tw: violence (as always), a bit of angst, mob wife core, bleh, pianist
give me some freaky reqs!!!
The day you met Andrew Cody, you knew it was over.
What you didn’t know what that he’d been waiting, watching for nearly a year.
You had just gotten a job at a popular bar and restaurant. And one day— one day soon, you were gonna go to Hollywood and be one of the greats. For now, you were simply another jazz pianist.
You shuffled the cards in your hand, tapping them against the counter before taking the cigarette out of your mouth.
You ask the bartender with a sigh. Vito— tall, Italian man, shrugs.
“No! Do you know how much rent is? 80 is not good! I work here for 400!”
“400, is too high. Danny says so.”
“Ugh!” You sigh, dropping your head to the glass.
You set the cards down, taking the whole carton of cigarettes over to the piano with you.
The issue was that Danny, your boss, would rather gamble than pay you. It’s bullshit. Really. You start playing.
Unbeknownst to you, someone finally, finally had their eyes trained on you.
Andrew, curls wild and a drink infront of him, watched you play. He’d never seen someone so passionate and it felt like the sky had opened.
Reminds him of the time he went to church and.. it felt like this. Like a brand new feeling he’d needed.
It took him weeks to work up the courage to speak to Baz about it. Then months to speak to you. The first conversation was a disaster and ended with a drink covering his ironed shirt.
In January of 1995, you got cornered. You were walking home, stumbling through the California slush of the winter, when someone called your name. You didn’t even recognize him.
“I’m Andrew.” He said, offering his hand. The charm was irresistible and so, so, loving.
Sure, he’d miss a few dates here and there and say he got caught up with work but.. he was yours.
In July, one of those days came. It was eight o’clock. Two hours past when Andrew was supposed to here. You were sitting on the curb in your nice dress, twisting the bracelet he gave to you. That’s when you saw the truck pull up.
“Hey—“ he started, but you stood, beginning to walk down the road. Anything to get away from him, his charm.
Your heels clicked agaisnt the night pavement, a testament to your anger.
“Hey— I’m sorry, okay? I got caught up with work and Baz— and you know Baz, you met him.” He tries to explain, catching up with you.
“I don’t care, Andrew.” You reply.
He sighs. “Can you stop for one second? Hey!” He says, jogging after you.
Annoyingly, he places himself infront of you, stopping you.
“You always do this!” You say harshly, trying to contain the tears.
“No! No more! You’re never here!” You say through the tears, struggling with the bracelet before tossing it down rather gently despite your anger next to where Andrew had gotten to his knees.
“I know.” He says, looking up at you. He pulls a velvet box from his coat, opening it.
“Will you marry me? Please? I just.. I just want to take care of you.”
What were you supposed to say? No? Say no to marrying Andrew Cody? Were you crazy?
The only words you could say were yes.
You had no complaints. The wedding was your dream. Everything you wanted, you had. Fur coats, a big house, a grand piano, him. It wasn’t until 2003 you found out.. well, everything.
Andrew had told you he had no family. So, who was sitting in your living room— on your couch— if not family?
He lied, turns out. He had three brothers, including Baz, a twin sister, and a mom. Well, you were atleast glad you never met his mom.
He robbed banks. Churches. Galleries. Jewelry shops. He was a criminal.
You.. you should’ve felt angry. Definitely. But.. it was your Andrew. Andy.
“Promise me you’ll be safe.” You say quietly that night.
he practically coos your name, pushing a piece of your hair back.
And that was it. You moved on and got your gifts happily.
2005 was a turning point.
Andrew had even surprised you with a bed full of jewelry for you to keep. All of it. For you.
“Andrew! You didn’t!” You exclaimed.
“I always will.” He promised.
You didn’t work at the bar anymore. You didn’t have to. But you.. you weren’t at Zanzibar, weren’t in Hollywood with Elton John and Bill Evans.
You couldn’t help but feel unfulfilled.
“I’m home,” You hear him call out, shutting the door behind him.
You don’t move from your spot on the couch.
“Hey.” He says, leaning in for a kiss. You pull away.
