SERIES TITLE : Monterey.
CHAPTER/TITLE : 1/9 Ball and Chain, Part 1/2.
AUTHOR : Black Widow
EMAIL : bw@l...
FEEDBACK : Please? Pretty please? Fucking gimme!
SUMMARY : Loneliness or freedom?
SPOILERS : None.
RATING : G.
PAIRING : Gen Fic.
DISCLAIMER : The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant
Enemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, and Greenwolf Productions, 20th
Century Fox, the WB Network, and whoever else may have a
hold on them. The situation is wholly mine, and I do
not mean to infringe upon any copyrights.
ARCHIVE/DIST : You want it, take it. Just send me an email to let me know
NOTES : This series is set just after the start of season 4.
This chapter was supposed to explore Joyce's loneliness
more but it got kinda caught up in the Janis thing so now
it's in two parts. Janis died on 4th October 1970, 30 years
ago today. This is the first in a series of stories with
JJ's songs at the core.
DEDICATION : Janis Joplin : 1.19.43 - 10.4.70
The first time I ever heard Janis sing I was
completely mesmerised. To me Janis was without doubt
the owner of the most emotive and powerful voice of
her generation. She was the first great, white, blues
songstress. The passion, not only in her voice but in
her performance on stage and, indeed, her life was
unparalleled,
Now, thirty years after her untimely heroin-induced
death, all we have left are the recordings and the
fading memories of one of the greatest legends in the
history of music. Her life and work was, and still is
today, an inspiration.
*
Sittin' down by my window,
Honey, lookin' out at the rain.
Oh, Lord, Lord, sittin' down by my window,
Baby, lookin' out at the rain.
Somethin' came along, grabbed a hold of me, honey,
And it felt just like a ball and chain.
Honey, that's exactly what it felt like,
Honey, just dragging me down.
*
Switching off the report what, Joyce wondered, made weather
unseasonable? Snow in Sunnydale in the middle of June would be
unseasonable, but this hailstorm in October was merely unusual.
Anyway, it only lasted a minute and the rain was easing now. The
thick, black clouds had gone and the white fluffy ones, she hoped,
wouldn't be long in coming.
With her face resting against the cold glass of the window her mood
matched the weather. She couldn't bring herself to get up and pretend
to be doing something, she'd only be fooling herself. Not that being
maudlin was doing her any favors either. All the time alone with her
own thoughts in the gloomy rain had brought back memories. Memories
that compounded her feelings of loneliness and the one link that she
had to her distant past. Her life now was as empty as... She looked
around the gallery with a sigh. How had it come to this? The gallery
was just about all she had left now. Not even her regular visitors
would come in this weather and no one had been trapped when the rain
had started. No one had even come in to get out of the rain. 'Come on
fluffy clouds, come on sunshine, bring me something to make me smile.
Please!' she pleaded.
She watched her breath condense on the glass and drew a smiley face.
As the mouth faded she watched the raindrops slide pass the eyes like
tears. Even her smiley face was sad now - nothing ever stays happy for
long. Had she ever been truly happy? Everything that had made her
happy had gone or had been taken away from her.
Switching the radio back on she sighed again as she recognised the
song.
Love's got a hold on me, baby,
Feels like a ball and chain.
Now, love's just draggin' me down, baby,
Feels like a ball and chain.
I hope there's someone out there who could tell me
Why the man I love wanna leave me in so much pain.
At the end of the verse she switched the radio off. She remembered
crying all those years ago when she heard the news. And the other
thought... she tried to push it to the back of her mind. Over half a
lifetime away and she still remembered it so clearly.
She'd grown up listening to them all, Jim and Janis and Jimi, and...
It was such a special time and they were all gone too. Sic transit...
The rain stopped and sunlight sparkled on the puddles outside. She
looked at the receding clouds and saw a rainbow start to appear in the
distance. She knew that it was just light scattered off drops of
water, and there was no pot of gold at the end. And then it too was
gone.
...gloria mundi. Singing the song to herself she laughed at the
lyrics. 'I don't even have a man to leave me in pain anymore. How
ridiculous,' walking away from the window and into the back room.
Filling the kettle she looked at the neat little rows of bags of tea.
The Earl Gray for Mr Giles, the strange vanilla spice that Willow said
she liked, the last camomile... well, it was the day for everything to
be gone, so she dropped it into the delicate china cup Mr Giles had
given her and waited for the kettle to boil.
