You've Got To Hide Your Love Away - Chapter Seven: Can't Buy Me Love [PG]
-South of Nowhere
-Ashley/Spencer
-Most definitely AU. Various POV's. Some angst, some humor, some fluff. Set during the years 1964 - 1965. Yes, the title is a Beatles song... and all the chapter titles are Beatles songs, too. Why? 'Coz I rock. Expect lots of music references as well.
-'And then you feel guilty for wanting something more than this ‘Kyla Davies, 2464 Pinewood Drive, Hollywood, CA 90078’
-PG
Spencer Carlin is usually the one cracking her bedroom door just a little to catch Glen sneaking back in, taking note of how he knows just what parts of the floorboards creak when you step on them and how to keep his breathing shallow, and she lets him pass.
He is the older sibling, after all. She can't scold him if he goes traipsing at all hours of the night.
Even though she usually thinks him wrong to be lying to their parents.
Even though she'd like to be doing the same as him, sometimes, but knows she will never do so.
But not tonight, with his hand firm and warm within her own, the last of summer still clinging to the afterhours and making the air thick with humidity - you can hear crickets and the dead silence of not a shred of wind through the trees.
And it is after eleven - her parents in their room, door shut and lights out - and the Carlin children are breaking rules.
Spencer knows it is wrong to feel this good, but she can't help it.
She squeezes Glen's hand in excitement and he only shakes his head at her, tugging her along streets that look so familiar in the daytime but are brand new and interesting in this nighttime realm.
Cars that she is sure she has seen a million times look more sleek and magical with just the moon to show them off and Spencer can almost understand why boys are so enamored of them - smooth metal and shiny chrome, modern beasts of the wild…
She is not known for waxing poetic, but this is an adventure and Spencer is hard-pressed to remain neutral and staid.
And she wonders what Ashley is doing, all the way on the west coast, right this very second.
She's been doing that a lot lately, wondering what Ashley is doing and wondering if it matches up to what she herself has been doing - do her eyes take in the sunrise and feel better for it? Does she laugh about the same things I do? Does she think of me in this way… or is this just my…
Spencer almost says 'affliction' in her own head, the word choice troubling her - but she had no time to ponder it, because Glen is knocking on a door and they are being let in by some tousled-headed boy with glasses.
Ricky Tremain, someone she has seen a couple of times at home - Glen and Ricky, throwing the football and talking about girls - and never outside of that, is here and welcoming them in.
Ricky's eyes seem heavy to Spencer and he lets them linger over her chest a little too long, before grinning at the two of them.
"Glen, your sister is here!"
"Yea, man, wants to hear some Deltones."
"Right on, Sister Carlin…"
And Ricky laughs and Glen kind of joins him and Spencer isn't sure what the joke is about - but then again, she isn't paying full attention to the two boys. Instead, she is wondering where Ricky's parents are and if they are going to get caught and… what is that smell in here?
*
On the west coast, Ashley is playing the piano at Steven Edward's house and she is well on her way to being drunk - her fingers still work seamlessly and her ability to grasp notes is still sharp - but her mind is somewhat foggy and her smile is lazy to everyone who sits beside her or requests a certain song (Hound Dog or Can't Buy Me Love so far).
But she just keeps on playing little nonsensical tunes, made-up little things that flutter into her head and then back out again.
Or she plays 'Frenzy', some song her dad used to pluck out on his guitar when she was younger and she would giggle at the exaggerated why he would sing it to her, all mad faces and goofy sounds.
On the piano, it is not quite the same.
She needs a guitar to join her or it just sounds flat.
She plays it anyway, though, chuckling to herself when she recalls a father's sense of humor and a girl's pure joy.
And it is a gift, this love of music, something her father has handed down to her and something she cherishes - it has kept her warm when nights were long and cold, it has kept her safe when it seemed like the world was out to get her.
Kyla likes music and always screams over a good record, but Kyla is just having fun.
Ashley is beginning to think that music is the one thing in her own life that she takes seriously.
