looked up, and she shook her head. "I've done that," she said. "I want you inside me."
"I wanted to-"
"I know," she said, smiling, stroking her hand along his cheek. "Next time."
He smiled, and she thought about next time, about thousands of next times with this man, and she could scarcely breathe.
He kissed her again, and she spread her legs so he could settle his body between them. He shifted, and then he was entering her, sliding so slowly into the slick channel. It did ache a little, feeling him stretching her open, his flesh pushing aside her own, but it also felt good in a way she couldn't quite pinpoint. Not like an orgasm felt good, increasing sensation building to an explosion, but now she understood the way that Jen would stretch like a cat after a visit from one of the Smith cousins.
"You okay?" he asked.
"You bet," she said.
"You're sure? I'm going to move now."
Kim slid her hands down from his shoulders to his behind, the behind she'd been thinking about for months. When she grabbed hold, his eyes grew wide. "Go ahead and move," she whispered.
He stared at her, his eyes dark, and she shuddered. He pulled back, thrusting up into her. If she'd thought it was exciting before, it was almost overwhelming now, feeling him inside her, his muscles working under her hands. He was resting on his elbows, his hands under her shoulders, and he was hot and lovely above her, grunting as he thrust into her. His eyes were moving from her face to her breasts, which were quivering with the force of his thrusting.
She kissed his forehead, and moved her lips to his ear. "Harder," she whispered, kissing him.
He started moving harder and faster, and oddly the constant motion was easier to take, and she settled into his rhythm, rocking with him, almost as though they were dancing. He sped up a bit more, and then he stopped, pushing into her and shouting into the pillow. She felt a little ripple go through her as he pushed up and into her, so she pushed up into him, too.
He collapsed on top of her, panting, then rolled over, pulling her with him. "Kimberley," he said, looking up at her, their faces close together inside the curtain of her hair. His arms slid up and down her body. "God, you're so beautiful."
She smiled, stretching out on top of him. "So are you."
Carly was wearing a shirtwaist dress with buttons all down the front, green, a particular favorite of Amanda's. Knowing Carly, she'd asked Cook to take her home so she could change out of the evening clothes she was wearing at the Pyramid. And, knowing Carly, she'd worn this dress just for Amanda. It had a fullish skirt that fell nicely past her hips, a slight tuck at the waist, and darts that swelled out around her breasts. Amanda liked laying Carly down on the bed in a dress like that, and unbuttoning it slowly, from the bottom. The dress was structured such that Carly often didn't wear a girdle under it, but just a bra and panties, which made the disrobing even better.
This night, though, they didn't have that much time, so Amanda couldn't linger over the dress, but made quick work of all those buttons, as Carly did of the zipper of her jumpsuit. "I haven't seen you in one of these since I met you," Carly said.
"How do you like it?" Amanda asked.
Carly grinned. "It suits you," she said, pulling her into a kiss, while slipping her arms around Amanda's back to take off her bra.
"Cotton stockings?" Amanda asked as she slid them off.
"It's cold outside!"
"Are you cold now?" Amanda asked, pushing off her jumpsuit and her panties along with it.
"No," Carly replied, glancing over at Chris and Blake, still watching. "Not at all."
Amanda got back onto the bed, kneeling above her, and took a good look at Carly, at the creamy skin that glowed in the dim light, the dark hair on her head and between her legs, the nipples only a little rosier than her cheeks. "So you don't need me to come warm you up then?" she asked, grinning.
"Get over here," Carly said, almost growling, and Amanda did as she was told, lowering herself on top of the other woman so their legs were entwined, their breasts rubbing against each other. Not only wasn't there time enough, but Amanda wasn't inclined to tuck her face between Carly's legs-lovely as that was, she needed to be face to face, quim to quim, everything to everything, embracing her girl. They kissed, and kissed some more, deep long soft wet kisses.
Then Carly started to move, thrusting up against Amanda, and Amanda pushed back, until they were shamelessly rubbing against each other's thighs, pressing their legs together to get just the right angle, swallowing their moans in kisses. Sweat made them slide against each other easier, sweat and the wetness between their legs, and they moved faster, really rutting against each other, though they were being careful not to let the bed squeak and give them away.
Carly's orgasm started first, her thighs clenching tighter around Amanda, her movements becoming erratic, and then Amanda went, wave after wave crashing over her head, those smaller ones building, building, just concentrate on Carly and the smell of her hair, and how she shudders, and-there.
She looked up-she must have buried her head in Carly's shoulder at some point, and she hoped they hadn't been too noisy-and Carly had stopped moving, too. Instead she was looking at Amanda with a lazy smile. "Good?" she asked.
"So good," Amanda said, kissing her neck. "So beautiful."
Carly beamed then, a megawatt smile, and flushed a little. "Thank you."
Amanda looked over her shoulder and checked the clock-no rush, but they should get dressed. She kissed Carly again, then reluctantly got up, handing Carly her under things from where they had scattered on the bed and the floor. As she slipped on her panties, she said, "How'd you like that show, boys? Better than the hoochie-coochie, I'd reckon."
