"HEY, IT'S REAGAN right?"

Reagan's head snapped up. She had been digging in her purse, looking for her damned keys that had somehow been swallowed into a dark abyss. She noted with reluctance that they'd become so easy to lose because they weren't attached to her usual keychain.

Thank you, David, she thought snarkily to herself.

It was his fault. He had been the one to go out and buy her a new BMW, insisting that he had the money to do it and that she desperately needed to replace her old, beat-up Honda.

She'd been in shock when he'd surprised her with it. Accepting the keys into her hands and trying to look past the beaming smile on his face had nearly nauseated her. Who, who in the world, gave a car as a casual gift?

At least it hadn't been a minivan.

"We'll probably need one of those some day," Dave had remarked when Reagan had exhaled her relief over the absence of a soccer-mom vehicle.

"Never," had been her firm reply.

She gave up digging for her stupid keys, plopping her bag into her lap and fixing her attention on her caller. She immediately cleared her throat and stuttered when she saw who it was.

"Uh, yes, Mr. Viotto. Hello."

She could have cursed herself for acting so tongue-tied. It wasn't like the man standing in front of her, Todd Viotto, was her boss. He was just another A&R guy, the type who zipped in and out of the office without so much as a 'hi' tossed at her over his shoulder. Reagan never blamed him for it. All the A&R people had been frazzled as of lately, combing through Seattle in search of the next big 'grunge' band.

Nonetheless, she still preferred the art development team, who always seemed more than willing to greet her hello and strike up a conversation.

Reagan didn't know Todd Viotto personally, but she did know where she ranked in the hierarchy of their mutual workplace. She was at the lowest notch of the totem pole and when it came to roles, Todd Viotto could have turned over the bottom of his shoe in order to find her. It was just the way things worked.

"Are you headed out?" Todd asked, rather uneasily as he drummed his fingers on the front desk counter.

"I was trying to find my keys. Then I was going home."

"Oh. Are you busy tonight?"

"Um . . . may I ask why?"

Todd sucked in his cheeks, rocking back and forth on the heels of his shiny leather shoes. The man had barely spoken to Reagan, and now he wanted to know what she was doing later? Her stomach lurched and she wondered if she was in trouble.

Was she going to be fired? Called into some office and humiliated in front of businessmen in suits? Had she butchered the timing of an appointment or maybe, had she been too curt with someone on the phone?

Oh god. She knew exactly what it was. It had been the previous Monday when she'd gone without lunch and bitten that guy's head off, the ones from sales. She clenched her fingers tighter around her bag until her knuckles turned white.

"Would you like to accompany me to a show tonight?" Todd asked. There was a touch of pleading in his voice. "I could use the extra help. My partner, Bill, he got tied up . . ."

"You want me to go with you to a show?" Reagan clarified, trying not to let her mouth gape open.

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind. I'm checking out this band, The Finks, or something like that. I've got a lot of pressure right now to get these guys's signatures down on a contract."

"Mr. Viotto . . ." Reagan began. She hoped he couldn't hear the way her words quivered on the brink of stammering.

"Todd," he insisted.

"Todd. Uh, that's . . . that's really nice of you. But I don't know anything about A&R. I'd love to come, of course, but I wouldn't be any help trying to negotiate."

"How long have you worked here, Reagan?"

"Two years this September."

"Great. You know the ins and outs, then. You'll be plenty of help."

"I really won't," Reagan said quickly. She couldn't fathom why she was so determined to turn him down, but it must have had something to do with the way her last meal was rising in her stomach.

It would be a nightmare. A nightmare wrapped into a crisis and then baked into a mass destruction-leveled disaster at three-hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit. If this was a test, then Reagan was positive that she would fail it, and she would fail it miserably.

She was just a front desk girl. A phone-answerer. The person people trusted to nail their schedules down and start the coffee machine in the mornings. A&R was a long stretch from her wheelhouse. They might as well have shot her into space, like a monkey in a rocket ship.

"You'll know what to do," Todd encouraged. "It's all talk, anyways. Are you a good talker?"

What do you think? Reagan thought. Wasn't her lack of words enough to give him his answer?

