Title: Speak Easy
Author: TazRaven (Sara)
Distribution: The Kitten Board, Through the Looking Glass, anyone else just ask.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: I do not own Willow or Tara, but you all know that.
Feedback: Yes, please, I love it.
Setting: Chicago, before and after the great depression.
Summary: Willow meets a woman and falls into a different world. How far will she go to save her life?
Notes: Special thanks to Elizabeth, my fiancé, for dealing with my writing obsession. And Diane, you’ve been invaluable.
Notes 2: I've been working a great deal on my writing in the past few months, so I hope everyone enjoys the new TazRaven.



Chapter 1- October 20, 1929


I waited outside the entrance, silently debating whether or not I should do this again. The night held a cloudless sky, and the moon was nowhere to be seen. The streetlamps outside of the building cast a pale yellow glow upon the sidewalk, illuminating the passersby briefly before they moved from the light on their way to some other destination. I blew out a breath, watching as the cold air made it visible before it dissipated into the night. Deciding I’d already come too far to leave without doing what I had come for, I straightened my hat and pushed open the heavy wooden door. My senses were immediately assaulted by a foul blend of scents. The room was dark and smelled of liquor and smoke and unwashed men. I was not a fan of any of these, especially the latter, but that didn’t matter. I was not there for the accoutrements that came with the gentlemen’s club.


Walking through the space, taking careful mind not to brush any of the men in the club more than was necessary to weave through, I found a table near the back and pulled out a seat. I straightened my pants, then took off the heavy wool coat that had been shielding me from the cold and draped it over the table, making sure that all of the extra space was taken to prevent unwanted company. The leather on the seat of the wooden chair was soft and a welcome comfort. As soon as I took my seat, a woman with a tray walked over to me, a fake smile plastered on her face to ensure a large tip. I returned it with an equally false grin and ordered a glass of scotch. She nodded her head and smiled once more before scampering off to retrieve my order. Prohibition was in full swing, but the clubs seemed to find a way around it. I tried not to think about the fact that I was in a speakeasy, an establishment that boasted liquor, women, and frequent police raids.


I sat there idly for a few minutes, trying to look as disinterested as possible by letting my eyes roam around the room until the waitress came back to my table. She placed the drink in front of me, and after asking if there was anything else I needed, left without another word. I looked at my drink, a small and dirty shot glass filled with light brown liquid. Hardly the most appetizing looking refreshment in the world, but it would help calm my frantic nerves slightly. I downed the entire drink in one gulp and coughed at the burning sensation in my throat. The liquid went down like fire, and my eyes watered slightly at the feeling. Taking a few sputtering breaths to relieve my aching gullet, I put the glass back down. The waitress appeared immediately, fresh drink in hand. She silently picked up the empty glass and placed another full one on the table, not waiting for me to utter my thanks.


Before I could raise the next glass to my lips, the lights, placed periodically along the walls, dimmed. The chatter of the other patrons lessened to a soft whisper. Knowing it was time, I turned my head, as the whispers that had replaced the loud chatter disappeared. An eerie silence filled the club, punctuated by the sound of a light cymbal being played in a slow beat. My drink forgotten, I let my eyes rest upon the stage, knowing exactly what was to come, yet still nervous beyond all rational thought. The lights dimmed completely, encasing the club in pitch black darkness, and still I kept my eyes trained on the stage in front of me, determined not to miss a moment.


There she was. The spotlight shone upon her, as if she were an angel. Her hair almost luminescent, the white gown she wore accentuating every curve completely, her skin alabaster, and her eyes the most striking blue I’d ever seen in my life. From her perfectly sculpted nose to her full and luscious lips, she was absolutely beautiful; my idea of perfection. And yet, all of her beauty, all of her radiance, seemed to pale in comparison to her voice. Please, don’t mistake me. I’m not saying that she wasn’t beautiful; only that her voice seemed to eclipse everything else.


