FIC: A Dream That Could Not Last 5 of 12 (Ryan/Simon, Amanda/Carly, Kimberley/Anwar, PG)
Author: Clio
Title: A Dream That Could Not Last Chapter 5 of 12: Stella Dallas
Pairing: American Idol: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell, Amanda Overmyer/Carly Smithson, Kimberley Locke/Anwar Robinson
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Chapter Summary: Happy Holidays!
Chapter Length: 8100 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
Chapter Five: Stella Dallas
26 November 1939
Kimberley Locke held her breath. She was back in the BBC studio singing “Lush Life” with Randy’s new arrangement. No other singers this time, just her, Randy, Paula, Carly, and Simon Cowell, who was as usual completely unreadable. “Lush Life” was a particular favorite of hers, even though it was tricky, because it showed off her timing. But she’d listened to Simon’s show enough to know what sorts of songs he liked, and a lyric that included the word “distingue” was probably not it.
"Very nice arrangement, Randy," he said at last, and Randy nodded. He turned to Carly. "I think we should try another take, and put it on the show next week."
Kim exhaled, relieved.
"But I don't think we've found the song yet," he continued. "She could do something really show stopping. She has it in her."
There was a pause, and then Paula said, "Was that a compliment?"
"Yes," Simon answered.
"Because I couldn't tell."
Kim started laughing. "I'll take it, Mr. Cowell. Would you like me to change anything?"
"Just sing it as you would want to, Kim."
She nodded. She had to admit, for that first take she'd been nervous and a bit tight, which was more like Kat than like her. She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded at Randy, and sang it again-looser, letting the arrangement carry her like a boat down the stream of the song and it flowed, relaxed and easy.
"Well," Mr. Cowell said when she finished, "think we'll use that second take."
10 December 1939
Amanda double-checked the address Carly had sent her, but this was right-a tiny little shop along a side street with a sign that just said, "Tea." She opened the door and peered inside. Sure enough, the small room was full of tables of ladies sat drinking tea and eating tiny pastries.
Carly was sitting at a table for two near the back, nose in a book. Amanda thought she must have come from work, but she wasn't wearing one of those severe suits; instead, she had a rather pretty dress, a green and white print, with an adorable little hat. "Hello," Amanda said.
She looked up, and smiled. "Hello," she said. "I'm so glad you found it."
"Do only ladies go out for tea," Amanda asked, "or is this a lady's special shop?"
"If you're asking if it's a shop for special ladies, only somewhat. I'm sure it's safe to be here in your uniform." A waitress approached the table with a large pot of tea. "I hope you don't mind, but I already put in our order."
"No, I don't mind," Amanda said. She leaned in and muttered, "So, did you get a lecture, too?"
Carly shrugged. "Simon is very protective of his friends. He likes taking care of people. I think that's how he expresses his paternal instinct, not having children of his own. Don't be surprised if he pulls you and your friends under his wing, too."
"Really? He doesn't seem the type."
"He keeps that side carefully hidden." She smiled. "So you were lectured? By whom?"
"Chris, and it was the same lecture he's been giving me since we were kids." Amanda rolled her eyes. "But I'm not here to talk about them."
"No?" Carly asked.
Amanda looked up to see the waitress coming with a tray of pastries and tiny sandwiches. "I want you to talk about you."
"Oh," Carly said, picking up a sandwich. "Well, I grew up in the countryside. My people are farmers, and I spent a lot of time on horseback-"
"I did too!" Amanda said. "Virginia, that's horse country. I rode all my life."
"Yes, I'd noticed your posture." She smiled. "There were troubles in Ireland when I was young, but by the time I went to university they were ending. I took my degree and came to London, which was not popular with my parents."
"Don't like the English, do they?"
"Not much, no. Sometimes I don't, either, though I like my job and Simon's all right. But I would like to get to America, especially now that I've heard Joel and Ryan talk about the reporting there." Then she looked up and her body stiffened slightly.
Amanda followed her eyes to the door, where a slim woman in a trouser suit and a hat had just come in. She saw Carly, and walked over to their table.
"Hello, Sam," Carly said, and the other woman leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks. "How have you been?"
"Oh, about the same. And you? You look swell."
"Thank you, I'm quite well." She gestured toward Amanda. "Sam, this is my friend Amanda; Amanda, this is Sam."
Amanda stood up and shook Sam's hand firmly. "Good to meet you."
"Oh, an American," Sam said, and grinned. "And in the service, no less."
"Yes," Amanda said in her haughtiest drawl. "RAF, actually."
"Sam has a late night show on the BBC," Carly said, "and she throws record parties."
"Do you like hot jazz, Amanda?" Sam asked.
"Very much," she replied.
"Then you should bring her to a party, Carly," Sam said.
"Sure," Carly said, noncommittally.
Sam nodded. "Well, my table awaits. Ah, and there's my own American girl now." Amanda turned and saw girl standing in the door-a slender redhead who looked familiar. "Nice to meet you, Amanda, and good to see you again, Carly." She walked away.
Amanda sat down. "So, Carly …"
"Yes."
"Yes?"
Carly looked up, her expression blank. "Yes, I used to see Sam, and now I don't."
Amanda watched as Sam pulled out the chair for her friend. "She wears that suit well-"
"Oh?"
Amanda turned back to Carly. "But I'd wear it better."