"Mr. Viotto — Todd," she struggled. "I don't know if you'd want to bring me along when signing this band is riding on you. I would hate to mess things up."

"You won't. You may find that you're even good at it."

Holy shit, he was being pushy. Reagan was half tempted to assume that he was trying to pick her up for a possible date in the future. There was no reason, no rational reason at all, that this virtual stranger was begging her to come do his job with him. Now, if he'd been asking for her to reschedule his three o' clock phone call for the next day, that would have made more sense.

"I really don't know," she said, falling flat. There was nothing else she could say. Her brain felt as if it had come unhinged from her spinal cord.

"Look, we'll call you my assistant," Todd reasoned. "If that makes you feel better about it, then that's what you'll be. I'd really like some back-up tonight. We need to put on a good face for these guys. You've got the face."

"Are you saying I'm attractive?"

Fuck. She hadn't meant to say that. Her stream-of-consciousness thought had been merely spat out.

Todd smirked slightly. "It doesn't hurt to have a good looking woman with you when you're trying to tempt a band into signing with your label."

Ah, Reagan thought. So there it was. The real reason he'd sought her out for the task.

Todd couldn't have been over thirty-five, but with his thinning brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses, Reagan could see why having a partner with breasts would help his efforts.

"Well . . . okay," she said, finally caving. "I'll have to let my nanny, Sarah, know. And my husband —,"

"Dave?" Todd asked brightly. "Love the kid. He's a great guy."

"Yes he is," Reagan murmured, sliding the strap of her bag over her shoulder. If Dave was really great, then he wouldn't mind watching Gracie alone that night while she went out on this unexpected adventure.

She was sure that he wouldn't care. If anything, he would strap Gracie into one of her bouncy swings and serenade her while she kicked her legs and squealed in approval. Only Dave would get a massive ego boost in receiving adoration from a baby.

"Well, this is a big help. I'll meet you at the Crocodile at nine tonight. Or, would you be preferred to be picked up? I can send for a driver."

"I'll drive," Reagan insisted hurriedly. Driving would calm her nerves.

"Great," Todd smiled, rapping his hand on the desk. "See you then."

Shakily, Reagan waited for Todd to leave the building before she stood from her seat and walked out.

Her day had been going so perfectly. Normally, even, as that was a better word to describe the comfort of another stress-free day in her life. All of her phone calls had been pleasant and she'd gotten to pop into a legal department meeting with cups of coffee to serve. She'd even brought new ballpoint pens to work to keep at her desk.

Pens. She was the kind of person who got excited over ballpoint-fucking-pens and now, they were asking her to be the face of the label for a night.

As she came up to her car (after walking over to a Honda that looked strikingly like her old one before realizing she was a BMW owner now), Reagan got inside and blanched behind the wheel.

She hadn't even considered problem number one, yet.

What the hell was she going to wear?

_________

Okay, so she had to admit to herself, it was kind of fun. Not necessarily the task that she'd been set up to do, but the atmosphere of being inside of a club again, waiting for a band to come out and play.

Reagan had missed that feeling. As she lingered in the crowd with Todd by her side, she became distracted by the stage and the bodies bumping into her. Everything was so familiar, so welcoming, like stepping into a time-machine that had deposited her back into her glory days as a teenager in Olympia. It was odd to think how much she'd sorely missed it all — the droplets of beer spilling on her after frothing over in someone's bottle, or the loud blast of speakers from the stage that nearly left her deaf.

It felt like home. Only a piece of it, but it was still home.

"They come out in six minutes," Todd said to her, yelling over the tail-end of another band's set. Reagan nodded to show that she'd heard him, raising the straw of her vodka-soda to her lips and shivering when a droplet of condensation slid off the glass and onto the skin of her exposed chest.

Dave had helped her pick her outfit. With Gracie in his lap and a Fender sitting next to his legs, he'd vetoed almost everything that wasn't low-necked and tight.

"Are you trying to pimp me out?" Reagan had eventually demanded, throwing aside a long-sleeved tee.

"You've got to look hot," Dave had explained as he kept one arm around Gracie, who'd been trying to take swipes at the strings of his guitar.