“What’s up with you?” He asks, setting a bag of groceries on the table.
“What’s up with me?” You repeat.
“You’re being weird.” He points out, sitting across from you on the coffee table.
“What? You want a new jacket?” He offers.
“No, Andrew, I don’t.” You spit.
“What do you want?” He asks, as if he can make everything come true. Looking into his green eyes, filled with curiosity and danger and love, maybe he could. Just maybe.
“You took my life away from me.” You say.
He’s taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“You wanted me to quit my job. You wanted me to be a housewife.”
“A housewife? I bought you a piano. You’re free to play.” He scoffs.
“But I’m not playing in front of people! You don’t understand!” You shout.
“I told you how many times you can go get a fucking job if you want! Just not a shitty one!” He stands
“You think playing piano is shitty?!” You question, standing and following after him.
“No, I just think the options are shitty!”
“You’re a criminal!” You argue.
“You get everything you want. Rings, coats, the kitchen, the TV. The fucking piano! What do you want from me?!” He yells in your face.
You feel your eyes tear up. “I want a life! I want to be in Hollywood!”
“Hollywood? Are you fucking serious?! Good luck!” He shouts, grabbing his keys.
“I’ll be back.” He adds, quieter, slamming the door behind you.
You’re already in bed by the time he comes back. You feel a hand on your shoulder. You don’t turn to look or say anything.
“Baby, please. Please. I’m sorry.”
You ignore him. He lays down next to you with a sigh, placing his head to your shoulder blade.
In the morning, he’s gone. You bring yourself to get up and get ready.
You still wear the ring. It’s like it’s your connection to your heart. You take it off, you die. Well, maybe that’s dramatic.
You make yourself breakfast and a coffee. Then another coffee. Then a coffee with vodka. Then you go. You get in your car.
The car was the only thing you bought. You’ve had it for years. Saved for it. Andy offered to buy you another one. An Aston, McLaren, Mercedes— Pink, Blue, whatever. You refused. He usually drove you anyways.
You haven’t been in this car for a while. Still smells like the first few weeks you were together with him.
You only realize where you’ve come when you pull to a stop. The conservatory. You grab your bag, and head in.
Heads turn. Maybe it’s the rings, the earrings. The coat. The shoes. The bag. Or maybe it’s just you. You’d like to believe it’s not you. You approach the lady at the front desk.
“Hi,” you say, careful of the quiet.
“Hi. How can I help you?” She replies cheerfully.
You dig in your bag, handing her a few papers.
“I’m board certified to perform. I’m a jazz pianist. I’ve got my FRSM.” You explain. The lady nods. She doesn’t even take a look.
“Congratulations.” She offers “How can I help?”
“Uh, I.. I wanted to perform. Compete.” You add.
“Oh. Okay. Well, this isn’t a performance conservatory. It’s solely a teaching one.”
“Okay, yeah,” you interject slightly. “I want to teach, then.”
She nods, taking the papers. “I’ll see if we have a gap and we can interview you.”
You nod back, even though it feels stupid. She makes an obviously false frown.
“I’m sorry. We’re all good on teachers.”
“Really?” You ask. “Cause you put an ad in the paper for teachers.”
“But you’re not what we’re looking for.” She says, pushing the papers back.
“Okay. Thank you.” You say, a bit annoyed. You take the papers back and head home. You do a lot of thinking. About life. Music. Andrew. Children.
You’re dragged out of your thoughts by the door. It’s Andy.
“Baby. I’ve got news.” He says. You get up and go to the bedroom.
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry. I have.. will you look at me?” He snaps, pulling you to look at him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just..” he hands you an envelope. You pull the two cards from it.
“Hollywood, huh?” He repeats your earlier want.
Your face falls into shock then happiness and then shock again.
“Ah!” You squeal, looking up at him. Tickets. For a show happening at the TCL in Hollywood.
“Andy!” You scream, and he smirks, looking at you.
He takes you into his arms, laughing as you jump excitedly.
Obviously, the night ends with Andrew’s head inbetween your legs and a whole lot of forgiveness.