From the instant the light shone on her, the club disappeared. I was no longer in a dank and crowded gentleman’s establishment, no longer concerned with the trials and tribulations of ordinary life. I was an audience of one, there only to watch her and listen. She was the premiere blues singer in the uptown of Chicago, and only destined for greater things. When she sang, the entire club was silent. She was an enchanting siren, and I her thoroughly captivated listener.


Her performance, accompanied by a jazz trio made up of a percussionist, an upright bass player, and a pianist, began with “Someone to Watch over Me.” She stood in the crook of the piano, leaning slightly against it as she sang, and if it was possible, I became even more transfixed.


Her repertoire continued with “I Cried for You,” and “Me and the Man in the Moon,” along with a few others I wasn’t as familiar with. Forty-five minutes later, even though it only seemed as though forty-five seconds had passed, her performance ended. She graciously accepted the standing ovation and left the stage amidst the deafening applause. Every night of her engagements I’d come here to listen, and every night I’d left feeling utterly enthralled.


I had never found the courage to talk to her, especially considering the state in which I had to attend her show. Besides, what would I have ever said to her? ‘Hello, I’ve come here every night to listen to you and I think you’re an angel.’ Right, she probably heard it all the time, or at least, she deserved to. I stood up from my chair on shaky legs and grabbed my coat quickly. The club would only become more boisterous now that the patrons would have to make their own entertainment, and I didn’t want to be around for that. I shoved my way through the crowd as best I could and hastily pulled on my coat. The air was biting, and I made it a point to button up the wool coat as far as it would go to protect me from the cold. I walked home in silence, my mind replaying every second of the performance, every nuance, every movement.


Almost an hour later, I reached my part of town, a section of apartment blocks in the grit of downtown Chicago. I was a student and worked as an employee in a book store to pay for tuition, rent, and food. While I was not living in the lap of luxury, I was better off than some. I pulled the key from my pocket and jammed it into the rusty lock, gritting my teeth as the gears squeaked. Any sound that was not her voice was an affront to my ears.


The door to my apartment swung open with a push, and I just as quickly shut it to keep in what little warmth there was. I threw my hat on the bed along with my coat and kicked off my shoes. The jacket and vest were next, followed by the tie, white button down shirt, and grey slacks. I stopped as everything but the final article was removed, and looked into the mirror beside the closet.


The binding was wrapped tightly around my chest, carefully hiding the fact that I was not what I appeared to be. While this era was more accepting than any before it, I would not have been able to go to the gentleman’s club in my normal attire, making hiding my sex the only option. Taking one last look at the image in the mirror, I carefully unwrapped the binding around my chest and just as carefully wrapped it into a ball, stowing it in the back of my closet for another night.


I pulled the rubber band from my shoulder-length red hair, then slipped on a night gown and crawled into my bed, hugging the covers around my body to cling to any warmth I could. Winters in Illinois were very cold, and the heater tended to break when I needed it most. As my head hit the pillow, my eyes closed, and sleep overtook my mind almost immediately. My last thought before I fell into slumber was of Tara Maclay.


It wasn’t until a year later that I saw her again.



~Sara

_________________
How far will she go to save her life?

Find out in Speak Easy

Dibs... back later.

Sorry for the delay, but you know the issues.

Great start, but you know that. Since you've already offered your thanks above, I just want to offer to the rest of the board that I love this story, I think the choice to work in first person is a brave one, and I know how you struggled with certain issues pertaining to it. The level of detail that you've managed to achieve is delightful to read... I almost choked on the scotch in the dirty glass myself. Eww. I love the picture of Tara and her angelic appearance and I want to offer the heartiest pat on the back that I can for the amount of research that I know went into this work. The choice of songs, while seemingly inconsequential, is essential to the total picture of historical accuracy, and makes everything all that much more believable. Again, we've had this conversation before, so this is for everyone else: the quickest way to lose me with a fic is to play fast and loose with history. I find it to be disrespectful to the people that belong to the time period as well as insulting to readers who truly know the difference. If you want to play with history, take the time to create an alternate time and place. It really works better.

Well done, Sara. You rock and I can't wait for the rest of it.