*
Watching people walk past she sipped at the tea. The puddles were
disappearing quickly in the heat of the midday sun. She felt her
gloominess fade as the sunshine warmed the gallery. The soothing tea
was lifting her spirits and she started thinking about what she had
rather than what she didn't. Security, a nice home. good health, some
good friends. And freedom. She missed having Buffy around, and she
did worry about her, but now she had the freedom to do what she
wanted, and what was she doing? Moping. Time to take the clichés by
the horns. Life is... and she stood up determined that by the end of
the day she'd try to find something to make anything of hers.
On a day like today she knew it wouldn't matter when she stopped for
lunch. Locking the door she flipped the sign to 'closed' and took her
tea cup to the back room.
Delving into her purse she pulled out her hair brush, a small compact
and a lipstick which was about all she ever carried with her. Vanity
certainly wasn't one of her vices and, anyway, subtlety and natural
colors was much better than - and she thought of Cordelia - caking it
on with a trowel. No. A little blusher, and a light lip gloss was
enough. No need to look like a monkey's backside. She wondered at
where the bitterness had come from. Just because she had been shy and
awkward when she was young was no reason to be unfair to Cordelia.
Cordelia, who'd once had everything... but at least she still had her
good looks. Joyce studied her face in the mirror. It could have been
worse. A few laughter lines - although she didn't have much to laugh
about - and barely any visible wrinkles. Life had been kind to her in
that respect.
A quick look out of the window showed there were no more rain clouds,
just big, tall fluffy ones shining brightly, so she could leave her
jacket behind. Checking in the mirror to straighten her blouse and
skirt, she let herself out the back door, deciding on a slow walk
through the park: the sweet fragrance of the flowers in the fresh
clean air would be perfect to clear her mind.
***
The walk back to the gallery was long. Well, it would have been
shorter, but she took a circuitous route, needing time to think. Now
that Buffy was away from home the lack of company, even the little
time that Buffy had spent with her before she went to college, left a
gaping hole. Is that what she was really looking for? Companionship?
Something beyond the day to day friendships? Was she really ready to
consider the existence of a man in her life again?
Unlocking the door Joyce entered her gallery, swinging the sign to
'open'. Not that it mattered really - after this morning's downpour
her usual visitors wouldn't have the time to pop in. Art these days
was so fickle. Unless you worked to a theme hardly anyone bothered.
And some of the modern themes... Joyce shivered at the thought of some
of the pictures she'd seen recently. She wasn't a prude, but the trend
for homosexual violence was not to her taste.
She switched the radio on needing something to fill the silent void
only to hear the harsh sound of Janis's voice again, belting out
another of her great torch songs. Time was when she'd listen to these
songs with hope in her heart. A time long gone. Songs that once held
out hope now only reminded her of everything she'd lost. All that
innocence and joy mixed with the despair at the world of her
generation. She had only one thing left of that time to remind her of
what it was like. A beautiful sunny day in June, a memory of a golden
afternoon and a beautiful, starlit night. And of a boy...
A cough behind her brought her out of her reverie. "Oh! Mr Giles...
Rupert. What a nice surprise," switching the radio of hurriedly.
"Hello, Joyce. I, uh, thought since I was, um," he waved his arm
around vaguely, "ah..."
"Let me put the kettle on. Tea?" She needed a few moments to regain
her composure. Her mind flashed back to the first glimpse of the boy
that made that day so special...
"Thank you, that would be nice."
... the softness of his voice. "It's been a while Rupert. What brings
you here?"
"Well, to be honest it's that boy Xander. He drives me to distraction
he really does. Ah, not that he's the only reason. Um, I didn't
mean..."
... his shy smile. "It's all right Rupert, I know you didn't. It's
just with this weather I really wasn't expecting to see anyone this
afternoon."
"Ah, yes, well um, I have rather a lot of free time right now."
... those eyes. Joyce filled the kettle and switched it on. Leaning
against the door frame she watched him as he walked round the gallery.
She was still pretty sure he didn't remember. Even after their
escapade last year he hadn't made the connection.
She smiled as he stopped in front of the really good pieces - barely
glancing at some of the lesser works. He'd come a long way since...
He looked towards her at the sound of the kettle clicking itself off.
Their eyes met briefly before they both looked away shyly, although
Joyce thought she saw him smile to himself as he did so. As she made
the tea she wondered if, perhaps, now was the time to ask him. After
all, they were both comfortable around each other now and he too was
free of his responsibilities. She remembered her earlier resolve...
"Do you remember Monterey?" she asked, putting the tea cups on her
desk.