Carly raised one eyebrow, but said nothing.
"Who's the girl?"
Carly shrugged. "Some actress, I think?"
"Oh, of course! She was a child star; she was in those early talkies, you know, before Shirley Temple. Huh, how interesting." She took a sip of tea, and looked around. "So, you're really in with the gang here, aren't you?"
Carly smiled a little. "Do you mean the 'Sapphic' gang? I have some friends, yes. And you? Back in America, I mean."
Amanda shook her head. "Barnstorming, we were going from town to town," she replied. "So not since college, really."
"How did you get started? I don't think Giuliana asked you that."
"Oh, after college Chris and I were back in Virginia, not doing much of anything, waiting for something to happen I guess, and he saw an ad for pilots who owned their own planes. So we went down to Charlotte, and that started us off. That was back in '35."
"Your parents must have been pleased."
"Yeah, we actually kinda snuck out and sent a letter back. Didn't go over well. I think they were hoping we'd eloped. Then when the war started, a buddy of Chris's said that Canada was looking for pilots, and here we are."
"Well, I'm glad about that."
"Say," Amanda said, looking down, "you ate all the cucumber sandwiches."
"Sorry," Carly replied. "There's still ham."
"The ham in England is not ham."
"That's what Kim said, too."
"Kim?" Amanda asked. "Should I be worried?"
"What? No! No, Kimberley, the singer at the Pyramid Club?"
"Oh, right, she's seeing Robinson."
"I don't think it's romantic, actually," Carly said.
"I dunno; he's always there on his free nights."
"Well, If he intends to court her, he should court her.
"And openly," Amanda said. "We have an excuse; he doesn't."
"I'm glad you agree," Carly said, leaning forward. "Because I intend to court you."
Amanda blinked. She couldn't remember ever hearing those words from the kind of girl she was usually attracted to; she was normally the one doing the courting. She tried to think of a snappy comeback, but ultimately fell back on old training. "Well," she said, "I do declare!"
24 December 1939
Giuliana DePandi was really a darling girl, Simon thought, and he'd be sorry to lose her whenever she finally married her American bloke and moved to the States. She, along with her father and Carly, was preparing a traditional Italian feast for Christmas Eve for a rather large crowd-Bill, Simon, Ryan, Joel, small David, and his school chum Diana DeGarmo. Simon had offered his own flat but Giuliana insisted they'd all fit around the table, so he'd settled for sending over a good quantity of Italian wine, a glass of which was thrust into his hand by Sig. DePandi as soon as he'd shed his hat and coat.
"Happy Christmas, Sig. Cowell!" he said, voice booming. Then he leaned in and whispered, "I have finished that special order for you." Sig. DePandi, upon arriving in England, had returned to tailoring, the trade he'd left behind when he began to pursue politics in Italy. With the troubles in Europe, those English men who wanted something other than stuffy traditional tailoring had flocked to his small shop just off Savile Row, and he'd hired two assistants to keep up with the demand.
"Shh," Simon said, putting a finger to his lips. "Carly isn't to know, but remind me to take it home with me, and thank you."
"Isn't the first time I've made one, to be honest," he replied. "But I'm a tailor, not a priest. And it's an interesting challenge, with the girl not there. Tell her to please come in for a better fitting as soon as she might."
"Of course," Simon replied. "And thank you so much for hosting us all tonight."
"No, please," he said, leading Simon into the sitting room. "We're all family. In fact, we've found that Sig.na DeGarmo is the granddaughter of an old friend of mine from Parliament. It's a small world these days, Sig. Cowell."
At the moment Sig.na DeGarmo was sitting at the piano with small David, humming along with something he was playing. She was a cute little thing, hourglass shape like a stereotypical Italian lady, round cheeked with dark blond hair. She stood as small David introduced her and was even smaller than he was, and she was wearing heels. "You two will be singing for us later, I hope?" Simon asked.
Small David turned to Diana and smiled, but she was blushing. "I'm such a fan of yours, sir," she said. "I'm not sure I would meet your high standards."
"Nonsense," Simon replied. "This is a holiday when we should all be singing, and you're not asking people to pay to hear you. Entirely different rules apply."
"See?" small David said. "He's really not that frightening!"
Diana giggled. "Then yes, if David would like, we'll sing."
"I would like," small David replied.
Simon looked over their heads at Ryan, smiling at them from the couch, and winked.
After dinner-and Simon didn't think he'd ever had quite so many different sorts of fish dishes at one sitting-there were lovely delicate pastries, dried fruit and nuts, and the liqueurs came out, limoncello and nocino, and finally the talk of politics that Simon anticipated, with so many anti-fascists around the table. Sig. DePandi, in particular, was furious that nothing had happened in response to either Poland or Finland.
"So these countries, these Germans and Russians, they just run over the continent," he said, "and we respond with propaganda falling from the sky? What is this?"
"Confetti war," Bill said, shaking his head.
"Whose minds could they be changing? The Germans who might have stood up to Hitler have lost and left, as we have done. And the French with their magical line!"
"Maginot, papa," Giuliana said.
"I mean magical, Giuliana," he replied, "if they think a man sitting on a stool behind some concrete can push back a German tank. And what is to say they won't go through Belgium as they did before? Then where is your line?"
"I say we just get going," Bill said, "and I mean us Americans as well. What's the wait for?"