Diane

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The dlline Short Fic Thread

I like your start, hope to see more soon





God hates reality but realized it was still the only place to get a good steak.....Woody Allen

oooooooooooh.
very nice beginning. you've got me completely hooked.

and if anything i think your writing has improved(not that it was lacking before, it has merely gotten even better). very smooth and clear and palpable. i smelt and felt the bar, and i liked the unclear point of view(man, woman, willow, what!?)

and a very nice teaser. i wouldn't go so far as to say it's a cliffhanger, but it's definately a nice hooker for the next bit.

a whole year, huh? i wonder what prevented willow from seeing her? or tara from singing? and why will this year be so different an occasion to mark it as such?

wa--na-naaaaa!

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Lotus

Sara,
My thought was "yay, a new fic from Sara" followed shortly by, "when does she have the time?"

I love the start although I expected you to break out the Buggys Malone narrative voice or at least Phillip Marlowe. I'm actually pretty glad you didn't. Willow really lives dangerously doesn't she? Hanging out in a gentleman's club (hopefully paying her bill) and this: Maybe she doesn't know that superstition.

Well done and good start.

_________________
Menorah Tales | Working It Out | Random Bits

Hi Sara. This is a really nice start. I like the setting (love older eras of Chicago) and the theme. I look forward to seeing the story develop and learning more about your Willow and Tara. Keep it going!

_________________
-pipsberg

"We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep - it's as simple and ordinary as that."
Michael Cunningham, The Hours

Hi Sara, I absolutely love your premise for this story, I’ve been wanting to write a story set in the 1930s for ages and have never quite managed to get one started so now I can read yours!

I love Willow in this story, wearing men’s clothes, hanging out in gentleman’s clubs, living dangerously just to watch Tara sing on stage – it’s very hot indeed.

The narrative flow is great too, it really works coming from Willow’s perspective and I can get a real sense of the setting, the illicit speakeasies of the time, illegal liquor and sultry dames…when the sultry dame in question is Tara then it’s even better. (The only thing this fic is missing so far are Tommy guns…is there going to be some? )

I can’t wait for the next chapter to find out what has changed in Willow’s life in the year that has passed and in what circumstances she meets Tara again!


Alcy

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Willow Van Helsing...saving the world since 1777 │ Van Rosenberg II - Lord of Ice and Shadow

That was a beautiful start. You really captured the details of the Depression. Man, I envy that kind of skill.

_________________
-diamondforever

diamondforever's fanfiction archive

Hi Sara!

Diane had told me that you had something coming up, so I was really happy to see the link. I was really impressed first with the artwork. Did you do it? It's phenomenal! Wow! What a nice way to introduce a fabulous fic!

And it was fabulous! I applaud your choice of writing in first person. It can be restrictive, but it is also very freeing. You can delve into that person's character with an omniscience that is almost impossible in third person. Kudos for that.

Your premise is wonderful, and I'm looking forward to reading more!

Phoenix

ps sorry this fb isn't all that long, but I've got a lot to do today. I promise more for later updates.

Sara,

I really loved this. I think writing in first person can be incredibly difficult. It is so easy to write yourself into a corner. I backburnered a piece exactly for that reason. So Bravo!

You've done a great job with the setting. Your eye for detail is so good, and you are spot on with those details. Of course, now I am desperate to know how Willow (I presume) has landed herself in this single gal predicament, living in the big city alone. Where will she see her lovely chanteuse again? What will stand in their way? Can't wait!!

BAK

Hey, Sara. This is the beginning of an awesome story, I can tell. You're writing has gotten pretty amazing. I love the level of detail, and you've obviously done a great deal of research. I can't wait to read more.

Aerynmoon

Thank you to everyone who left feedback. I was hesitant about posting this story, as I haven’t finished it yet, but you’ve really pushed me to work. So thank you to you all. Just some replies, and then an update Sunday. Hope to see everyone there!



Diane: Hey you! Thanks for the dibs. Makes me feel like I’m getting off to a good start. No worries on the delay, as you always say the same thing to me. Oh, the lives we lead.

Well, yeah, but it never hurts to hear it again.

