pairing: 1920’s journalist!marcus pike x singer!ofc (Evelyn Edwards)
rating: M (1920’s shit, alcohol consumption, allusions/brief descriptions of DV/assault, i think that’s all for now)
wc: 2.3k
series masterlist | marcus masterlist
As Marcus arrived at Nonnie’s Books, a tiny, hole in the wall brownstone with the store’s name written in yellow cursive on the window, he wondered how this “store” got away with things for so long. It seemed clear as day to him that no actual business occurred here, and as much was confirmed when he and Betty stepped inside.
Tall, dust covered bookshelves lined the walls of the red brick interior, a few more sitting in the middle of the lamp-lit room. Most of the copies were tattered and worn, as if from a personal and well-loved collection.
“This is where ya takin’ me?” Betty asked in a whisper, though it was hardly needed with the thumping music of the jazz band in the basement.
“Yes,” he replied before slipping his hand into hers. “Trust me?”
“As much as any girl can trust a fella.”
Marcus smiled and nodded. As he walked up to the register, a tiny, old woman greeted him with a studious look. He flashed her that winning smile of his before reaching in his coat pocket for a bill.
“Seems a nice night for a little music, doesn't it?” he asked, his question a code. Nervously, he awaited the woman’s judgement.
“Sure is,” she replied, finally cracking something resembling a smile. “Come along.”
Betty gave Marcus a giddy smile and hugged his arm as she walked with him beyond the till to the door that sat behind it. Inside what seemed from the outside to be a closet, Marcus and Betty found themselves faced with a staircase that led down to the basement, the music now less of a dull thump, the chatter from the club and the scream of the saxophone replacing it.
“Oh, Marcus!” Betty exclaimed, grinning wild as he led her down the staircase and into the red-painted club. “And ta’ think, I thought ya was takin’ me to some bookstore for our first date.”
“Not a date, Betty,” he reminded patting her hand as it rested on his arm. “Just a little bit of research.”
“Ya do enough research,” she said, moving to stand in front of him as he scanned the room for a pair of empty seats. “Live a little.”
Slipping her hand in his, she tugged him onto the dance floor with a wide smile and bright eyes. He chuckled at her as she danced and shook and swayed for him, undeniably attracted to the way she seemed at home in this scene so unfamiliar to him. He wished he could fit in anywhere the way she seemed to fit in here.
“Have you always been this wild and carefree, Betty?” he asked, still as he stood in the middle of the dance floor watching her come alive.
“Since I was born, Mistah Pike,” she replied with a grin. “Maybe ya should try it out for yaself.”
“I’m perfectly content watching,” he said.
He stood there for a while longer, somehow both stiff and relaxed as he remained a voyeur to the scene around him. Drinks flowed freely, conversation seemed plentiful, the music coming from the trumpets sounding like nothing more than a screech to him but to everyone else it sounded more like a call from heaven—or hell.
An emcee of some sort took hold of the microphone as Betty finally leaned in and asked for a drink. Marcus led her over to the bar and allowed her to order for both of them, having not indulged since prohibition went into order. The bartender slid over a two glasses of whiskey, the sight of the amber liquid placed in front of him making his mouth water in a way he hadn’t expected it would.
“To gettin’ ya outta the office for a change,” Betty announced, lifting her glass for a toast. Marcus joined in, clinking the crystal against hers before taking a sip. He winced at the burn of the medicinal liquor as it went down, his head shaking as though his body was cursing him for it.
“Please welcome to the stage, the lovely, the gorgeous, the talented Miss Evelyn Edwards!” Marcus turned to look at the red-drowned stage, the brick wall behind it and large grand piano looking lonely until a doll of a woman stepped out from the side stage with a winning smile, her pale skin and hardly-blue eyes shining in the spotlight.
Marcus recognized her immediately as the woman in the blue coat, running away from nothing. He felt the air puff out of his lungs as she opened her mouth, her own rendition of Helen Kane’s, “I Want To Be Bad”, drawing all of the rambunctious men in the room to the edge of the stage to watch her as she flossed her feathered boa around.
“Look at her,” Betty gasped, her eyes wide with admiration as she watched Marcus’ doll put on a show. “I’d kill to look and sound half as good as that.”
Marcus couldn’t muster a reply, not when he was as drawn into her performance as every other man with a working pair of eyes.