School never made a dent in her consciousness and dating was just a waste of time, the two things that most girls her age dreamed of and dreaded every night of their lives.
But not Ashley - once again, the thumb sticking out in a crowd of fists.
As if conjuring the girl up, Kyla drifts in - all three sheets to the wind and grinning and plops her body down beside Ashley and drops her head upon Ashley's shoulder.
"What's that you're playin'?"
And it is funny to Ashley, because she isn't quite sure what it is she is playing out so softly.
It sounds familiar and it sounds like something big and sweeping.
She stutters against the keys a couple of times, but catches up to lost chords easily enough.
"I don't know."
Kyla just nods her head, a hiccup or two follows and then the girl looks over at Ashley - eyes bloodshot and determined.
"Jimmy and I are over."
"Why's that?"
"Just 'coz. I don't like him."
"That's why you kiss him then, because you don't like him?"
"I was bored, Ash."
"I get bored all the time, Ky. Don't see me getting all kissy-kissy with dull boys."
"I know. Why is that?"
"Why is what?"
Ashley looks over at her sister then, not sure she is keeping up with the conversation like she should.
She is still playing, though, hands on automatic.
Kyla blinks a few times and leans into Ashley more, whiffs of alcohol hitting Ashley's face and she cannot distinguish the scent from the taste in her own mouth.
"How do you do that?"
"What?"
"Play without looking?"
"Don't know."
Kyla looks away then, swaying just a little - from drink or to the music, Ashley is not sure - and the girl gets up, grabbing some boy's hand and pulling him into a one-way dance.
Ashley starts playing a little more loudly, garnering a few glances in her direction, and suddenly she knows what this tune is and where it came from and who created it.
And the knowledge makes her play it more broadly, beer and bravery mixing together, stumbles glossed over and smile blossoming on her face.
It's Chopin.
And letters are floating through her mind, words and words and words about everything.
And imaginings of a girl many miles away, what this girl's face might look like and what her voice might sound like.
And Ashley is really playing now, not bothering with the other people around her who are staring or silent or too drunk to care - Ashley is playing this for Spencer Carlin, wherever the girl is tonight.
*
"I liked that last one."
"What's that, squirt?"
"The last one, the one where it was all, you know…" And Spencer trails off, not really forgetting where she is going with this thought, just misplacing it somehow.
It doesn't seem to matter, though.
She is just happy to be walking around at night with her brother.
"She was right. It sounds like the ocean."
"Who was right?"
"Ashleeeeyyyy…"
Just saying that name made Spencer grin. And when Spencer grins, it is hard not to do the same.
Her mother called it 'infectious' and Spencer wasn't sure how that was a good thing - isn't influenza infectious, too?
"Who's that?"
"Who's what?"
"Ashleeeeyyyy…" And Glen smiles, pitching his voice higher and bumping Spencer's shoulder lightly.
"My friend out west. She likes surf music."
"Sounds like a top friend then, squirt."
"Don't call me that."
And Spencer finishes with her tongue stuck out and a slap to Glen's arm as they weave their way to the house, all closed up and quiet with its doors and its shutters.
"Glen!" She whispers loudly as he opens the door and he puts the palm of his hand over her mouth.
"Shhh, Spence!" He hisses at her and she tries rolling her eyes, but they seem reluctant to do anything other than shutting or drifting shut.
And he guides her body along, which is a good thing - she feels so light and so airy, she feels like she could just rise up into the air and fly.
He steps into her bedroom, pushing the door to - but not shutting it - and turns her around to face him, the two of them sleepily smiling at one another.
"You'll sleep later than normal, squi-err, Spence, don't worry. I'll cover for ya."
"Okay."
"And don't tell Mom or Dad a thing."
"Okay."
"Now, go on and sleep it off, sis."
Before he can leave, she grabs his hand and whispers loudly and she misses the way his eyes glare at her for being too noisy. Again.
"Who did the last one?"
"What are you-"
"The last song, I want to tell Ashley all about it, Glen…"
"The Ventures."
"Riiiight… good, now I can tell her about it."
