Chapter Text
The echo of laughter is one of the most delightful things Jane Crocker has ever heard. The way people cackle, snort, howl, chortle, giggle, guffaw- unique and simply expressive of joy, of happiness. It’s a beautiful thing and her father had taught her, all her life, never to underestimate its power. So she didn’t, and here she was, at the Glass Anchor with a one hour standup slot. It was a pure pleasure to entertain and delight dozens so often a week, and she didn’t regret getting into the business, but she was starting to have…doubts. This wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling; Jane had been faced with doubts after many an important event in her life.
High school graduation permitted her a full-ride scholarship to a fast track, two-year university. She graduated with an associate's degree in business administration, her father setting her on the path to taking over the Betty Crocker Company. She was rushed into the entire thing, and upon finishing her educational training, she admitted to her peers, her father, and herself, that this had not been what she had wanted. With a loving smile, her Dad had told her that, no matter what she chose to do, he would support her.
He was still so, so proud of her.
She did some soul-searching that involved a lot of driving, and when she and her best friend Roxy hit the border of Nevada, intending to head into Arizona and turn around after that, she found her mind taken away entirely by Las Vegas. The night life had captured Roxy’s heart, and Jane loved the atmosphere of excitement and the near-tangible opportunity in the air. When she returned home, the plea was made, and Dad caved. His conditions were ones Jane was happy to meet: take Roxy with you for safety, ask for help if you need it, and follow your heart.
Within the same month they were off. The top of Jane’s convertible down, Roxy howling with excitement, they moved to Vegas with high hopes and a credit card linked to Dad’s bank account. Some new clothes splurging was done, and Roxy may or may not have gone overboard, and Jane may or may not have gotten an earful over the phone the following day- but once they had settled in, that was it. It was happening- she was going to be a comedian.
A two bedroom apartment in Vegas was surprisingly cheap. After some research, they found that nearly all of the neighbors in their complex were aspiring theatre and show business workers. It clicked- Vegas was a big tourist city, those that stayed were desperate for work and had huge dreams with small change. Neither of the girls were complaining.
After a solid four weeks of non-stop phone calls, e-mails, craigslist nightmares, and frustrated moaning about the job market, both Jane and Roxy got a job at a comedy bar: the Glass Anchor. The owner was an eccentric middle-aged man who seemed permanently grumpy and out of sorts, and Roxy’s theory was that he was having a mid-life crisis. Things between them were tense, until the excitable blonde caught a glimpse of a playing card sticking out of his pocket, and they talked for hours over the delight that was Magic: The Gathering. He loved wizards, hated American Coke products, and thought cats were ‘somewhat more agreeable than dogs’, so the two were fast to bond.
Jane kept her distance, remained strictly professional with a warm air of friendliness, and preferred it that way. Roxy waitressed for a six hour shift, Jane had a one-hour set thrice per night, and their rhythm synced up fast. Schedules were sometimes different depending on goings-on in the city, or doctor’s appointments, things that couldn’t be predicted, but if Jane was honest, she was glad for the alone-time. It allowed her to run errands and get things done that Roxy otherwise found boring, and Jane found satisfying.
“That’s it for tonight, guys! Thank you so much for having me, you were an awesome crowd.” She bows and takes her leave off the stage, soaking in the applause that never gets old no matter how soft or loud. Roxy bounds up to greet her at the side of the stage, and hugs her tight as she steps down from the small set of stairs. Laughing, she rubs her friend’s back and shakes her head.
“Roxy, you always get so excited when I finish a set. It’s the same material you heard a few hours ago!”
“I know, but like, you do so well every time! I have to congratulate my bestie whenever she does great, and it just so happens you do great every time.” Roxy winks and links her arm with Jane’s, as they walk to the door to exit the club for the evening.
“Oh, shoot, Rox I forgot to call a cab.”
“Janey, how many times are we gonna go through this? We’re in Vegas now! It’s been what, a year? Have you ever hailed a cab without calling for it?”
“Well, no. But it’s just simpler, faster, if you use the phone.” Jane complains, as they stand on the sidewalk and Roxy peers down the street, arm still linked with Jane’s.
“I think you’re just nervous. And that’s some bullshit, right there.” Roxy sticks out her arm and waves it in wide sweeping motions, as a white cab pulls to the curb. The girls get into the back seat, and the radio’s static cuts in the middle of what sounds like Bon Jovie.
“What’re the chances, eh?” Sounds a low voice from the driver’s seat as they pull back into the street, and Roxy gasps in a dramatic fashion- such that Jane jumps and clutches at the door handle, ready to tuck and roll.
“No way! Again?! Isn’t this a funny coincidence?” Roxy beams, leaning forward to look at their cabbie.
“No, not really. He works this route at this time every single night, we take this cab home all the time-”
Jane is largely ignored, and pouts as Roxy smacks her arm lightly. “Hush, Jane. It’s fate.”
“Yeah, fate. You heard the lady.” The dark-haired male snickers, adjusting his glasses and looking into his mirrors as he changes lanes.
The cab ride is spent with Jane eventually joining in the merry conversation and trying out some one-liners on the familiar cabbie, until they pull up to the apartment complex and get out. Roxy gets the tip this time around, and they settle in at home.
It’s a meager place, not much to look at, but all the basics and comforts they need are there. A love seat sofa, an overstuffed chair, a tiny dining table for four maximum, and a television set. The kitchen is separated from the rest of the entry by half of a horizontal wall, and it’s Jane’s favorite room.
Roxy collapses on the sofa, lets out a great yawn, and crosses her ankles after kicking off her boots. “Man, tonight was a bummer.”
“What? I thought you enjoyed yourself.” Jane stands at the kitchen table and frowns, though mostly down at the chicken-scratch that was Roxy taking a phone message for her earlier that day.
“I guess. But they ran out of my favorite vodka at the bar.”
“Tragedy, thy name is Roxy Lalonde!” Jane chuckles, giving up on deciphering the paper. She approaches the couch, shucks her own flats, and picks up Roxy’s legs by the knees, sitting down and allowing her to rest her legs in her lap.
“Man, you know what blows?” Roxy puffs air from her cheeks with force enough to rustle her bangs. “Being this tired this early on into the night.”
“It’s one thirty in the morning!” Jane laughs.
“We’re in Vegas! The city that never sleeps, Jane!”
“That’s New York.”
“Whatever! We’re surrounded by lights and people and music and food, why aren’t we out there with the rest of them?”
“Because we’re working adults. Who are very tired.” She actually punctuates her words with a yawn and pats her friend’s calf. “I think I’m gonna call it a night. I’ll shower in the morning, you can take over now.”
“Thanks, Janey. Night!” Roxy pops up like a jack in the box, a dark hand coming up to ruffle Jane’s hair. She doesn’t bother smoothing it back down before retreating to her bedroom.
There she’s left alone with her thoughts, and as she dresses down for sleep, shuts off the lights, tucks herself in, she thinks of the life she’s made for herself. Or, the life she plans on making- this isn’t supposed to be forever. She loves her little gig at the Glass Anchor, but it’s not what she envisioned. It’s been a whole year and some change, and nothing is different. It bothers her that not a single talent scout, or agent, or anyone really, has approached her. She’s tried to approach them, but apparently her material is just not “what they’re looking for”, and she feels as though she is in a rut. Everyone around her tells her she’s wonderful at what she does, but if that was the case, why wouldn’t she be climbing the ladder? Why is it taking so long for her to establish herself?
More questions fill her head, more doubt about her talent, her motivations, and her whole life so far, cloud her mind. Jane falls into a restless sleep, and has fitful dreams of doors that lead nowhere and voices that echo everywhere.