Chris smiled. His lips were just a little redder than before, and Carly was willing to bet they'd shared some kisses while the girls were otherwise occupied. "And how," he said. "Maybe someday we'll return the favor."
"Under different circumstances, I'd hope," Carly said.
"Amen to that, sister," Blake said, squeezing Chris's hand.
"We'll just have to find a way to stick together," Amanda said.
Blake nodded. "I have an idea."
Ryan Seacrest really was quite a handsome man. The problem was he knew it, right down to the decimal point, which is why Simon rarely mentioned it. Of course Simon knew that he himself was handsome, but he didn't go around thinking about it. But Ryan, with all that Hollywood good side/bad side nonsense-and who was even looking at him? He was on the radio, for goodness sake! But Simon had a tendency to stare, which Ryan noticed, which made actually complimenting Ryan on his looks utterly superfluous. Well, Simon knew when he was beat, and that was an early point to Seacrest.
Over the year they'd developed little code words and phrases; one of these was "take care of you." Outside of bed, it meant "you are too busy working to realize that you have caught a dreadful cold, or the flu, and you will go home and go to bed and I will bring you soup and clean handkerchiefs and cold compresses if necessary, and perhaps even read to you from a melodramatic novel that will amuse us both." In the bedroom, it meant "Lie back; you don't have to do anything."
So after a good bit of snogging and groping and messing about, Simon lay in the bed, on his back, and Ryan was sitting on his thighs, looking down at him and smiling. He took a scoop of Vaseline with his right hand and slicked Simon's cock until it shone in the lamplight. He reached for it again, but Simon stopped him, saying, "I'll do this bit."
Ryan raised his eyebrows. "Okay," he said, handing Simon the jar. He crawled forward so he was straddling Simon's stomach, putting his arms down on either side of Simon's head.
Simon put his slick fingers to Ryan's little hole, stretching it slowly, enjoying Ryan's little gasps and moans as he did so. Ryan arched his back, pushing into Simon's hand, and tipped his head back, eyes closed. Simon used his three fingers to fuck Ryan, in and out, until finally Ryan said, "Enough." He smiled, and kissed Simon. "Enough."
He sat up on his knees and handed Simon the hand towel he always brought to bed, fastidious sort that he was, so Simon could wipe his hand. Ryan pulled up, positioned Simon's slick cock at his entrance, and started to slide down, letting gravity help him. He took it slow, not so much of necessity as Simon knew he had prepared him well, but for the pure pleasure of it. Simon was glad to go slow, too, to feel that exquisite tightness all around his cock.
Once Ryan was sitting flush on Simon's hips, he shifted a little, as if to get used to Simon's cock inside of him. Then he brought the hand he'd used to slick Simon's cock to his own and slowly stroked himself as he rode Simon. His strong thighs lifted him up and down, and after a few teasingly slow strokes he began to go faster, getting himself into a steady rhythm. Simon rubbed Ryan's thighs, feeling the muscles working, then slid up to hold him by the waist, steadying him, allowing him to go faster. Ryan took his other hand and slid it between his legs to fondle his testicles, just like Simon liked to when he was sucking him off. Ryan's skin was less golden than it had been when he'd arrived a year ago, and his hair was darker from the lack of sun. But his muscles were still taut and strong, his thighs and stomach contracting as he pulled himself up and down, his arm flexing as he stroked himself. He was looking down at Simon with his wide smile, and Simon could scarcely breathe with all of it, with how Ryan was doing all the work and putting himself on display, so Simon could just lay back and stare to his heart's content.
He could tell from the way that Ryan was moving that he was close, and Ryan moved his hands from his cock, grabbed hold of Simon's forearms, and started bouncing, hard and fast, almost growling, and Simon thrust up into him. Simon shouted as he came, and Ryan came almost at the same time, his semen splattering across Simon's chest and belly.
Ryan plopped down on the bed next to Simon, and they both took a few minutes to catch their breath. They wiped themselves off with the towel and tossed it onto the floor, and Ryan cuddled into Simon's side. "Thank you," Simon said, wrapping an arm around Ryan.
"Yeah, I just did that for you," he replied. "Not like I got any pleasure out of it."
Simon chuckled. Ryan was running a hand through the hair on Simon's chest, dreamily; he always got so thoughtful after sex, which Simon found rather adorable.
"Do you know how beautiful you are?" Ryan asked.
"What?" Simon asked, surprised at the word.
"You are," Ryan insisted. "Your skin-it's like your whole body is blushing. And your eyes flash. And I can't seem to keep my hands off your chest."
"So I've noticed."
Ryan lifted up his head. "Simon, I'm serious! You are! I know it isn't very manly-"
"Not really, no."
"But to me, you are." Ryan rested his chin on top of his hand, on Simon's chest, that determined look in his eye.
"Well," Simon said, knowing when he was beat, "all right then."
"All right," Ryan replied, and slid up to kiss him, and Simon stopped worrying about being manly. For a little while, at any rate.
Chapter Twelve: Now, Voyager
Notes:
The Awful Truth (dir. Leo McCarey, 1937) is a romantic comedy starring Irene Dunne and Cary Grant.