"Great. G'night, Spence."
And Glen retreats to his room. And Spencer hums her way to her bed, not bothering to take off her clothes and change into her pajamas.
She feels warm and content, like she is one long dream and it is a nice one.
She doesn't remember ever feeling like this before, not even as she sat in Ricky's lounge and listened to Dick Dale.
But, at some point, she noticed the thinnest layer of smoke at the top of the room and then she forgot about it as soon as she saw it.
And Ricky laughed a lot, tapped his knees a lot in time with the drums.
And Glen stared at the record spinning a lot, grinning some of the time and serious some of the time.
And Spencer, she just sank further and further into Ricky's brown leather chair, which didn't look comfortable but was turning out to be quite comfy.
She really latched on to the last tune that Ricky chose, learning some terms as she divided her ears to music and to talk - 'riffs', guitars playing fast and distinctive… and this one made her think of waves, beautiful white-n-blue waves she had never seen and it made her think of Ashley Davies.
Ashley Davies with her brown eyes on the beach, seeing the waves that Spencer knows these songs are about.
And that new feeling comes back to her gut (a rush, a racing, a sick and grand feeling), happily beating along with 'Pipeline', swimming up and down her spine and Spencer sighs out loud - she sighs out loud and wishes with everything in her that Ashley wasn't so far away.
And before she can stop herself, before sleep can finally claim her, Spencer is writing a letter.
*
Dear Ashley,
I heard him, Dick Dale, and it was great.
The Ventures, that's what Glen called them, they were better. I saw waves, your waves in my head, and I just fell in love with it all.
I'm not sure what I am saying, you know, but I just adore you…
*
Spencer looks at the letter and feels something tugging at her lungs, air refusing to come out and she shudders a little - not sure what is going on and not sure she wants it and not sure she want to stop it either.
Her mind is hazy and she is so tired, but Spencer Carlin is aware of one thing - this might be the most important letter she'll ever write.
*
…Oh, Ashley, I really really do.
Talk soon, I hope. But keep writing, okay???
Spencer
*
TBC
-Ashley/Spencer
-Most definitely AU. Various POV's. Some angst, some humor, some fluff. Set during the years 1964 - 1965. Yes, the title is a Beatles song... and all the chapter titles are Beatles songs, too. Why? 'Coz I rock. Expect lots of music references as well.
-'And then you feel guilty for wanting something more than this ‘Kyla Davies, 2464 Pinewood Drive, Hollywood, CA 90078’
-PG
Spencer Carlin is usually the one cracking her bedroom door just a little to catch Glen sneaking back in, taking note of how he knows just what parts of the floorboards creak when you step on them and how to keep his breathing shallow, and she lets him pass.
He is the older sibling, after all. She can't scold him if he goes traipsing at all hours of the night.
Even though she usually thinks him wrong to be lying to their parents.
Even though she'd like to be doing the same as him, sometimes, but knows she will never do so.
But not tonight, with his hand firm and warm within her own, the last of summer still clinging to the afterhours and making the air thick with humidity - you can hear crickets and the dead silence of not a shred of wind through the trees.
And it is after eleven - her parents in their room, door shut and lights out - and the Carlin children are breaking rules.
Spencer knows it is wrong to feel this good, but she can't help it.
She squeezes Glen's hand in excitement and he only shakes his head at her, tugging her along streets that look so familiar in the daytime but are brand new and interesting in this nighttime realm.
Cars that she is sure she has seen a million times look more sleek and magical with just the moon to show them off and Spencer can almost understand why boys are so enamored of them - smooth metal and shiny chrome, modern beasts of the wild…
She is not known for waxing poetic, but this is an adventure and Spencer is hard-pressed to remain neutral and staid.
And she wonders what Ashley is doing, all the way on the west coast, right this very second.
She's been doing that a lot lately, wondering what Ashley is doing and wondering if it matches up to what she herself has been doing - do her eyes take in the sunrise and feel better for it? Does she laugh about the same things I do? Does she think of me in this way… or is this just my…
Spencer almost says 'affliction' in her own head, the word choice troubling her - but she had no time to ponder it, because Glen is knocking on a door and they are being let in by some tousled-headed boy with glasses.
