CHAPTER 5

Rachel was about to reach the end of her very frayed tether. Hellish days on barely reasonable pay and minimal tips were already entirely unbearable, merging into each other painfully. She would have to check but she was pretty sure her contract stated her general hours were a minimum of sixteen hours per week. Not per day.

"Over here, honey. I've been waiting here five minutes!"

"Excuse me, Miss?"

"Rachel, those people over there have been waiting to be served for ten minutes!"

She was ready to scream the whole place down, and she had only been working there two weeks. The evening shift was fine with all the posh and rich people turning up along with a few celebrities, in pretty clothes and dazzling smiles with manners to match. But the lunchtime crowd seemed to be the scum of the middle class office gits and rich American jerks with major attitude problems who made it a part of their daily sport to run her into the ground and sharpen their tongues on her retreating backside.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

If one more person said that to her she was going to have to suffocate them with their napkins.

"Yes? How can I help?" she always answered politely, when what she really wanted to tell them all to do was piss off and fall off a cliff onto very sharp and pointy rocks.

The stuck up man in the Armani business suit sitting with his colleagues ran through the long list of their order as she scribbled it all down, and he actually had the nerve to pat her backside as she walked off with it. She had to fight the urge to pull off his ears and shove them down his throat.

"I'm really going to do something I'll regret soon," she muttered under her breath as she threw the moron an unimpressed glare.

She slammed the order on the counter in the kitchen and sauntered back off to the dining room to face the other forty halfwits out there insistent on making her life hell.

"You know that because William and Emily are not coming in today that you have to work harder today, yes?" Jean-Pierre snapped, as always speaking to her in his native French, now.

Rachel tried not to glare at Jean-Pierre as he cornered her at the kitchen door. This was the last thing she wanted – an ear grilling from the maîtred'.

"You are working well, so keep it up," he went on, to her surprise. "We are short staffed, so you're not going to get through everyone at once."

"Right."

Rachel gave him an uncertain look and then went out to face the human zoo, wondering what the French version of Hitler was doing being nice to her about her incompetence in being a waitress.

"Excuse me? Ma'am?"

She turned to face some other older American imbecile, stuffed into a mega-power suit that probably cost more than her apartment, to whom she had already been called over too many times to count. There was the three separate times just to ask her about coffee. There was also the one time to ask for some kind of odd Italian pasta dish he had somehow expected to be served in a French restaurant, and then once more to ask where the "bathroom" was – despite the perfectly adequate signs around the place as to the location of the "toilets".

"Yes, sir?" she answered, gritting her teeth.

"This creepy thingy here, what is it?"

Rachel stifled a groan, and spent the next ten minutes explaining about crêpes, went through the menu to him and was now waiting for him to make a decision. Finally, he decided on a "croakee-monsiurr", and she inwardly groaned, scribbling croque-monsieuron her quickly notepad and escaping into the kitchen

"My God, some people are nightmare!" she mumbled in French, as she left him to his confusion. She couldn't wait to get out of there – the lunchtime shift was always a brutal gauntlet of hell.

It was another three hours before she left the place, and ran out relieved that her next shift wasn't until the next night, and with customers who had manners. With it finally being the last day of the month, she took herself for some cheer-up retail therapy in the West End and later happily collapsed in a Starbucks with her favourite – a Triple-Grande Caramel Latte, before wandering off towards home.

She was on her way back to the tube station when she looked at the time and thought she would go and see if she could annoy Kirk for a while,[DK1] since she was close to the theatre he was playing in and she didn't want to return home to her hovel until she had to.

She sent him a text and he told her to meet him outside the stage door, then she dragged her shopping bags towards the theatre, trying to remember how to find it. It was somewhere obscure down a side-road, and nowhere near the main entrance that the audience went in and unfortunately she ended up walking around in circles trying to find it.

Ten minutes later she was still lost, so she called him to find out where he had hidden the stage door. She then heard his phone ring somewhere near her, and she knew it was him because she was the only person that would possibly have "TheWonderfulWizardofOz" from the movie as a ringtone. Following the sound of his annoying tune, she found him waiting for her around the corner.

"Only you could get lost just looking for the back of a building." Kirk rolled his eyes as she wandered towards him.

"It's a very big building," Rachel argued lamely. "It holds twelve hundred people."

"Twelve hundred and one if you'll get your behind in there. It's cold out here."

He broke one of the biggest cardinal rules of the company, by smuggling her to his dressing room without anyone noticing. If anyone found out about it, he was dead, but he didn't care, and it wasn't like she didn't know what she was doing. Apollo ion all, it was a far better idea than dying of hypothermia outside.