Thank you, and agreed. Having never tried scotch myself, I had to imagine it, but I hope I got it right.

I totally agree, but you knew that. I figure history already happened, so it’s not like I can play with it too much. People talked a certain way, events happened in a certain order, and that was that. Thank you so much for all of the compliments. You’ve helped me so much in getting to this point, and I can honestly say I wouldn’t be writing as well without you. So thank you, a lot. And I hope anyone reading this is also reading Diane’s The Rosenberg Paradox. It’s even better than the first.


whatmakesyouhappy: Thank you, and I hope to see you for the next chapter.


Zooey’s_Bridge: Good to see you again

Thank you. I’ve really tried over the past few months, and I’m glad it shows.

Ah. As much as I’d love to answer your questions, I can’t. But I can promise that most, if not all, of the answers will be revealed with the next update. Thanks for reading.


JustSkipIt: Hey Deb! Good to see you here.

Yay for the yay. And time, my eternal enemy. Quote honestly, I’ve been writing this story for the past 6 months, and I’m only 12 chapters in. So time? Still kicking my ass.

Well, I can say that I never envisioned my Willow that way, but don’t be too quick to rule out any Buggy Malones. They will be making appearances. About the hat thing, I don’t know that superstition, so I guess Willow doesn’t either Thanks for reading and I hope to see you back for the next chapter.


Pipsberg: Hey Pip. I’ve always been a huge fan of the Jazz era and the Great Depression time period. I’m just glad that other people share my interest and that I’m getting a chance to write a story set in that time. It’s been a lot of fun so far, doing all the research I’ve needed. Thanks for reading.


Alcy: Alcy! My idol when it comes to dark and evil stories. Thanks for visiting, and I promise that this is the week I catch up on my Van Rosenberg. It’s way past due.

Well, all I can say is I hope my story will live up to yours. Though I wouldn’t mind reading yours, should you ever write it. Willow is a ton of fun to write. She’s not too similar to canon, besides the slight foot-in-mouth disease, but I hope everyone likes her.

I’m so glad you like the perspective. I tried to keep it from her viewpoint almost the entire time, but you will see a few chapters where it varies. And yes, Tara as the sultry dame can never fail in my book. As for the Tommy guns... hmm, I’m not sure. Guess you’ll have to read and find out Thank you for reading, and I definitely hope you come back for more.


diamondforever: Thank you for the compliment. I did a ton of research, so I’m really hoping that shows. Hope to see you back.


Tara the Phoenix: Hey Phoenix! Diane told you that, huh? Well, I definitely thank her for it. Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for the artwork. I googled a few images and found those. I can say that I was the one who stuck them together, but that’s as far as it goes.

Well, you’re definitely right that it can be restrictive. As a result, I had to take a few of my chapters out of Willow’s mind. But I hope that it works well, and no one minds too much. Also, no worries on the short feedback. I know I haven’t left nearly as much for you as I should have. Hope to see you back for the next chapter.


BadAssKnitter: Hey. Always good to see new people here.

As I said to the others on this subject, you’re totally right. It’s tough, but I love it. And yes, I really did get backed into a corner a few times. But since I wasn’t willing to lose some of my favorite scenes, I just left them in and said what the heck. Thank you for the compliments. The devil is in the details, but I heard this great quote once that said the angel is in them as well.

Man, all I want to do is tell you the answers. But I can’t. However, my next few chapters can. Thank you for the feedback and I hope to see you back.


aerynmoon: Hey aeryn. Glad you could stop by and I’m definitely glad you’re enjoying the story so far.

Thank you, and I have. Like I told Diane, history is history. You can’t mess around with it too much. Thanks again for stopping by and I hope to see you for the next update.


~Sara

_________________
How far will she go to save her life?

Find out in Speak Easy

Willow in drag is hot.

The 30's are a cool time and should make for a really interesting story.

