One More Time [A Larry Stylinson FanFic]

Chapter 6: Week Two

Marley had slept like the world had ended the night after her performance. Maybe it was the bottle of wine she smashed as soon as she was escorted back to her room, or maybe it was all the expended nerves, combined with all the work she put in and sleep she'd sacrificed the week before, but it was noon when she finally decided she'd let herself indulge quite enough. She knew sleep was a luxury and didn't want her body missing it for the next six days. Or five days really – they were planning to move to a two-night schedule since they were adding a lot of air time when you thought of duets.

Marley, like Bartleby, preferred not to.

Marley picked up her phone to check in with Tate, let him know she was alive at least. She had so many missed messages, and a few missed calls from her friends back home. She texted Julie Youks back – deflecting the praise even though she was really basking in it. She had worked her butt off, and she was thankful someone was telling her it had been worth it.

Marley's thumbs danced over the front of her phone, as she texted and apologized for not calling Jules, but she was trying to rest her voice for the day. She sang a lot on her own, but this week had been next level and she wasn't gonna lie – her throat was feelin' a little raw. Production had warned her about that, and she was incorporating a lot of their advice to combat the issue, including not speaking out loud the day after show-night unless she had to. They assured her she'd get used to it, and her throat wouldn't feel like this all the time – if she survived.

Julie got it. And to cheer Marley up, she had sent links to quite a few write-ups. Everyone adored Sam Cooke, of course, and the guy who sang I Want You Back – FlyGuy, they were calling him – got a lot of good mentions in the articles Jules sent her. The woman who had covered I Heard It Through the Grapevine – who Marley would guess was actually a singer in real life, based on her techniques and skill – was grouped with the top tier in some stories, and at the top of the middle-of-the-pack in others. Marley herself received mostly positive reviews. They spotted her nerves, and most hazarded that she was thus not a professional performer, but gave her chops even more of an A grade in spite of that. Some put her in the middle of the pack. It was all good. Her commitment to follow through and the fact that she never wavered in spite of herself was generally commended. And her commitment to the period piece outfit was gloried. That Marley couldn't take credit for, since Costume had vetoed her original outfit choice and picked out the one that was celebrated. But Marley was beaming.

The arrival of Room Service with Belgian Waffles was the cherry on the sundae. Even the hassle later trying to negotiate an appointment with Spa Services and the availability of walking the hallways undetected couldn't dampen her mood. The feedback seemed to bode that she was in it for Week 2. There was no whisper that anyone had any remote clue who she was had surfaced. Things were good.

✽✽✽

Things were not quite as good Saturday morning when Marley showed up in the East Ballroom for voice lessons with Bev. In what was to be a running theme, Bev showed up fifteen minutes late to their appointment. Marley was stuck standing alone in the room with Matt the camera-man, unsure if she was supposed to be interacting with him, allowed to make small talk or not. So awkward.

All of that nervous energy was refocused into the week ahead as Bev turned her attention quite singularly onto Marley.

"I thought you did quite well Week One," the impeccably-coiffed woman started. Marley smiled to herself, until her tutor continued. "That's unfortunate."

"Wait, what?" Marley nearly clapped her hand over her mouth. She really couldn't help her blurting habits sometimes. At least she felt better about how she compared dress requirement-wise. She had dressed in tights, a denim skirt, and a light-weight funky sweater, trying to vibe with that 60s feeling while staying comfortable enough to move. She'd dressed the part, but Bev had a way to shake her out of her comfort zone.