"I agree," Ryan said. "It's going to happen. The Germans must be stopped."
"That's what they said last time," Simon replied. "War to end war. Didn't stick. Are we supposed to fight Jerry every twenty-five years? Worse than the French."
"So instead you intend to stand by as Hitler takes whatever he wants?" Ryan asked.
"And England has really been any different?" Simon asked, suddenly very aware that he was the only Englishman at the table. "Half the reason we get into these messes is the Empire and I'm not sure what good it's done. As Carly knows only too well."
"We have a new constitution now," Carly said, and Joel clicked glasses with her. "But I don't think Ireland will be joining this war. We won't fight alongside the English, and we can't have more Irish fighting for the fascists, like in Spain. Sorry," she said, looking at small David, who waved his hand.
"Plus there's the Japanese doing as they please in China," Simon went on, "and the Germans making trouble in Argentina of all places. The Great War was called a 'world war' but this one really will be one. Roosevelt is right to wait. I'm in no hurry, is the point."
"I am," small David said. "As soon as I'm eighteen, I'm joining up."
"You know," Simon said, "when we were all joining up, we were in a hurry, too. Get our licks in before the war ended and all that. But the war went on for almost five years. I'm very sure there will still be fascists to fight in a year. Gives us more time to get ready."
"We're getting there," Bill said. "And Cash-and-Carry is getting factories retooled now and creating a lot of jobs, which are needed, let me tell you."
"But you agree there's something worth getting ready for?" Ryan asked Simon.
"There is now. But maybe if you Yanks had joined the League there wouldn't be, and the League might have been able to stand up to all of them in Spain."
"That's something we agree on," Ryan said.
Giuliana held up her hand. "Enough! It's Christmas." She glanced at the clock and said, "I think it's time for some music, before we head to Mass." She stood and started to clear plates and Ryan jumped up to help.
"We have it," Carly said.
"No, no," Ryan said. "Giuliana hasn't let me help at all yet. Even at a holiday, Simon would rather listen to you sing, Carly, than hear my warbling." He winked at Simon, who smiled back at him.
Ryan did help clear, but Giuliana insisted they leave the cleaning, and they all gathered around the piano singing holiday songs from six different countries. Simon sometimes made fun of it, but this was precisely the time and place for this sort of family music making, and he was secretly rather sentimental about it. Besides, as Ryan said, he'd always liked Carly's voice. Diana and small David had surprisingly strong, clear voices; if there weren't a war to worry about Simon might have marketed them himself, but one look at small David and you knew he was bound for greater things.
The snow was falling as they left. All of the others headed to midnight Mass, leaving Simon and Ryan to wander back to Simon's flat through the crystalline air.
"So, when do we need to leave for your mother's house?" Ryan asked.
"Joel and Carly are taking the 10 o'clock train," Simon said, "so we'll leave around eleven so we can pick them up on the other end."
"You really drive that fast?"
"Why do you think Carly won't ride in the car?"
"So, your mother," Ryan began.
"I'm sure she'll like you, if that's what you're worried about."
"Not really. Mamas do, as a rule. But-does she know?"
"About us?"
"Well, about you."
"Oh. Well, it's likely. A few years after my divorce I stopped dating girls, and she stopped asking me about grandchildren."
"That's when you started dating boys?"
Simon smirked. "I've no doubt that either you or Joel have managed to get the entire story from Carly. You're taking a chance, aren't you, dating, with the consequences and all. And I was just coming into this radio thing and you know-there just isn't time."
"So I'm convenient," Ryan said.
"Don't tease."
"I just-you're taking me to meet your mother. I know you think I'm a romantic, but-"
"Not about me. About war. About this, you're remarkably sensible and hard-headed."
"Oh. So-"
"So let's see, shall we? I've no desire to be with anyone else. Do you?"
"No," Ryan replied, firmly.
They walked on silently, the snow crunching under their feet, bodies close enough to brush occasionally.
"New Year's should be fun," Ryan said, his head tipped toward the garment bag Simon carried.
"Should be," he replied. "Is Joel-"
"He's going to the Pyramid. I'm sure he'd like to spend an evening apart. And he's become friendly with some of the airmen. S'good for him to see more fellows who actually follow sports."
Simon shook his head. "God bless Joel."
"And how," Ryan replied.
In the entrance hall of Simon's block of flats, they shook the snow off their overcoats and hats before taking the lift upstairs.
Once inside, Ryan said, "So, you're my boyfriend."
Simon turned to him. "Do you think that word suits me?"
Ryan laughed. "My fella? My beau?"
"I'll accept that," Simon said. "Happy birthday, darling."
"Aww, you remembered. Thank you."
"How does it feel to be the ripe old age of twenty-eight?"
"Pretty damn good, actually," Ryan replied, and kissed him.
29 December 1939
Amanda, Blake and Chris changed trains at Paddington without much incident-even a lady in uniform wasn't an unusual sight these days. Amanda would bet money that his grace, Chris's grandfather, had pulled some strings, but all the Canadians had got four days furlough, from the 29th through the new year, as they'd covered for the Brits to go home for Christmas. So here they were, off to Sussex. Amanda had been asked specially-apparently this end of the family hadn't given up on the match-but Chris had invited Blake himself. Some time after they settled into the compartment Chris excused himself, and Blake immediately turned to Amanda.
"You've been there before, right? To Burnshaw?"