Good update....can't wait for more.

edge

Alright, another feedback response, and I'll have an update ready for everyone in a few minutes.


edgeplay: Hey edge. Welcome. Willow in drag is pretty hot, which is probably a big reason why I wrote her that way. And the 30's, also a fun thing. As I said to some of the other people, it's very cool, and I'm glad I could borrow it for a little while. Thanks for the feedback.


~Sara

_________________
How far will she go to save her life?

Find out in Speak Easy

Title: Speak Easy
Author: TazRaven (Sara)
Distribution: The Kitten Board, Through the Looking Glass, anyone else just ask.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: I do not own Willow or Tara, but you all know that.
Feedback: Yes, please, I love it.
Setting: Chicago, before and after the great depression.
Summary: Willow meets a woman and falls into a different world. How far will she go to save her life?
Notes: Special thanks to Elizabeth, my fiancé, for dealing with my writing obsession.
Notes 2: I thought I'd post 2 chapters at once this time, since they were sort of short, so here you go.



Chapter 2- January 8, 1931


The empty warehouse sat on the docks, its windows dusty and dark. A Chevy delivery truck, the lights extinguished despite the blackness of night, stopped in front of the building. The passenger’s side door opened with a soft creak, allowing a man immaculately dressed in a black chalkstripe suit to exit the vehicle. He opened the folder in his hands and quickly looked over the contents of one of the pages, making sure everything was in order, before walking the rest of the way to the side door. It was his last night in the business, and he wasn’t going to let anything go wrong. He made no attempt to avoid the street lamps, as they had all been conveniently broken prior to his visit. Rapping his knuckles three times against the cold metal door, the man paused and waited for the reply. Five taps met his call, allowing a silent sigh of relief. He knocked twice more and was greeted with the door opening. Without a moment’s hesitation, he stepped inside.


“Everything in order?” a gruff voice asked from the darkness of the warehouse.


“Bootleg’s all packaged and ready for delivery,” the man answered. He held his hand out, the folder trembling slightly in his grip. All he wanted to do was get the delivery done and go home. “All right here.”


A hand, invisible in the pitch black of the room, removed the folder from his grasp. “In the truck, then?” the voice asked.


“Yeah.” Without another word, the man turned to leave, looking forward to no more midnight deliveries or pitch black warehouses.


“Hold on, mac,” he heard the voice say. “I think we’re missing something.”


The man turned to face the voice. “Look man, it’s my last night. Everything’s right there,” he protested.


“You forgot something,” the voice reiterated.


A click echoed throughout the empty space, a noise that the man had heard before. He was barely able to register the sound of a gun being cocked before it was fired. The flash bounced off the walls, lighting the space for half a moment before returning it to its pitch black state. And on the ground, the man took his last breath and retired from the business.



Chapter 3- January 12, 1931


The Great Depression hit Chicago hard. It hit everywhere hard. Four days after Tara Maclay’s last engagement at the night club, Black Thursday threw the world into panic. By the next Tuesday, the country was facing a crisis and the stock market hit rock bottom. While I didn’t have any money in stocks, I was affected heavily nonetheless. Everyone was, I suppose. The bookstore I’d been working at closed within a month, and the college I’d been attending shut down in three. My apartment was the next thing to go; the landlord evicted me a month after the college closed for delinquent payments. The apartment I lived in had seemed so small, so empty. It wasn’t until I was forced out of it that I realized how lucky I had been.


I was homeless for months. It doesn’t sound as bad as it was. Trying to find a place to sleep where the cold wouldn’t kill me; where it would only hurt every bone in my body from shivering all night. I kept a few things with me: some clothes, a couple pictures. I realized that in my natural state I wouldn’t be able to get work. It was almost impossible for a man to get work, let alone a woman. I cut my hair to a man’s length, to the bottom of my ears, and dressed up in the only men’s clothes I had. I met a woman living in a Hooverville who’d recently lost her husband. She traded me his dress suits and leisure outfits for my dresses and petticoats. I kept only a few things from my old life, mostly nightgowns and one or two dresses.