Ricky Tremain, someone she has seen a couple of times at home - Glen and Ricky, throwing the football and talking about girls - and never outside of that, is here and welcoming them in.
Ricky's eyes seem heavy to Spencer and he lets them linger over her chest a little too long, before grinning at the two of them.
"Glen, your sister is here!"
"Yea, man, wants to hear some Deltones."
"Right on, Sister Carlin…"
And Ricky laughs and Glen kind of joins him and Spencer isn't sure what the joke is about - but then again, she isn't paying full attention to the two boys. Instead, she is wondering where Ricky's parents are and if they are going to get caught and… what is that smell in here?
*
On the west coast, Ashley is playing the piano at Steven Edward's house and she is well on her way to being drunk - her fingers still work seamlessly and her ability to grasp notes is still sharp - but her mind is somewhat foggy and her smile is lazy to everyone who sits beside her or requests a certain song (Hound Dog or Can't Buy Me Love so far).
But she just keeps on playing little nonsensical tunes, made-up little things that flutter into her head and then back out again.
Or she plays 'Frenzy', some song her dad used to pluck out on his guitar when she was younger and she would giggle at the exaggerated why he would sing it to her, all mad faces and goofy sounds.
On the piano, it is not quite the same.
She needs a guitar to join her or it just sounds flat.
She plays it anyway, though, chuckling to herself when she recalls a father's sense of humor and a girl's pure joy.
And it is a gift, this love of music, something her father has handed down to her and something she cherishes - it has kept her warm when nights were long and cold, it has kept her safe when it seemed like the world was out to get her.
Kyla likes music and always screams over a good record, but Kyla is just having fun.
Ashley is beginning to think that music is the one thing in her own life that she takes seriously.
School never made a dent in her consciousness and dating was just a waste of time, the two things that most girls her age dreamed of and dreaded every night of their lives.
But not Ashley - once again, the thumb sticking out in a crowd of fists.
As if conjuring the girl up, Kyla drifts in - all three sheets to the wind and grinning and plops her body down beside Ashley and drops her head upon Ashley's shoulder.
"What's that you're playin'?"
And it is funny to Ashley, because she isn't quite sure what it is she is playing out so softly.
It sounds familiar and it sounds like something big and sweeping.
She stutters against the keys a couple of times, but catches up to lost chords easily enough.
"I don't know."
Kyla just nods her head, a hiccup or two follows and then the girl looks over at Ashley - eyes bloodshot and determined.
"Jimmy and I are over."
"Why's that?"
"Just 'coz. I don't like him."
"That's why you kiss him then, because you don't like him?"
"I was bored, Ash."
"I get bored all the time, Ky. Don't see me getting all kissy-kissy with dull boys."
"I know. Why is that?"
"Why is what?"
Ashley looks over at her sister then, not sure she is keeping up with the conversation like she should.
She is still playing, though, hands on automatic.
Kyla blinks a few times and leans into Ashley more, whiffs of alcohol hitting Ashley's face and she cannot distinguish the scent from the taste in her own mouth.
"How do you do that?"
"What?"
"Play without looking?"
"Don't know."
Kyla looks away then, swaying just a little - from drink or to the music, Ashley is not sure - and the girl gets up, grabbing some boy's hand and pulling him into a one-way dance.
Ashley starts playing a little more loudly, garnering a few glances in her direction, and suddenly she knows what this tune is and where it came from and who created it.
And the knowledge makes her play it more broadly, beer and bravery mixing together, stumbles glossed over and smile blossoming on her face.
It's Chopin.
And letters are floating through her mind, words and words and words about everything.
And imaginings of a girl many miles away, what this girl's face might look like and what her voice might sound like.
And Ashley is really playing now, not bothering with the other people around her who are staring or silent or too drunk to care - Ashley is playing this for Spencer Carlin, wherever the girl is tonight.