"A few times, yes."
Blake nodded, and stared at the floor. "Is it like the books?"
"Which books?"
"I don't know-like, Lord Peter?"
"Oh! Well, the house is sort of like that, servants and terraces and tenants."
"Big house?"
"Yeah. Bigger than our houses in Virginia. I don't think it's really a house; it's a park or something."
"I grew up in an apartment above a general store in Seattle. Anything more than four rooms counts as large in my book."
"Why aren't you talking to Chris about this?" Amanda asked, cocking her head.
Blake shrugged. "You know how he gets."
There was just the hint of a blush on Blake's cheeks, something Amanda never thought she'd see, so she resolved to be as matter-of-fact as possible to diffuse his embarrassment. "Burnshaw has three wings and about twenty bedrooms-there were more, but they had to convert some when they put in plumbing. And all the usual rooms on the ground floor, you know, billiards and library and sitting rooms and such."
"Wow. Well, thanks. I'd rather say wow to just you than in front of all of them."
"You'll be fine, Blake. The Duke and Duchess aren't half as snobby as most of the folks in Richmond. Besides, you have very good manners when you want to."
"Thanks. So do you."
"I was trained early."
"Trained for what?" Chris asked as he returned to the compartment, pushing the door shut behind him.
"Trained to be your blushing bride," Amanda said, cozying up to him. "Stand by your side as you claim your birthright."
Chris rolled his eyes. "Sprucewood has been matrilineal for the last five generations, and my sister can have it. 'Croppers are mostly gone now, anyways."
"Times is changin'" Amanda said, exaggerating her drawl.
"Now you sound like Big Mama," Chris replied. "But I'm serious. Robinson, Rogers, even your pal Grigsby-our Negroes aren't like that."
"Maybe," Blake said softly, "they are, but they're not like that around you, since you live in the big house and all?"
Chris was quiet, looking at Blake, and then said, "Yeah, maybe. All the more reason not to live in the big house, isn't it?"
"Kinda makes me sad to think about it," Amanda said.
"What, that 'times is changin''?" Chris asked.
"No, that they have to." She looked out the window. "We're here."
Chris and Blake pulled the three satchels from above the seats, while Amanda opened the outer compartment door and caught the eye of the footman who'd been sent down to pick them up. As they walked to the waiting car, Blake looked around the small village train station, then whispered to Amanda, "It is just like the movies."
Amanda smiled and patted him on the back. "Yeah, it kinda is," she replied.
31 December 1939
Kim adjusted her new dress and double-checked the mirror. Randy had put "Lush Life" into the show just before Christmas, and it had gone over well enough that Jen had made a cutting little remark. Kat hadn't noticed, but she had two sources of distraction: Pilot-Officer Daughtry, and those Jewish refugee children. Kim and Robinson had gone on a few double dates with them since Thanksgiving-well, not really double dates since she and Robinson weren't actually dating. Even if she did have her Thanksgiving flower pressing in the large dictionary in her bedroom, it was just a sweet little black-eyed susan, a friendship flower; he'd mentioned his mother, after all. And Daughtry had given Kat a hothouse rose.
But she looked forward to their conversations and they were trading book recommendations like mad. Kim had finished a Mein Kampf translation and a Hemingway novel, and he'd dropped her a post card when he'd finished Gone With the Wind that said:
Mitchell novel even worse than expected. Butler well rid of Scarlett. Wish Prissy had been smart enough to run away. Glad Atlanta burned down. -A.R.
She kept the postcards in a small box with her other letters; six had arrived so far.
And now she was wearing a sparkling aquamarine dress she'd packed but kept back, just in case, but she wasn't sure why this was the occasion. She'd made all kinds of fool of herself over Morehouse boys in her youth. But it was New Year's Eve and she could just want to look pretty for her own sake. Daughtry and Robinson wanted to take them to an early pre-show dinner. Their Lt. Cook was coming, too, with Kelly, the chorus girl who was also Kat's understudy.
"Oh, Kimberley, you look lovely," Kat said.
"So do you," Kim replied, and she did, sultry in a clinging blood-red dress with a long slit, her hair long and loose about her shoulders. "Is Kelly ready?"
"Right here," said Kelly. Kelly wasn't much on glamour, and looked just a little uncomfortable in her pretty green dress.
"Honey," Kim said, walking over to her, "you gotta stand up straight in a dress like that." She arranged Kelly's hair so it draped over one shoulder. "If you want to stand out in front of the band you have to start looking the part. There's that's better. See?" she asked, turning Kelly to face the mirror.
"Never thought bein' a tomboy would get in the way of singin'," Kelly said.
"Come on now," Kim said. She went down first; after all, a friendly dinner has no need of dramatic descents down the staircase. Robinson gave her both compliments and a little bouquet of dahlias they found a vase for and put on the sideboard. Cook greeted Kelly with a peck on the cheek. Kim liked Cook, though she hadn't seen that much of him. He was funny in an impish sort of way, more subversive than she would have expected from a regular Air Force man. Kat made her grand entrance to great effect and a rather large bouquet that was given pride of place on the piano. Kim preferred her flowers, as she'd mentioned liking that variety to Robinson, and was pleased he'd remembered. She'd move them up to her nightstand later.
