Chapter Text
Another red carpet. Another flock of photographers.
Keeley watches Jamie play acting his attempt at being a style icon for a moment before joining him in front of the cameras and allowing herself to be used as a prop to get him the exposure he wants. He’s young and fit and she’s got him fairly well trained in the art of getting her off, now. But still, sometimes, she finds herself craving something more.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rebecca arrive. It’s impossible not to notice that the tall blonde is drop dead fucking gorgeous in that spectacular, elegant gown. Not that she doesn’t wear the hell out of a business suit, too. But unusually, she also looks not only apprehensive but, frankly, downright frazzled despite her polished appearance. Keeley’s never seen her like this before and it’s a shock to realise that there are things that rattle Rebecca Welton, the apparently unflappable.
Jamie wanders off almost before the attention has turned from him to his boss, and Keeley barely notices his absence, almost happy that he's gone. She pauses, however, fascinated as always by the many aspects of this woman. And, once again, she discovers how just being near Rebecca turns her insides liquid with a feeling that she knows too well but has been putting off naming for the moment. But she also feels unaccountably sad that Rebecca seems so very alone with her fears.
Just to see if it’ll break Rebecca’s tension a bit and loosen her grimace, Keeley throws her a flirty wink.
If nothing else, it reminds Rebecca to smile. But she’s still so tense and awkward that it breaks Keeley’s heart. How, she wonders, has she managed to spend so many years in the limelight with Rupert and have no one explain the basic tricks for these moments.
Pressed close enough that Rebecca must be able to feel the warmth of her as she can the nervous heat radiating from Rebecca, she whispers gently “Just put one foot in front of the other, yeah?” She keeps her voice calm and steady, pitched so that only Rebecca can hear her coaching. “And put your hand on your hip and make a claw shape. It’s the most flattering.”
She smiles up encouragingly at Rebecca trying to project confidence into her, backed by all she feels about this amazingly strong, intelligent, powerful woman. In this moment, she wants Rebecca to believe in herself, as much as she has come to believe in her over the short period of their acquaintance. And she really wants the whole world to see just how beautiful Rebecca is.
You got this, she thinks as she moves behind the photographers. Then, knowing it’ll break Rebecca’s faked composure entirely, she yells, “Aw! Look at her! She’s fucking FIT!!”
Unsurprisingly, it works. Rebecca laughs and Keeley can see some of the tension visibly flow out of her.
Keeley blows her a kiss, knowing for certain that these photos will be the best that Rebecca’s had.
So far. If Keeley’s got any say in it.
The night is almost over and Keeley is confused. She’s less sad that she thought she might on ending it with Jamie and more than a little embarrassed at herself for having dragged Roy into their shit. Rebecca’s comment in the loos about the importance of accountability hit home, it seems.
And it annoyed her more than she could say having to endure watching first-hand Rupert’s repeated public undermining of Rebecca.
“Do you want to go get, like, really drunk?” she asks as she make her way carefully down the steps of the Richmond Theatre carrying two purloined bottles of champagne. Given the choice, she might have grabbed a couple more, but she knows very well what she can safely carry.
“Yes,” confirms Rebecca, “I do!”
“And we can go rob a bank or something...”
Rebecca relieves her of one of the bottles and has the cork out in short order, like she’s been doing it her whole life.
“Or something. Yes,” she shouts grinning, then takes a healthy swig. “Here’s to... something!”
Keeley laughs, and in the back of her still too sober brain and the deep pit of her stomach, desire blooms.