*
"I liked that last one."
"What's that, squirt?"
"The last one, the one where it was all, you know…" And Spencer trails off, not really forgetting where she is going with this thought, just misplacing it somehow.
It doesn't seem to matter, though.
She is just happy to be walking around at night with her brother.
"She was right. It sounds like the ocean."
"Who was right?"
"Ashleeeeyyyy…"
Just saying that name made Spencer grin. And when Spencer grins, it is hard not to do the same.
Her mother called it 'infectious' and Spencer wasn't sure how that was a good thing - isn't influenza infectious, too?
"Who's that?"
"Who's what?"
"Ashleeeeyyyy…" And Glen smiles, pitching his voice higher and bumping Spencer's shoulder lightly.
"My friend out west. She likes surf music."
"Sounds like a top friend then, squirt."
"Don't call me that."
And Spencer finishes with her tongue stuck out and a slap to Glen's arm as they weave their way to the house, all closed up and quiet with its doors and its shutters.
"Glen!" She whispers loudly as he opens the door and he puts the palm of his hand over her mouth.
"Shhh, Spence!" He hisses at her and she tries rolling her eyes, but they seem reluctant to do anything other than shutting or drifting shut.
And he guides her body along, which is a good thing - she feels so light and so airy, she feels like she could just rise up into the air and fly.
He steps into her bedroom, pushing the door to - but not shutting it - and turns her around to face him, the two of them sleepily smiling at one another.
"You'll sleep later than normal, squi-err, Spence, don't worry. I'll cover for ya."
"Okay."
"And don't tell Mom or Dad a thing."
"Okay."
"Now, go on and sleep it off, sis."
Before he can leave, she grabs his hand and whispers loudly and she misses the way his eyes glare at her for being too noisy. Again.
"Who did the last one?"
"What are you-"
"The last song, I want to tell Ashley all about it, Glen…"
"The Ventures."
"Riiiight… good, now I can tell her about it."
"Great. G'night, Spence."
And Glen retreats to his room. And Spencer hums her way to her bed, not bothering to take off her clothes and change into her pajamas.
She feels warm and content, like she is one long dream and it is a nice one.
She doesn't remember ever feeling like this before, not even as she sat in Ricky's lounge and listened to Dick Dale.
But, at some point, she noticed the thinnest layer of smoke at the top of the room and then she forgot about it as soon as she saw it.
And Ricky laughed a lot, tapped his knees a lot in time with the drums.
And Glen stared at the record spinning a lot, grinning some of the time and serious some of the time.
And Spencer, she just sank further and further into Ricky's brown leather chair, which didn't look comfortable but was turning out to be quite comfy.
She really latched on to the last tune that Ricky chose, learning some terms as she divided her ears to music and to talk - 'riffs', guitars playing fast and distinctive… and this one made her think of waves, beautiful white-n-blue waves she had never seen and it made her think of Ashley Davies.
Ashley Davies with her brown eyes on the beach, seeing the waves that Spencer knows these songs are about.
And that new feeling comes back to her gut (a rush, a racing, a sick and grand feeling), happily beating along with 'Pipeline', swimming up and down her spine and Spencer sighs out loud - she sighs out loud and wishes with everything in her that Ashley wasn't so far away.
And before she can stop herself, before sleep can finally claim her, Spencer is writing a letter.
*
Dear Ashley,
I heard him, Dick Dale, and it was great.
The Ventures, that's what Glen called them, they were better. I saw waves, your waves in my head, and I just fell in love with it all.
I'm not sure what I am saying, you know, but I just adore you…
*
Spencer looks at the letter and feels something tugging at her lungs, air refusing to come out and she shudders a little - not sure what is going on and not sure she wants it and not sure she want to stop it either.
Her mind is hazy and she is so tired, but Spencer Carlin is aware of one thing - this might be the most important letter she'll ever write.
*
…Oh, Ashley, I really really do.
Talk soon, I hope. But keep writing, okay???
Spencer
*
TBC