Kanon OOM 1: Curtain up.
Mar. 9th, 2006 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beautiful_annOrdering a drink at Happy Hour might not have been such a great idea. Ann knows she's been short on cash, but this short--?
She'll talk to Manny tomorrow. It's been two weeks since the troupe was paid. Surely there's something.
The next morning, there's something, all right.
There's a padlock on the door to the theater, and men removing the sign over it, and --
"You can't do this!"
Ann runs forward, bangs on the door helplessly, yells at the men, "We work here!"
"Not anymore, lady!"
She turns to Manny, desperate, and the look on his face about breaks her heart.
"I'm going back to Chicago, Ann. Ever since you were small, people been lettin' you down." He sounds old, all of a sudden. "Every time you've got something good, Fate comes along and snatches it away . . ."
There's more, but she barely hears it. Manny's leaving, the theater is closed -- and with no theater, there's no work, and with no work, there's no money, and no food . . .
The others drift off, dejected, and Ann follows their suit, thoughts in a jumble. Eventually, they fix on a name: Weston, Isolation's casting director. Maybe, just maybe, she can convince him --
"Hello, Mr. Weston!"
"Aw, Christ."
The conversation goes downhill from there.
"Look," he finally tells her, "a girl like you doesn't have to starve. You ain't bad lookin'. Here" -- he pulls out a business card and scribble an address on the back -- "go here, ask for Kenny Kay. Do the job."
Ann flips the card over and glances at the address as he continues, "And forget you was ever there."
The address is for a burlesque dance joint, about ten blocks east of here.
A girl like you doesn't have to starve.
The door bangs shut behind Weston, cutting off the enticing scent of cooked food.
Ann simply stands for a moment, gazing at the card. Finally she slips it into her jacket pocket and starts walking, past bread lines and workers, headed east.
She'll talk to Manny tomorrow. It's been two weeks since the troupe was paid. Surely there's something.
The next morning, there's something, all right.
There's a padlock on the door to the theater, and men removing the sign over it, and --
"You can't do this!"
Ann runs forward, bangs on the door helplessly, yells at the men, "We work here!"
"Not anymore, lady!"
She turns to Manny, desperate, and the look on his face about breaks her heart.
"I'm going back to Chicago, Ann. Ever since you were small, people been lettin' you down." He sounds old, all of a sudden. "Every time you've got something good, Fate comes along and snatches it away . . ."
There's more, but she barely hears it. Manny's leaving, the theater is closed -- and with no theater, there's no work, and with no work, there's no money, and no food . . .
The others drift off, dejected, and Ann follows their suit, thoughts in a jumble. Eventually, they fix on a name: Weston, Isolation's casting director. Maybe, just maybe, she can convince him --
"Hello, Mr. Weston!"
"Aw, Christ."
The conversation goes downhill from there.
"Look," he finally tells her, "a girl like you doesn't have to starve. You ain't bad lookin'. Here" -- he pulls out a business card and scribble an address on the back -- "go here, ask for Kenny Kay. Do the job."
Ann flips the card over and glances at the address as he continues, "And forget you was ever there."
The address is for a burlesque dance joint, about ten blocks east of here.
A girl like you doesn't have to starve.
The door bangs shut behind Weston, cutting off the enticing scent of cooked food.
Ann simply stands for a moment, gazing at the card. Finally she slips it into her jacket pocket and starts walking, past bread lines and workers, headed east.