"Hot for who?!"

"Reagan, do you want these dudes to sign with DGC or not?"

That had effectively settled the argument. Grateful that Kate had forced her into a shopping trip a few weeks earlier, Reagan had ended up in a thin-strapped tank top that hugged her chest a little too tightly and a thigh-baring miniskirt. She'd even put on makeup, applying thick coats of mascara to her eyes in a similar fashion to the way Kate had done it on all those mornings that Reagan had watched her get ready for school.

She'd almost drawn the line at her choice of footwear, but Dave had stepped in again to suggest she go with the square-toed, chunky leather boots that stretched up to her knees.

Reagan thought she looked like a groupie, but of course Dave had put in his two cents, saying that if she looked like a groupie, then she was definitely one that he'd 'bang.'

Men, Reagan had scoffed before walking out the door.

As The Finks took the stage, she sucked up the last of her drink. Todd had been pushing them into her hand since they'd arrived, putting it all on his tab. That was fine with Reagan. She was more than happy to get drunk if it meant surviving through the night. The alcohol had already swelled through her bloodstream and pooled into her chest, making her feel warm and comfortable.

The Finks started to play, launching into their first song with a vigor that suggested that they'd guzzled their own copious amount of liquor before going on stage.

Hm, Reagan thought as Todd handed her another vodka-soda, this time with a lime. Soft, loud, soft dynamics.

She didn't have to wonder where they'd picked that choice of tempo from.

"What do you think?" Todd yelled into her ear as the band transitioned into their third song.

Reagan smacked her lips after taking another refreshing pull from her drink. Well, if he was really asking . . .

"They're good," she yelled back. Then she leaned in closer, lowering her voice so that no one else could hear. There was hardly any point in trying to disguise who they were and what their purpose there was that night. Todd was the only guy in a suit.

"I can see where they've gotten their inspiration from, but if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?" she said, standing on her toes to speak into Todd's ear.

He nodded. "They have their own sound, though. It's similar, but still different. Good looking singer too, that will definitely reel in a strong fan-base."

Feeling the hazy effects of her drink, Reagan shook her head. She was composed enough to make her point, but finally, she was confident enough to say it out loud.

"Don't go to him," she urged. "Talk to the guitarist." With her finger, she pointed to the long-haired guy strumming on a Rickenbacker beside the lead singer.

"Why do you say that?"

"He'll probably be the most level-headed, business wise. You know, cutting straight to the point. But if you want to really make an impression, acknowledge the drummer. Get his needs and wants and listen. I mean, listen to all of them, but don't discount the drummer."

Todd looked intrigued as he leaned farther into Reagan, his attention snagged.

"That lead singer is the one we've mostly been chatting with," he told her.

"Isn't it kind of obvious that he's not the only one that matters?"

If she hadn't been buzzed off of all that vodka, Reagan knew she might have regretted the comment. But Todd had been the one to bring her. She could afford to test his limits when he'd scrapped the whole plan together by putting her on the spot.

"Obviously," Todd agreed. "You do seem rather partial to drummers."

"I'm sure you can understand why."

"Well, yes. I also thought it might have to do with you being one yourself."

Reagan's hand froze mid-air as she raised her straw to her mouth again.

"What?" she asked loudly.

She hadn't told Todd that she was a drummer. In fact, she hadn't told anyone at DGC that she played the drums.

Todd ignored her, ending the conversation as he turned his focus back towards the stage. Reagan scrutinized him intently, waiting for him to look back at her with a sheepish expression and an explanation for having that little piece of information on her, but he didn't look back. Eventually, the thought drifted away from her mind too as she finished her drink and listened to The Finks, forgetting that Todd had said anything at all.

When it came time to meet the band, they left the Crocodile and took lodge inside of a nearby hotel bar. The band arrived shortly after they did, waltzing in with wide, drunken grins on their faces. Seeing them reminded Reagan of Dave, and with a squeeze of her heart, she wondered what he was doing at home.

Todd had been right about the advantages of female companionship in meetings such as this one. The band members gravitated towards Reagan willingly, but it wasn't so much of a creepy gesture as it was a flattering one. Once they unlocked her wealth of musical knowledge and discovered who she was married to, it was difficult for Todd to even get a word in. The band was too fixated on Reagan to pay him much mind, even when he drew the subject of money into the discussion.