As Willow Rosenberg, I hadn’t been able to get any work. Homeless and often starving, when I did have food it was usually scavenged from the trash in the parts of town that still had people who could afford to throw away their left-overs. The day after trading my clothes, I became William Rosenberg. Even as a man, finding work would have been difficult. I guess lady luck was on my side. That was the day Tara Maclay saved my life. If it hadn’t been for her, I surely would have died on the streets.


I was wearing my best suit; black pinstripe pants and a matching vest. The white shirt I wore underneath was stained, but the jacket hid it well enough. I could only hope no one looked at my shoes. They were scuffed, and the sole of my left shoe was coming loose. I’d left my bag back at the abandoned warehouse where I’d been sleeping. It wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had, but walking around with a scuffed and torn canvas bag would have made my status obvious. After finding some loose planks in the warehouse floor, I decided it was for the best and stuffed my worldly possessions into the hole under the floorboards.


Walking around the more affluent part of town, hoping to succeed where so many others had failed, I searched the streets all day for a job. For hours I walked the blocks, praying to any god I could think of that something would come my way. The sky was black when I finally decided to give up. Hopefully I’d be able to steal some food out of a trash bin before walking the four miles back to the warehouse. I walked past a bar, barely paying attention to my surroundings. It wasn’t until the door opened just as I was passing that I heard it. Over a year had passed, but I would recognize that voice even after a lifetime. My feet carried me into the establishment before my mind could understand what was happening.


The club was nicer than the one I’d been in the last time, though still very similar. The same smell of tobacco and liquor permeated the air, and a cloud hung over the bar where the men sat smoking. My feet continued to move forward without my consent, weaving through the club without paying attention, until she was just a few feet in front of me. She looked as radiant as she ever did; maybe more so. And her voice. The same smoky quality; the same sexy tone. I sat down in the chair next to me, not even realizing I’d done it until I felt the warm leather. She was wearing a beaded flapper dress, the blue color making her eyes appear even brighter than they normally did. For a few minutes, it was like the crash never happened. The empty feeling that had been in my stomach for months dissipated, and the hopelessness that had settled over me ever since the country’s depression disappeared.


After much too short a time, she left the stage, once again amidst thundering applause. This time, I didn’t leave immediately. My eyes were still locked on the stage even though she’d left; my mind was replaying every piece of the performance, so much so that there was no room for any other thoughts. Of course, that was before she re-entered the room. She was still wearing the blue dress, but now she walked among the patrons. I could see her walking in my direction, and the only thing I could think to do was stand up. Holding myself up on my aching feet and dead legs, I tried to appear presentable, standing as straight as I possibly could.


She kept walking until she was only a couple feet in front of me, and then it happened. She looked straight at me. Piercing blue gazed straight into my green eyes, and I felt my face and chest grow hot. She walked a little closer, and I resisted the urge to faint. I could smell the subtle scent of her perfume, even among the smoke. She drew even closer, less than a foot away, and I slowly reached out my hand. I held my breath as she looked down at my hand and then back up to my eyes. Her lips lifted into the most adorable smile, and then she reached her own hand forward. I stifled a gasp as our skin met. It was electric. My hand felt like the only part of me that had sensation.


I racked my brain for something to say to her, anything that would get her to spend an extra second or two near me, touching me. Realizing that anything would be better than nothing, I opened my mouth. And so I spoke to her for the first time, making sure to lower my voice enough.


“You… You’re amazing.”


Alright, so maybe anything wasn’t better than nothing. I winced inwardly at the statement, wondering if she would remove her hand immediately and leave at such a forward remark. My fear disappeared as soon as she spoke.


“Thank you.”


She almost whispered the words, making it seem as though she were speaking to me not in a crowded bar, but an empty room. The air around me seemed to grow warmer, and once again the breath left my lungs.


“I…” She stopped and seemed to consider her words. “I saw you, from the stage. I don’t normally introduce myself to strangers, but…” She paused again. “I’m Tara Maclay-” she quirked another smile, “but you probably knew that.”


I think I nodded, but the feeling of her hand still grasped in mine left me feeling light headed. I opened my mouth to speak again. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her voice, and how I thought she was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. I wanted to tell her that I was in love with her, and that ever since the first night I’d seen her perform I’d wanted to talk to her. Unfortunately, I didn’t say any of these things. I opened my mouth, only to be interrupted.