Their dinner was at a little out of the way place, a recommendation Cook had got from Giuliana, Simon's secretary, by way of Joel McHale. Kim hadn't had spaghetti since New York, hadn't realized how much she missed breaded chicken covered with tomato sauce and cheese, or platters of roasted vegetables and salami. Usually Daughtry and Kat chatted about either Kat's singing or Daughtry's flying while she and Robinson discussed books and politics, but Cook and Kelly made it more of a party-though there was also a good deal of Chianti. Cook did spot-on impressions of everyone, including Ryan Seacrest, and he and Kelly egged each other on, getting sillier as the night went on. Kim thought her sides would ache from laughing, and she'd never heard so many jokes from Robinson, either-often at his own expense, though sometimes Cook's-and it was obvious the respect all three men had for each other's flying.
When the men dropped them off at the Pyramid club, Robinson took her aside. "Miss Locke, I just wanted to make sure that I'll see you at midnight?"
"Of course," she replied, smiling.
"Good," he said, touching his hat before walking away.
Well, at least he didn't say he'd kiss her, she thought as she went to her dressing table.
Amanda thought Duke and Duchess were very kind, but they were relics of a previous time. She'd been to Burnshaw half a dozen times, as the Richardsons liked having her along because she made Chris a bit livelier. Her own mother had encouraged this: at worst, it would solidify a match with Chris, at best, put her in the path of eligible English men, perhaps one with a title. So the rituals of the country estate, with the constant clothing changes and the silly evening parties and afternoons of shooting or whathaveyou, were familiar to her. Having to be a proper lady was like falling back into bad old habits; there was a reason she'd left Virginia, and it wasn't just to chase after girls. Luckily many of Chris's younger relatives were also there, and that took some of the pressure off. Besides, watching Blake try to interact with the servants was hysterical enough for anything; she wondered what he'd make of the life she and Chris had left behind in Virginia.
Now they were back in London, in a cab taking them from the train station to an unfamiliar address the boys refused to explain. It wasn't like Chris to be mysterious. He'd always been rotten at keeping secrets from Amanda-from anyone and everyone else, but never from her. But he and Blake were being vague about their New Year's plan, only saying that she'd like it, and not to worry that they'd miss Carly by not going to the party at the Pyramid Club. She'd only seen Carly the one time since Thanksgiving, after Chris and Blake had lectured her about discretion. She'd wanted to stick her tongue out at them, but she was in the Army now, as the man said.
The cab pulled up to an elegant apartment building, and Blake grabbed satchels and garment bags while Chris took care of the fare. An elevator took them up three flights, then one more because of that confusing ground floor business. They rang the bell, and Amanda wondered about attending some private party in uniform-and it was still so early!
The door opened and you could have scraped her off the floor when Simon Cowell appeared, dressed in a tuxedo and smiling around a cigarette. "Come in, come in!" he said, escorting them into a tasteful Art Deco apartment, the kind of place she'd always imagined Hercule Poirot living in, geometric patterns and lacquered side tables and objects d'art arranged just so. "I see you gentlemen have your formal kits with you. The guest room is just along here"-he took them down a hallway-"and at the end is the lavatory. Now, Sgt. Overmyer, we'll have to use given names tonight, sorry for the familiarity."
"I'm Amanda."
"Right, Amanda. I'm Simon. I'm sure you have a perfectly lovely frock, Amanda, but Chris thought you might rather wear this." He opened the door to what must be his own bedroom, and hanging in front of the wardrobe was a tuxedo.
She felt Chris come up behind her. "Merry Christmas."
"That's-that's for me?"
"Hope it fits. I think you've lost a little weight since we joined up."
She walked over to it slowly. She'd owned a suit before, and of course a lot of slacks, but never a formal tuxedo like this: wool, with satin on the lapels, and superbly cut, she could tell. Her very own bespoke suit. "It's beautiful," she said, and it was-more than any dress could ever be. "But I don't have-"
"There are shoes here," Simon said, "and in this box men's hose and garters and shorts, and here is the ah, you know," and he gestured vaguely at his own chest.
She smiled at Simon, then turned to hug Chris. "Thank you."
"Hey, nothing's too good for my best girl," he said.
"I hate to break up this charming scene," Simon said, "but we need to get you dressed. We have a reservation. Amanda, you're in here; shout if you need anything."
But she didn't. The linen binding, for her, was less for the visual-her breasts weren't that big-than the feeling. Boxer shorts, undershirt, garters, socks, trousers with their hidden tabs as they wouldn't be belted. Studs in a boiled-front shirt with detached collar. Tie the tie, cummerbund, and slip into the jacket-almost like the checklists on the airfield. For something that hadn't been fitted, the tuxedo conformed to her shape remarkably well. And it was nice to not have a silly little evening bag, but to have change and her wallet in her pocket, her granddaddy's pocket watch on a chain.
She emerged to much applause, and then Blake wet down her chin length hair and smoothed it back with plenty of Bryl-Cream.
"Wow, Amanda," he said. "Even the way you walk is different."
She winked. "Don't get a crush now. You're dating my buddy, after all."
Simon herded them back into a cab and they were off again, to a part of town she recognized-the teashop was nearby. Well. Of course.
The large men at the door opened it for Simon and his party, and yes, it was a club for "their sort." On the dance floor and at tables were men dancing with men, women with women, and men with women, and not a few of them had cross-dressed in one way or another. As the maitre d' led them to the table, there was the very girl Amanda hoped to see, the only one she was looking for in a sea of available women.