“Welcome, Mr. Howard!” A fellow standing behind Marcus and Betty at the bar called over the music, causing Marcus’s eyes to shift from the beauty on stage to the staircase. He watched as Jack Howard swaggered in with his posse, all of them dressed more expensively and elaborately than everyone else in the club. “Right this way. Saved you a table over in the VIP section.”
“You’re too kind, Georgie,” Jack smiled, winning and bright, as he patted the shorter, rounder, and older man on the shoulder, allowing him to lead them through the packed club to a roped off section in the corner. Marcus downed the rest of his drink as he kept a watchful eye on the group, studying every bit of movement, every parting of their lips in hopes of understanding some of the conversation from where he stood halfway across the room.
When Jack pointed at the stage and leaned back in to Georgie, the older man looked worried for a moment, but that winning smile of Mr. Howard soothed it. With a nod, Georgie found his way to the side stage and waited for Miss Edwards to finish her song and collect her flowers.
“Only one song?” Betty whined from beside him.
“I guess,” he replied, focused on watching Georgie and Miss Edward’s conversation on the side of the stage.
She seemed adamantly opposed to whatever the older man was proposing, though the band drowned her shouting out. Jack, meanwhile, seemed smug as he watched Georgie pull her over against her will, his winning smile seeming more devious than it did when he first witnessed it.
“Oh, she’s with Jack Howard?” Betty asked, leaning in so close her breath fanned over Marcus’s ear. “Makes sense. Too beautiful for any of these other new money wannabes.”
“You wanna go sit?” Marcus asked, pointing at a table that just opened up near the VIP section, hopeful to get a better grasp on the enthusiastic conversation Jack and Miss Edwards were having. Betty nodded and allowed him to guide her over to the table and pull her seat out before seating himself down beside her.
“Jack, don’t you dare touch me!” Miss Edwards shouted, loud enough to draw eyes, but Marcus remained facing away from the scene. “No! No! Georgie, I swear to god—“
“Hey, quiet down,” Jack hissed, the sound finally enough to pull Marcus’s eyes over to the scene. Jack yanked her down onto his lap hard enough to make her yelp, the sound making Marcus fist clench as it rested on his leg beneath the table. “You’re makin’ a scene.”
“You’re making a scene,” she countered, elbowing him in the stomach. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”
“Baby doll, you’re testing me, now,” he warned. Marcus watched as he stood to chase her out of the club but relished in him being held back by his friends.
“I think we should go,” Marcus whispered to Betty, earning a pout. “C’mon. Not leaving you in a place like this.”
“These, Mistah Pike, are my people. Fun people. Unlike yaself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m gonna stay with my people.”
“No,” he shook his head and sighed. “You’re going to let me hail you a cab so that you can go home.”
“Ya think I don’t go out by myself every night? Nothin’s happened yet.”
“Yet,” he repeated. “Come on, now.”
“No, ya gonna have to pick me up if ya want me to leave.”
“Hey, you can hand her off to us if you want,” one of Jack Howard’s posse chimed in, flashing a smile at Betty.
“See,” she said, standing up and walking into the section. “These are my people, Mistah—“
“Right, right,” Marcus interrupted, shaking his head at her recklessness. He didn’t want to leave her here with this crew, but unless she suddenly gained sense and reason, there was going to be no getting through to her. “I’ll see you at work Monday, then.”
Finding his way out of the club and back into the bookstore, he found Miss Edwards standing in front of a bookshelf, crying.
“Excuse me,” he called, approaching her where she stood in the dim light.
“Listen, I don’t go home with strangers.”
“Hm? No, no. I wasn’t—I just wanted to see if you were alright,” he replied, finally earning her eyes on his. She studied him from head to toe, a chuckle leaving her painted lips.
“You a cop?” she asked.
“No,” he shook his head. “Just a writer.”
“A writer, huh?” She smiled as if there weren’t tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “You look like a stiff.”
“I suppose I am one,” he admitted, cracking a smile. “Explains why I’m leaving the club already.”
“You get to see my set?” she asked, turning her body so that she was facing him now.
“I did,” he nodded. “You’ve got a nice voice.”
“What are you really? You can be honest with me, I’m no snitch.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied. “I’m a writer.”
“Mm,” she hummed in skepticism. “Don’t buy it. You know cops?”
“A couple,” he shrugged. “Do you?”
“They know me, I’m sure.” Marcus laughed genuinely and nodded.