A large man wearing what looked like a very expensive white suit walked up to us and put his arm around her shoulders. I dropped her hand immediately, and instantly regretted my decision. I could have imagined it, but it looked like her smile faltered with the lost contact. Within a moment she recovered, though she looked slightly uncomfortable in the large man’s embrace. Before I could do something embarrassing, like blurt out my feelings for her, I decided to leave, stammering out a “goodbye” and a “nice to meet you.”


I almost ran the four miles back to the warehouse, forgetting to stop and look for food, mentally kicking myself for being so idiotic. She had talked to me, and all I had done was stand there like a mindless dunce. The next afternoon, I went back to the club, hoping to find her and apologize. Instead, I found the manager of the club, Mr. Warren Mears, trying to fill a bartending position. I somehow managed to get to the front of the large crowd that had gathered and was picked for the job. I started work that same day, learning the basics of bartending very quickly. By nightfall, I knew the high points of my new career: wipe the bar, pour the liquor, no small talk.


The men started to flow in after their workday ended. The job wasn’t interesting, but it did keep me busy. They replaced their coats with liquor to keep themselves warm, and I was the person who kept their glasses full. I was so engrossed in my work that I didn’t hear her approach me.


I handed the last of my orders for the moment to a waitress and took a deep breath, trying to clear my head before the next wave of drinks, and instead smelled that same perfume. My eyes grew wide and I looked to my right, almost jumping when I realized she was standing at the end of the bar, smiling at me. My heart pounded in my chest as I made my way to her, my hand extending before the thought reached my brain. She graced me with another of her beautiful grins, and I felt as though my face would crack with my own smile. Looking down at my hand, in a repeat of the night before, she reached her own hand forward and grasped mine lightly. Her eyes moved back to mine, and her mouth opened to speak.


“We were interrupted last night before you told me your name.”


In my mind I shouted “Willow Rosenberg!” and almost voiced the thought, until I remembered that I was not Willow Rosenberg here. It pained me to do so, but had I told her the truth, my job would have been in jeopardy. My decision made, I made sure to lower my voice as I did the night before, and finally introduced myself to Tara Maclay.


“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Maclay. I’m William Rosenberg.”

_________________
How far will she go to save her life?

Find out in Speak Easy

Me = big with the dibs.

Well, I've been really bad about fb lately so I'm coming over here to add some before I go and even read Diane's update. Poor, poor Willow. It sounds like a truly terrible time and I can only imagine how much physical danger she is in, particularly if anyone knew that she was a woman. Awful. But Tara... Now, why did Tara take notice of Willow/William in the audience and want to introduce herself? She's certainly making it a point. Lucky Willow getting not only A job but the job that lets her get to know Tara. Woo hoo.

_________________
Menorah Tales | Working It Out | Random Bits

Great stuff Sara. You capture the desperation of the time very well and I love Tara as the sultry singer. I enjoyed their first meeting and the chemistry was obvious. Great job, I look forward to more.

_________________
-pipsberg

"We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep - it's as simple and ordinary as that."
Michael Cunningham, The Hours

You captured the idea of women being hard put to do anything in that time so well. This reminds me of one of my other favourite stories in the W/T verse -- Just One of the Wiccans. Okay, a little bit different...but what can I say? I just love a practical cross-dressing Willow!

Looking forward to the next (probably depressing, but in the good way) chapter(s).

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-diamondforever

diamondforever's fanfiction archive

I like this a hell of a lot, and I'd like to think some more about it and then leave you real feedback, but... I just wanted to let you know that I think it's great.

M.

*gasps* oooooooooooo0oooooo......

you've got my attention!! I really can't wait for more lol

-bell

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let me live forever.. in the space between our lips...

YAY I love willow in drag stories and now they will be working together,I think they will get to know each other well








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Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time.Steven Wright

Hey! New story!

I am speedy feedback girl these days -- so don't take my brevity as lack of enthusiasm... just, you know, real busy in RL.