They climbed the stairs all the way up to the dressing room, which was unfortunately up four flights and included carrying all her shopping. Grateful to finally get up there and into his dressing room, Rachel sat herself down on his chair – once she'd found it under his costumes – and looked around the tiny room with interest.

"How on earth does everyone else put up with you in here?" she asked in wonder. "It's a real disaster zone."

"Are you kidding? Lee and Ben are worse than me."

"It certainly doesn't look like it," Rachel said mildly, looking around the place.

"That's because they're not here yet."

"So, you're a good boy and got here early?"

"No. They're late. Why are you here?"

Rachel sighed and rolled her eyes as she slumped into the chair.

"Because I've had one of the worst days of my life," she muttered.

"Oh, poor baby." Kirk patted her head in mock sympathy. "What happened?"

Rachel complained for the next ten minutes about her rotten day at work and all the idiots who had decided to grace the hotel with their presence, and then waited for any sympathy Kirk might want to hand out.

"It's better than that other place you used to work at," was the best she got from him.

"Not that much when it's the afternoon," she answered hotly.

"Rachel dear, if you want a real job that you actually like, you've got to go and do something you actuallylike– and then you call it a career. Waitressing is not a career, unless you're actually interested in catering."

"Well, I can't to do what I really want. I never got anywhere with it. I don't have blonde hair, big-boobs and a twenty-inch waist."

"If you still refuse to follow your dreams because of idiots who think specific looks are more important than talent, then go and find another job," Kirk suggested sarcastically. "Or start acting. It's not so different from singing. It's still words, just without the music."

The dressing room door then opened and someone walked in. Rachel recognised him as Ben Lord, the latest media darling of theatre press who was quite the celebrity in the theatre circles and already had an Olivier award nomination. Rachel suspected that the real interest was because he made a great cover model, despite his sensational performing talents. He was utterly beautiful, with bright and piercing blue eyes, a gorgeous body, and a hear-fluttering boyish smile to die for. She had most definitely looked more than twice at the pictures in that appeared in The Stage with great appreciation.

"Hell-oh," Ben said, looking directly at her with interest when he saw Kirk talking to her. "And who's this, then?"

Kirk gave him an unimpressed smirk, reading his mind clearly.

"This is my friend, Rachel," he said, introducing her. "And Rach, this is Ben. Lord by name and lord by nature. The straightest queen I've seen."

"Shut up," Ben told him, holding out his hand while smiling at Rachel. "Nice to meet you, Rachel."

"And you," she replied politely, taking his hand. She hoped she wasn't as bright red as she feared she was.

"Are you actually coming to see the show?"

"Ah, no. Not this time," she admitted.

"No. Rachel has never actually seen the show," Kirk pointed out. "She's never actually seen any show I've been in. And at this rate I don't think she's going to either. Ironically, though, she knows every word to most of the all the soundtracks that have ever been released."

"Well, if you were in something that cost slightly less than an arm and a leg to see, I might actually come and see you in it," Rachel retorted, dryly. "I can't afford tickets to a place like this."

"I'd have thought that you would have offered to get her tickets, Kirk," Ben said, leaning on the back of the chair she sat on. Kirk shot him a warning look to back off and he shot him a hard look back, and then wandered off to his own corner next to them.

"She won't take them. She hasn't shown any inkling of having any interest in anything I've been in, ever," Kirk told him. "She won't have anything to do with theatre now, ever since she stormed away from Performing Arts because they didn't do any 'proper' singing. So I'm not about to waste my money on her or Stevie because they couldn't care less."

"And Stevie would be?"

"The airhead that enjoys tearing me to pieces."

"She likes you really," Rachel argued weakly, in her friend's defence.

"So, Stevie's a she?" Ben asked with interest.

"Yes. Stephanie," Rachel explained. "They fight, but I think underneath it all they like each other on some level."

"Beyond the basement level and towards the earth's core," Kirk grumbled .

"You do realise you'll be flayed alive if they catch her in here, don't you?" Ben said to Kirk, who sent him a pointed glare.

"Yes, I do, which is why noone's going to find out."

Ben rolled his eyes then smiled warmly at Rachel, then gave her a flirty wink with to assure her he most certainly wouldn't be saying anything. He then started poking through some of the things on the counter in front of him and came up with a make-up bag. He then proceeded to apply the base immaculately, then, to Rachel's amazement starting to paint the most sparkly, garish patterns on his face as she watched.

"Rach, please remember actors wear make-up," Kirk remarked, noticing her widened eyes. "And that stage make-up is not the same as slapping your face in Maybeline."

"It looks like he's gone mad with a multi-coloured, glittery Magna-Doodle," Rachel commented wryly, watching Ben with interest. It always amused her to watch men struggle with stage make-up, usually not having a clue what they were putting on, or how to do it. Watching one do it with flair was impressive. "The scary thing is that he does it better than I do."