"I'm glad you wore the blue dress again," Amanda said.
Carly smiled. "I could tell how much you liked it," she said.
"May I have this dance?"
"Of course."
Amanda led her to the floor and swept her into her arms, lovely curves and laughing eyes and silky hair and god, that beautiful blue gown. The band was playing a fox trot, a dance that was easier for Amanda to lead than to follow, and they glided across the floor, Carly following as well as Ginger ever did Fred.
"You look very handsome, Amanda," she said. "Such a nice suit."
"And you like your women handsome, do you?"
"I do," she said, reaching up to stroke Carly's hair. "I'm mad for a girl in a suit. I like that jumpsuit of yours, too."
"Good. I'll keep that in mind."
Paula had made sure that the Pyramid Club sparkled and glittered even more than usual, with so much silver and white that the room resembled a crystal palace more than a supper club. Mandisa, in her finest dress, helped her husband behind the bar-he'd taken her to an elegant dinner beforehand, something he'd been saving for. However, when he arrived he found that Simon Fuller, the Pyramid owner and Paula's paramour, had already taken care of their bill as a holiday present to them both. Ruben was more than the head bartender; in a few months he'd become Fuller's right hand man, spending most afternoons in the office dealing with vendors and his evenings supervising the front of house staff from his position behind the bar.
Cook, Daughtry and Robinson, joined by Joel McHale, sat through both shows at a small table just off to the side of the stage. The chorus girls loved McHale because he was funny and flattering but kept his distance, and therefore didn't need to be managed. Gina and Haley in particular often buzzed around him, sitting on his lap, and Kim had her suspicions about them-they flirted with men in the audience, or with the band, or with Joel especially, but they never went further, and all admirers unwise enough to go backstage were immediately dismissed. Kim had known girls like that in Harlem too, and felt that whatever they got up to in their room at night was their business; what she could say for them was at least they weren't stringing any men along for the presents.
The second show ended just before eleven, and the girls all ran backstage to change from their costumes into their party dresses, freshen makeup and adjust their hair. Kim, Kat and Kelly weren't the only ones who had servicemen escorts that evening; the room was sprinkled with uniforms, British as well as Canadian. Men from Robinson's squadron, who had become regulars at the Pyramid, rivaled McHale for the attention of the chorus girls-not far from Robinson's table were Castro, Young, Grigsby and Rogers with what could only be described as a harem, though Tamyra, in her quiet way, had established herself as the number one wife. Paula paid particular attention to the married men, safe to flirt with in front of her beau. Richardson, Lewis and Overmyer had stayed at Richardson's grandfather's estate for the holiday; Kim knew that Kat must really have been gone for Daughtry when she learned that Richardson was a duke's grandson and didn't even bat an eye.
Robinson met Kim halfway to the table and pulled her directly onto the dance floor. "What's the rush?" Kim asked.
He looked down at his watch. "We have only twenty minutes before midnight, and while I had a very nice time at dinner, I'll admit I missed talking to just you. Out here, I have you all to myself."
"Oh!" she said.
"And I couldn't wait to talk to you after what you said earlier."
Kim searched her memory. "What did I say?"
"That you'd finished The Sun Also Rises!"
"Oh!" A book, of course. Only Robinson would discuss books while doing the fox trot in a supper club in London at a quarter to midnight on New Year's Eve. "Yes, I did."
"So what did you think?"
"Well, I was surprised, but at the end I was sorry for Brett."
Robinson pulled back a bit. "Sorry for her? I thought you'd hate her."
"Why? She's only using what she has to get what she wants. Look at all these women here, doing the same thing. Those boys, they liked Brett because she acted that way, and then they punished her for it."
"Well. And how is that different from those women who marry 'bad boys' and want to reform them?"
The song ended and they applauded, while Kim was still thinking.
"You don't have an answer for me, do you?" he asked, grinning. The floor was getting more crowded, as there wouldn't be more than two dances before midnight, so they were less dancing than swaying against each other, closer than they had been before.
"It is different, but I'm not sure how. And anyway those women are misguided. You can't reform a bad boy; he has to reform himself."
"For the love of a good woman?"
"No, that's what I mean. He has to do it for himself."
"And when has a man ever done that?"
Kim smiled. "I have a-"
"Book for that?" Robinson finished. "I thought so."
"My turn. What did you think of Huck Finn?"
"I think that I still don't like Tom Sawyer anymore than I did as a boy. Lying to Jim like that, playing games with a man's freedom. But Huck-sometimes I feel like Huck, like the world is telling me one thing is right but my heart tells me something else. No more Indian Territories, though."
"Garvey?"
"Naw. My parents considered it, when we were kids? But I'm an American. I'm not going back to Africa."
"Then it'll have to be changed," she replied.
He looked down at her. "Yeah. I reckon it will."
The song ended, and as it was only a few minutes before midnight, they returned to the table. Champagne was passed all around the club. Jen was over by the band, as were some of the chorus girls. Paula and Randy were up on the stage with Fuller. "Say goodbye to the thirties!" Paula shouted, and started the countdown. Kim turned to Robinson, who was smiling down at her, and felt his arm about her waist.
"Three! Two! One!"
Robinson was looking at her, and for just a split second she thought-but there, he was kissing her sweetly, chastely on the lips, his own full lips open just enough to alternate with her own. Warm affection, and really, why would she have expected more?
