pups_dt (pups_dt) wrote in morningstar_mnr, @ 2010-06-04 17:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | au, jazz, npc |
Circus, Late Morning, Jazz and NPC Cleo
In hind-sight, letting Mr. Thomas Avery make a scene probably hadn't been the best idea. Jazz hadn't considered that word would get back to Papi and that he'd come looking for the spoils. She'd meant what she said, of course, and when he asked where the goods were she'd lied. Told him she'd been caught before she'd been able to get away with anything.
The bruises would take a while to fade, but at least he'd remembered to leave them in places she could cover this time.
Even without that small boon, she decided as she stood in the cramped kitchen of her trailer pouring herself a bowl of cereal, it'd have been worth it. He'd offered to help her, had smiled at her....She cradled those memories close and smiled even when she stretched to put the cereal back in the cupboard and her back protested violently.
Sitting at the table she eat quietly and considered the handsome watch and fancy phone currently stuffed inside the hidden slit cut into her mattress. The watch could be sold - she knew a couple pawn shops - and she might even manage a good payday. Maybe enough to pay a place to let her stay until she found a job and could afford something permanent. Probably not before she had to turn to stealing, or worse, but...she'd cross that bridge when she got to it.
The phone though...that was different. He'd offered to keep paying the probably outrageous bill so she could use it. She'd be able to leave a call back number with possible employers, she'd sound more legit. And of course, it was a connection, however tenuous, to him. She could call him maybe, if - once - she was on her feet and not so horribly pathetic. Thank him. Tell him...other things.
Smiling again, flushing lightly with pleasure, she bowed her head and started planning.
She hadn't gotten far when a knock came at her door. Schooling her expression into passive neutrality she straightened up and called for her visitor to come in.
Carla appeared in the doorway when it opened, her long skirts swishing noisily about her ankles and Jazz allowed herself a tiny smile. "How can you stand it in those things in this heat?"
"By wearing nothing underneath," Carla replied easily. They also greeted each this way, it was a comfort to them both. Closing the door behind her, she came to the tiny table and sat down across from Jazz, concerned hazel eyes roaming over her face and elsewhere as if trying to trying to see through to the hidden wounds. "How are you?"
Jazz shrugged carefully. "I'll live. Honestly, it wasn't even really that bad. Better than others I've gotten."
Carla didn't look convinced, but when Jazz didn't volunteer more she let it go. It wasn't the only reason she'd come by this morning after all. "Listen, chickadee, there's something I need to ask you and I want you to answer before I explain why. Okay?"
"Oh...okay." Jazz blinked, her spoon clinking lightly against her bowl. "Sure. What's up?"
Carla took a deep breath, let it out and asked, "The other day I asked you give out passes, you remember?" When Jazz nodded the affirmative, Carla continued. "Do you also remember a young woman you gave one of those passes to? In her early twenties, blonde, wearing a sensible gray number."
"I don't-" Jazz tipped her head, eyes narrowing in concentration. "I'm not sure...."
"Try," Carla insisted. "She was the last one to come to me, so she was probably one of the last ones you saw."
Jazz tried to rebuild the scene in her mind, struggled and then finally thought she recalled the girl Carla was referring to. "Oh-Oh! Okay, yeah, sure. Little blonde, I almost ran her over when she got up behind me and I didn't see her." She refocused on Carla. "Why? What about her?"
"She...she-" Just when Carla had thought the trembling had stopped for good it started up again. She'd thought about this so carefully, planned the moment over and over in her mind, she'd thought she'd be ready. But she wasn't, not even a little. "She wasn't just any girl, Jazz. She was your sister."
Jazz was still, very still, for a several long agonizing moments. "I don't have a sister," she said finally, flatly. "My sister was stillborn."
Carla shook her head, the now familiar tears creeping up fast. "No. No, she wasn't." She continued to shake her head vehemently. "She was pink, and squalling and beautiful and very much alive. You father was just - so angry. He told me to get rid of her, to get her out of his sight."
Jazz's nostrils flared as she listened, her breath starting to come fast and hard. But she didn't interrupt. Not yet.
"I wanted to keep her, I did! But I was afraid of what he'd do, your father, when he found out. Afraid he'd hurt her. So...I-I did what he wanted, I took her away. I took her to the mission and left her there."
"And then you lied to me - for over twenty years," Jazz continued for her with a hiss. "Why would you do that? Why didn't you tell me? I trusted you?!"
"I'm sorry, Jazz. God, I am so sorry. I thought it was for the best, I really-"
"Get out." Jazz's eyes were cold, her face hard. "Get out!"
Carla hesitated on the first command, but jumped at the second, making it outside just as she heard smash and shattering of the Jazz's bowl against the door she'd closed behind her.