"You're not hanging around to see me put mine on," Kirk told her. "I'm kicking you out long before I need to get ready."

"You in that make-up? There's an interesting idea," Rachel smiled teasingly.

Kirk grimaced as Ben smirked from behind his sponge.

"You obviously haven't seen the show," he said dryly.

"If she had seen the show she'd be saying a lot worse to you," Ben said, smiling at Rachel in the mirror.

"Why?" Rachel asked, interest peaked. "What is this show about?"

"Oh, no. You want to find out, you have to come and see it," Ben replied cheekily. "But then you do get to come backstage and annoy Kirk in the bargain."

"Thanks a lot," Kirk grumbled.

The door opened again and Lee Richards came into the room and greeted Kirk and Ben. Then he noticed Rachel and looked at her in surprise.

"Ho-kay," he said, dubiously, giving her a smile. "Hello there."

"This is Rachel, Lee," Ben told him smugly. "Rachel, meet… It."

"That would be Lee to the living," Lee said, extending his hand.

"All right, madam, I think it's time for you to go," Kirk said to her, pulling her up from the chair. She gave him a curious look, waiting for an explanation for him throwing her out. "We have a show to get ready for and we can't do it while you're in here."

"Now, come on. There's no rush," Ben said quickly, holding her gaze. "The hour call's only just gone. There's plenty of time."

"Then it's after six-thirty and she has a home to go to," Kirk argued. "Come on, I'll take you out the door."

"To make sure I leave?" Rachel hissed at him.

"Just come on," he said back, pushing her out the door, while Lee and Ben threw each other questioning looks as they left.

Outside the room and down the maze to the stage door, Rachel immediately insisted on him telling what he was up to.

"Oh, come on!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "They were hitting on you harder than a golf ball in there. I was just trying to save you some embarrassment."

"No you weren't," Rachel retorted, annoyed. "You were playing big brother. If two very nice-looking guys want to hit on me, that's perfectly fine, thank you very much."

"I have to work with them."

"Then that leaves me free to play with them."

"I know what kind of blokes they are – a

*@@*****

"I didn't think that was possible," Rachel retorted. "And I can look after myself, thank you very much. And you had no problem with me being a slut and going off to Paris with Luke Heartlett. But Heaven forbid I should have two cute guys flirting with me in this country."

"Luke Heartlett only wants you to pretend to like him for a few days," Kirk pointed out. "He doesn't want to actually get it on with you. And more importantly, you're not interested in him."

"You are twisted, Kirky darling." Rachel shook her head amusedly. "But I'm old enough to be able to do what I want with whomever I want. I already have one father, and he and my mother deigned to land me with a big brother, either, thank you."

Rachel gave him a pointed look and he held out his hands in innocence.

"Fine. But that's not my fault. I told you I'd look after you here and that's what I'm doing."

"I want a friend, not a big brother, Kirk."

Her friend shook his head with an unusually solemn and knowing look. "This is a big city and you're still a little bit too naive for it, Rach."

"I also came here to stop being naive." Rachel shrugged, her eyes not leaving his. "So, you need to also let me do and learn my own things. Would you honestly be the same if I was your little brother?"

"There's a lot of trouble girls get into that boys are a lot less likely to stumble upon."

"Yeh, I get you, Kirky darling," Rachel replied with gentle understanding. "But I'm careful and I haven't got myself into any trouble at all in the six years we've been here, have I?"

Kirk sighed. "Alright, no. I'll give you that "

"Now, haven't you got a show to get ready for?"

Kirk gave her a smile, then enveloped her into a big a hug before he returned through the Stage Door of the theatre, leaving her to find her way back to the tube station alone again.

Wandering back down towards the Piccadilly Circus station, Rachel's thoughts wandered straight back to Ben, and how different it was to have an interest taken in her that didn't involve becoming a paid escort or pretend girlfriend. He had been openly flirty and friendly, and to be perfectly honest she couldn't remember if that had really ever happened to her, and frankly she felt a bit giddy from the flattery. It was a shame Kirk had gone and put an end to it so soon.

If she had ever given any consideration at all of running away from her rather mundane life to Paris (which she hadn't, absolutely none at all), having Ben walk into it and flirt shamelessly with her would have made it disappear right back into the realm of fantasy. If it came to a choice between either Ben or T he Luke Hearlett,that was a slam-dunk decision of certainty, if ever there was one. It was about time someone nice showed any interest in her. She could now put her free time to some good use and go and see Kirk a bit more to get to know Ben a bit better, and to see if any more of that flirting was going to be coming her way. It's not like she had anything better to do with her time right now.

But, well, sometimes things change – don't they?