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kelly offer her cheek to Cook; well, they hadn't been out many times, and Kelly was a particular sort of girl. Daughtry and Kat were still kissing of course, and Gina and Haley were being rather silly with Joel, kissing his nose and such.
"Welcome to the forties, Miss Locke," Robinson said. "We'll make them better than the thirties were, won't we?"
He looked so determined, and it was a "we" she wanted to belong to very much. "Yes," she replied, smiling. "Let's."
Ryan thought the six of them made a splendid little party for dinner. After the meal there was a floor show, men and women in drag, good though not the Pyramid. It was just relaxed and easy, all of them able to display that low-level sort of physical affection strictly forbidden in other circumstances, like Simon's arm across the back of his chair, or Blake's hand on Chris's knee, or Amanda and Carly holding hands. And the dancing! They even all took turns with each other, and Amanda was almost as good at leading him across the floor as Simon was. And then, at midnight, a smile and a kiss, and a great deal of cheering from the assembled. Would that all their social encounters were so uncomplicated, so free of fear of discovery.
At 2 o'clock they finally piled into two cabs for the ride back to Ryan's for a night cap. They were very silent indeed in the hall, so as not to wake the neighbors, though a light shone under the apartment door. Ryan unlocked the door-
-to find Joel on the couch, kissing a man?
"Lt. Cook?" Amanda said.
It was so odd that Ryan couldn't get his mind around it. Cook had jumped at the sound of his name and now stood a good arm's length away from Joel, who was also on his feet, and both men were breathless. Ryan's party had barely got through the door, and only Simon had the presence of mind to close it behind them. Richardson and Lewis looked worried, and they had every right to be; Amanda looked surprised, though perhaps she had forgotten that she was currently in male drag; Carly just looked puzzled. Simon had his head cocked, thoughtful, and Ryan had learned that very little surprised that man, even Joel's antics. Joel had a nervous smile and vibrated with a frenetic energy that generally meant he was going to tell Ryan something he didn't want to hear.
"This isn't what it looks like," Joel said, holding up his hands.
"It looks like you were necking with Lt. Cook on our couch," Ryan said, his voice flat.
"Okay, so it is what it looks like, but let me explain."
Out of the corner of his eye Ryan could see Simon and Chris moving chairs in from the dining room so everyone could sit down. Ryan folded his body in the easy chair, willing himself to stay as calm as possible.
"I should go," Cook said.
"No," Ryan replied, already exhausted and they hadn't even started yet. "Please don't." Cook slumped back down onto the couch, but Joel remained standing. Once everyone was situated, Ryan looked back up at Joel. "So, explanation?
"You have to understand. I have needs, Ryan. And you've gone off with him," he said, pointing at Simon.
"I didn't realize you were serious about having an affair, Joel. You say a lot of things."
"I got permission from my wife!"
"Did you get permission for this?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did."
"You did?" Cook asked.
"Of course. I love my wife."
"Seriously?" Ryan asked. "I didn't even know you and Cook knew each other that well."
"Because you don't pay attention to me anymore, Ryan! We hit it off after the interview. We talked all the way through Thanksgiving. We've even grabbed dinner a few times."
"You make it sound like we're dating," Cook said.
"And then he got the shaft tonight from Kelly-"
"I wouldn't call it the shaft. I got the cheek."
"Oooh, on New Year's?" Blake asked, wincing.
"That's rough, brother," Chris added.
"I know!" Cook replied. "After I bought her dinner and everything!"
Ryan saw Amanda roll her eyes at Carly, who was shaking her head.
"And you know who I had dinner with tonight, when all of you were on dates?" Joel asked. "Sig. DePandi. Not that he isn't a lovely man and a wonderful tailor-Overmyer, that tuxedo is superb-but he's sixty, and all we did was talk about how much we miss our wives."
Ryan stood and put a hand on Joel's shoulder. "Joel, friend, I am sorry. I didn't realize."
Joel waved a hand. "It's all right. You're always like this with a new fella. Though never this bad!" He wagged a finger. "And usually I get lots of juicy details so I don't care but mum's the word all of a sudden."
"Really?" Simon asked, and Ryan shuddered to think what Joel would say.
"'Neil's going to be a big star and he fucked me over the kitchen table yesterday.' 'Raphael's going to win the US Open and he gave me the orgasm of my life.' 'David's going to save Spain and he says I give great head.' At least when you disappear I can live vicariously through you, but you haven't told me anything about Simon since mid-November. You must really like him, or something."
"Or something," Ryan muttered, and hoped no one noticed he was blushing. He looked over, and Simon was grinning, damn the man.
"Well, let's have a cocktail, shall we?" Simon said. He put ice into glasses-he must have filled the ice bucket at some point-and started taking orders and passing out drinks.
"Wait," Cook said, suddenly noticing the others in the room. "I didn't think you were in town." He pointed at the airmen, and Simon and Ryan. "You all were together tonight, I take it?"
"Yes, sir," Chris said, his shoulders tense.
Lt. Cook looked at them for a long moment, then shook his head and chuckled.
"Sir?" Amanda asked.
Cook looked up. "Look, there's only one conclusion to draw from the fact that you were all together on New Year's Eve someplace Overmyer could wear that tuxedo. And I have to say, you've done a pretty good job hiding it. Well, not you, Lewis, but the others."