Excellent start -- I don't think that I have ever read a W/T story set in the depression. I am interested to see how this story develops, and interestingly have no inklings or thoughts about how that would happen. Hmmm. Usually I am all speculation-girl. *shrug*

Anyway - I am interested to see what happens, now that Willow has introduced herself as a man. That whole not-who-you-say-you-are thing always tends to throw a wrench into the works. Knowhatimean?

Looking forward to reading more...


db

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I am, you know.

Good story... I hope that Willow soon confesses to Tara that she isn't William but Willow...

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We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Wow, the new fic fairy really hit the place hard this weekend. I almost couldn't find you.

No worries. Another great update, from the dark ambiguity of the bootlegger and the shot-out streetlights, to the picture of cold desperation of what it's like to have to find your dinner in the trash. Historical accuracy is often not pretty, but I applaud your courage in going there. Well done.

Diane

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The dlline Short Fic Thread

Scintillating Sara!

Diane is right, this place has exploded with new fics. Isn't it wonderful that we can all be part of a world that goes on, even when syndication doesn't?

I am enchanted by your story. Willow's struggles as the Depression hit were masterfully written; I could just feel her desperation and anguish as she slowly lost everything she ever cared for, her job, her school, and every part of her old life. What a courageous decision to 'turn into' a man, but I suppose the alternative was a fair bit worse, wasn't it?

I shivered when I read this. How glorious for them to meet up again. I'll admit though, that this bartending Willow is a tad bit different from Diane's... [remove old image, put new image in].

Thanks for the update!

Phoenix

Hi. Just wanted to say I'm really enjoying this interesting story. The time and setting are definitely different, but you're painting a really good picture for us to completely be drawn into.

Good job!


Wimpy

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Pam aka Wimpy0729
Restlessness ~ Quickies - The Lovers, The Dreamers & Me

"There was plenty of magic." ~~ Tara

I like the start you've made on this story. I don't think I've read a W&T fic set in the Depression before. Exciting times, for some. You've already hinted at some mysteries - I can't wait to find out how W&T are involved, and to see how their relationship evolves.

Thanks
Anne

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Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

Hi there Sara,
Have I told you how much I love your setting? I know I have but I can say it again, having a story set during Prohibition just lends itself to all sorts of trouble going down…and trouble makes for good reading!
Poor Will, losing everything so quickly…but in this you also see the strength of her character, her resourcefulness and determination to get on top of things the only way she knows how, by dressing as a man.
Her introduction to Tara was fantastic, I was holding my breath for her, it’s definitely one of the best Willow/Tara meeting scenes I’ve read, unemployed Willow dressed as a man but still as plucky as ever and a gorgeous Tara stepping down from the stage…wow! This definitely sets the tone for the story.
I wonder who this guy is that placed his hands so possessively on her, I think that we will see more of him and he means bad news! Was it Warren or someone else?
Now we’ve got Will working as a bartender at Tara’s club, definitely a good set up for them to talk more often and get to know each other.
Thanks for a great update and I look forward to the next one!

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Willow Van Helsing...saving the world since 1777 │ Van Rosenberg II - Lord of Ice and Shadow

What a beginning and next chapters. Tara really seems coming out right of a film noir. Actually I can feel her flowing around the stage, I can smell her perfume like Willow can. And all because of your writing. Thanks for that.

By the way I so do love Willow in disguise. Even if she herself disagrees. It's just hot. And I'm sure Tara will think the same when she finally finds out.

But I wonder who this asshole in white was and what was going on in that warehouse. Maybe it was the same Willow stayed in? I hope not. This could lead to her being in serious danger.

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She's not drivin stick anymore?

Fabulous update. I loved Chapter Two. I applaud your skill because you actually had me feeling bad for the poor guy who got blown away. I mean, come on . . . no name, no face, but you inspired feeling nonetheless. Brava!

As for Chapter Three, Willow is completely sympathetic. Haven't we all been in that stammering, can't speak state as we try to talk to a crush? Really well done.

BAK