The question took him completely by surprise. "Monterey?" He looked
completely confused - the question had come from nowhere and his mind
blanked as he tried to find a reference. What had Monterey to do with
anything? Certainly he knew of Monterey, he'd even been there once.
That must have been what? Thirty years ago. The year he took out
before going up to Oxford. He'd just happened to pitch up there for
the Festival. "Yes, I know Monterey. Why do you ask?"
"No. I said 'do you *remember* Monterey?'"
"Remember?"
"'67. The Festival."
"Well, yes. I was there as a matter of fact. I was..."
"Taking a year out before going up to Oxford."
"Why, yes." A faraway look spread over his face and he frowned. He
kept his past to himself - especially since Ethan, and he didn't
recall ever mentioning it. "How did... ?"
He saw Joyce was looking at him expectantly, with a hint of
disappointment that he didn't understand.
"I suppose it was silly of me to expect you to remember."
"I'm sorry, Joyce, I don't follow..."
Joyce closed her eyes. "Janis Joplin was on the stage." She shook her
head and sighed. "A well-spoken young English boy sat down next to a
young American girl. An awkward looking girl with brightly colored
ribbons in her hair and flowers painted on her face." She opened her
eyes to see Giles staring at her in disbelief.
"My God!"
She nodded.
"But it couldn't have been..." frowning.
He lapsed into silence as he recalled that day. Remembered seeing the
shy looking girl sitting on her own, listening intently to ... yes, it
was Joplin. He looked at Joyce - trying to see the young girl again.
But it couldn't... It was thirty two years ago. She wouldn't have been
old enough...
A look of horror crossed his face. "Oh, my God," he whispered, "Joyce,
I..."
"It was a crazy time Rupert. We were caught up in the music and the
moment."
"But still..."
"You were a real charmer Rupert, even then." She tried to smile
reassuringly. "The accent, the shy smile and the gorgeous eyes."
"And you were fourteen."
"Yes, but what has age got to do with it? Everything was different
then."
"Everything. Age has everything to do with it. You were still a girl."
He couldn't believe she treated it so lightly. "Would you say that now
if it was Buffy and some eighteen year old Johnny foreigner?"
The look on his face and the hint of anger in his voice stopped Joyce
in her tracks. "I thought..." She looked at Giles. His expression
hadn't softened. "I don't know what I thought," she conceded, her mind
in turmoil.
"I'm sorry Joyce, this is something of a shock. I... I've tried very
hard to come to terms with some horrible things I've done in the
past... things I've had to do because of what I am... but..."
"What we did..."
"What we did was wrong," he interrupted. "Yes, back then we didn't
care, but I believed you were older. If I'd have known you were only
fourteen I wouldn't... I couldn't..."
Joyce watched him take his glasses off and massage the bridge of his
nose. Suddenly he appeared a lot older as a look of sadness crossed
his face. Then she realised. "You were..."
He nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Joyce," standing up. "I, ah..." He
looked at her sadly. "I'll..." he shook his head. "This is too much
for me to..." Slowly he walked to the door and out of the gallery.
*
Joyce sat there wondering how it had all gone so horribly wrong. She'd
never imagined his sense of propriety would have driven him away from
her like that. How had she managed to so misjudge his reaction?
The two days they had spent together had been so magical. Even though
they came from different worlds... the spirit of the occasion had
brought them together and carried them away to share the most intimate
of pleasures. How could that have been so wrong? Wasn't that what it
was supposed to be about?
Over half a lifetime away and the old taboos, which they had so
readily ignored, had come back to haunt her. She was still surprised
at Giles. She couldn't believe that he would just reject her like
that.
The one man in all the world with whom she thought she had a semblance
of a connection and she'd managed to totally destroy it. Instead of
rekindling magical memories she'd ruined one of the last few
friendships she had left. She sat looking at the door more alone than
she'd ever been before.
Sitting there the silence was becoming oppressive. She knew what would
happen when she switched the radio on - the little calendar on her
desk told her what was going to happen. Twenty nine years ago to the
day she had cried as she listened to those songs. Sure enough, as she
switched the radio on, she heard the song that had meant so much to
her throughout her life for so many different reasons.
As she listened to Janis singing she thought of the boy sitting down
beside her and, as the last notes faded away, she saw the man walking
away.
One good man,
It ain't much, no, no honey it ain't much,
Oh, it's only every little thing,
Just-a everything, everything
Ah yeah.
Continued in part 2