"Hey!" Blake said.
Cook grinned. "To the untrained eye, maybe. But hasn't anyone told you that you try a little too hard?"
"Yes," Simon said, as Blake scowled and crossed his arms.
"The untrained eye?" Chris asked. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that sometimes I date women," he replied, and looked at Joel, "and sometimes I date men. And I've been in the Royal Canadian Air Force long enough to have figured out how to do that and stay flying."
"Wow," Amanda said, "I never would have guessed."
"No one has, except Joel here," Cook said, gesturing to him and smiling.
"Joel doesn't count," Ryan said. "He's magic or something."
"As for you, Overmyer, you're lucky-there are plenty of tomboy girls in uniform. You can hide in plain sight. And besides, you have Richardson." Cook paused. "Frankly, Richardson, I don't know how Lewis figured you out."
Joel smiled widely, almost preening. "He's too modest," Joel said. "Harvard man, grandson of a duke, grew up on a damn plantation, handsome like a movie star? He should be striding the earth like a colossus, but instead he deflects all the attention he gets, and doesn't want anyone to look too closely-which means he has something to hide."
"Why don't you ever give me an explanation?" Ryan asked.
"It would take away the magic," Joel replied.
"Actually," Blake said, "we were getting drunk together at a table in the corner of the officers' club and I stared a little too long, and he blushed."
"Aww, you never told me that, Chris," Amanda said.
"You know," Cook said, addressing Chris and Amanda, "this thing between the two of you is probably the best blind you have. Now, what's the club you went to? You have to be careful-"
Simon interrupted. "You have my word, Lieutenant, that your"-he glanced at Amanda-"men are as safe as houses with me. And the places for the girls don't get trouble-something about Queen Victoria not believing in lesbians, but she was a bit cock-mad."
"Oh?" Joel asked. "Did you date her?"
Simon scowled. "I'll have you know I was four when she died. Really, McHale." He ignored the snickers and went on, "Now Amanda, Joel very nicely moved your things here, so you and Carly can have Ryan's room tonight if you want it. Chris and Blake, we'll bring you back to my flat with us. And tomorrow, Joel and Ryan are going to make us a lovely breakfast, and everything will be as it should be, and Lt. Cook, if you choose to stay for that we'd be very pleased to have you."
Cook coughed. "I hadn't, um-"
Simon held up his hand. "No need, none of my business, you and Joel are free to continue once we leave." He held up his glass and turned to Ryan. "Cheers to 1940."
Ryan looked around the room, at people he hadn't known even two months ago, and at his old friend, and then at Simon, who'd handled it all so smoothly, and thought well, maybe it will be different this time. He clinked his glass with Joel's. "Cheers to 1940," he replied.
Chapter Six: Pursuits of Happiness
Notes:
Stella Dallas (dir. King Vidor, 1937) is a melodrama starring Barbara Stanwyck and John Boles.
Lots of notes this week because of the political discussion! Oh, and because it came up in other locales: rationing in Britain didn't start until January 1940, and restaurants were exempt. Believe me, it will be referred to later in the story.
"There were troubles in Ireland when I was young, but by the time I went to university they were ending."
Carly would have been three or four at the time of the Easter Rising in 1916; the troubles in Ireland continued through the Anglo-Irish War and then the Irish Civil War, which ended in 1923. At dinner on Christmas Eve she refers to a new constitution, which came into effect in 1937. Ireland was officially neutral during WWII, though many Irish men fought in the war and Ireland gave the Allies assistance.
Sig. DePandi, in particular, was furious that nothing had happened in response to either Poland or Finland.
On 30 November 1939, the Soviets invaded Finland. They fought there until a peace treaty was signed in March 1940. The Germans, of course, had invaded Poland back in September 1939-the event that started WWII in Europe.
And the French with their magical line!"
"Maginot, papa," Giuliana said.
The Maginot Line was a series of concrete fortifications the French built along their borders with both Italy and Germany. Unfortunately, they were more effective for the kind of attacks common in WWI, rather than the airborne attacks used by the Germans in WWII.
"Plus there's the Japanese doing as they please in China," Simon went on, "and the Germans making trouble in Argentina of all places."
Japan invaded China in 1937, and by November 1939 had cut China off from the sea, such that any foreign aid had to come overland by routes such as the Burma Road. Earlier in December, three British cruisers had battled the German Graf Spee, a cruiser that was interfering with British shipping in the Atlantic, near the River Plate on the border of Argentina and Uruguay; the German commander scuttled his ship, resulting in a major propaganda victory for the British. The Battle of the River Plate will be referred to later in the story.
"And Cash-and-Carry is getting factories retooled now and creating a lot of jobs, which are needed, let me tell you."
Cash-and-Carry was one of the first programs FDR devised to help the Allies without entering the war; it modified the Neutrality Act of 1937 to allow for sales of war materiel on a cash-and-carry basis.
"'Croppers are mostly gone now, anyways."
Chris is referring to sharecroppers. Sharecropping was a system of labor in the post-Civil War south where landless farmers, usually black, were provided with tools and seed to farm a plot of land in exchange for a share of their crops come the harvest. Sharecropping kept many black farmers in a cycle of debt and dependency that lasted until the Great Migration, when they started to head north. New Deal programs and WWII accelerated the migration, and sharecropping had mostly ended by the 1950s.