“Well, aren’t they lucky,” he said, bringing a more sincere smile to her face than the playful one on it before. “I, uh, I saw what Mr. Howard was doing to you and I just wanted to check in—“
“You crazy?” she asked, furrowing her brow at him before looking around the empty bookstore. “Tryin’ to get us killed?”
“No—“
“Keep talkin’ like that here and you’re gonna.” Marcus was about to speak when Miss Edwards gripped his bicep and walked him out of the store and onto the sidewalk. “What’s your name?”
“Marcus,” he answered while trying to match her quick pace down the road. “Are you in danger—“
“Shh,” she hushed. “Marcus who?”
“Marcus Pike,” he replied.
“You ain’t a cop?”
“No—“
“Would you like to come over for coffee sometime, then, Marcus?” she asked.
“I, uh…are you alright?” he asked, forcing her to stop. “Your lip is healing, but it was busted, wasn’t it?”
“You are a cop. A detective, or somethin’?” Marcus felt like he was going insane, his eyes squeezing shut out of frustration.
“I’m not a cop. I’m just a stiff. Now, will you tell me whether or not you’re in danger?” Miss Edwards eyed him carefully for a moment as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
“Somethin’ like that. I don’t know,” she sighed and shook her head, looking off into the distance. “It’s nothin’ a writer can get me out of.”
“You’re in on Mr. Howard’s affairs, I assume.”
“No,” she scoffed. “I don’t know shit about what he does. All I know is he can pack a mean punch.”
“He hits you?”
“Don’t all men?” she retorted with a raise of her brow.
“No. Not good men,” he replied, struck by the resignation in her eyes. Had she never known a good man in her life?
“Are you a good man, Mr. Pike?” she asked, her eyes falling to his bowed lips before lifting again to his dark brown, almost black eyes.
“I try hard to be,” he replied.
“Are you busy tomorrow afternoon?”
“No—“
“Good, then you can join me on my trip to Long Island,” she announced as she hailed a taxi. “There’s a cottage I like to rent there for real cheap. Pretend to be one of the rich for a couple nights. Sounds like fun, huh?”
“You want me to join you—“
“Pack a bag, will ya? Gonna be there all weekend.”
As the taxi pulled up, Marcus stood frozen in confusion, wondering how and why this had all happened to him.
“What’s your address, Mr. Pike?” she asked as she opened the door for herself. Marcus gave her his address and she smiled, ordering him to be out front at noon sharp. “I think you and I are gonna be good friends, Marcus.”
“You hardly know me,” he chuckled.
“I know enough,” she smiled. Sitting down inside the car, she gave him a wave through the window. “Have a good night, detective!”
“And you too, Miss Edwards,” he called out as the car took off down the road, his hand waving her off until the taxi became just another bright light faded into the city.
And as if by some sort of magic, a friendship that would change both of their lives forever was born out of nothing. Or nothing, it seemed.
now… call me deranged because i don’t know the first thing about music and music theory but i was trying to learn “Your Best American Girl” on the ukulele because that’s my anthem and I can only sort of play the ukulele right?
right, so as I was playing the chord progression very slowly, as a person only moderately skilled at playing an instrument does, I got the strange impression I’d heard this progression or this cluster of chords elsewhere… particularly at a wedding… now I don’t know the first thing about classical music so I just listened to a bunch of wedding songs until- BOOM! I find the exact song I was thinking of: Pachelbel’s Canon in D
now catch this— turns out I am a genius because YBAG AND CANON IN D HAVE ALMOST THE EXACT SAME CHORD PROGRESSION!!! Meaning YBAG either purposefully or accidentally is set up to allude to Pachelbel’s Canon in D, aka one of the most iconic walk-down-the-aisle songs of all time— and the implications of that are huge!!! Because whether she did it on purpose or not Mitski pulled a chord progression that connotes feelings of devotion, commitment, and hopeful union and then flipped all of those on their head by juxtaposing the music with lyrics that talk about a broken, impossible, frustrated kind of love that, had her and her partner not been from such different backgrounds, could have led them to have a beautiful life together. And it just communicates all of the desire, all of the wanting for things to be different, for their fate to be different, without ever having to explicitly talk about marriage or what a life together for them could have meant— they are from such different worlds that even imagining a different ending to their story is not possible, even if the desire for that different ending is there.
I don’t know if anybody has talked about this before but this realization just added a bunch of layers to this song for me and I am GEEKING TF OUT because this is hands down my favorite song, probably ever. AH!