It was a bit of a moment of stardom for Reagan, who smiled into her drink while the members of The Finks ogled at her. They asked her questions, like when had she learned to drum and of course, why she wasn't in a band, and she answered each one with enthusiasm. They turned out to be friendly guys, determined to make it big, and once again they reminded her so much of Dave that it was hard not to grin at them.

By the end of the night, after The Finks had bid them goodbye with handshakes and a promise to get back soon, Todd walked Reagan to her car. She felt a little like a teenager being monitored by an overbearing father, but Todd's intentions were honorable. Surely Dave would have raised hell upon DGC if one of their employees had allowed his wife to get robbed and shot in the parking lot of a hotel.

"That was fun," Reagan admitted as she opened her car door. "Thanks for inviting me to tag along. Seriously. It was a great experience."

"I should be the one thanking you," Todd said. "I don't think I could have held their attention for that long if you hadn't been there."

"Perks of being a girl, I guess," Reagan laughed. She waved Todd off and started to slip into her driver's seat, but Todd grabbed the frame of the car door and held it there.

"Wait a sec," he said.

Reagan, whose buzz had properly faded by then, looked up at Todd cautiously. She didn't know what he was going to say, but she hoped it would be something along the lines of another compliment concerning her charm with male band members. The whole night would go to shit if he chose to point out something she'd done wrong, or if he reprimanded her for veering the band's attention away from their potential contract.

"Why aren't you doing this job?" Todd asked.

Reagan blinked up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you considered getting into A&R? Talent scouting, overseeing recording processes? You know a hell of a lot about it."

"I don't," Reagan countered timidly. "I only know a little because of Dave."

"It sure looked like a lot more than 'a little' in there."

"I don't think me wearing a low-cut tank top constitutes knowing anything . . . with all due respect."

Todd put his hands on his hips and gave his head a small shake, as if to show that he wasn't budging on the subject."

"I mean it, Reagan. You could do this. Why don't you swing by my office tomorrow? We can set up a meeting, introduce you to some people. I could have a meeting with our exec-VP set up by the end of the week."

Reagan's hand slipped from the top of her steering wheel. It landed on the horn with a smack and the ear splitting sound made both her and Todd jump. She yanked her hand away and into her lap, feeling her face warm.

"You want me to work for Geffen?" she asked in a low voice.

"I don't see why you couldn't."

"I work at the front desk. I serve coffee. I answer the phone."

"So you have some experience, then."

"Not the kind you're looking for."

Her heart was beginning to beat a heavy imprint within her chest, hammering so hard that she wondered if Todd could hear it in the dull silence of the night.

He laughed and leaned back with ease. "I can pull some strings. What, you want to work front desk for the rest of your life? Serving coffee, answering the phone?"

The repetition of her own words slung back at her made Reagan cringe. When Todd said it, it didn't sound as tolerable as she'd made it seem.

And then, Reagan felt a sear of irritation tear through her. She thought about Todd and what he was asking of her, how he'd invited her to the outing based on her gender, and she began to question his motives.

"Is this because of who I know?" she asked. Her anger was starting to properly churn. "Is this because I'm married to Dave? Friends with Kurt?"

"What? No. Of course not." Todd stared blankly at her, as if he hadn't once considered those truths. Reagan eyed him suspiciously, but his dumbfounded look didn't waver. He seemed honest about where he was coming from. Whatever had sparked his interest in her hadn't stemmed from who she knew in the business.

"Alright," she began, steadying her voice. "If I say yes, then . . .?"

"Come to my office. Say, ten a.m tomorrow. We'll talk."

Todd smiled at her and inclined his head to signal his departure. He shut her car door and walked off, leaving Reagan alone in the parking lot.

She sat still for what felt like an hour. Her hands were rooted in her lap, her keys encased inside of their iron grip.

That couldn't have just happened. It was only a plausible that she'd imagined the whole conversation, maybe even the whole night, and it would all turn out to be a very silly dream that she'd re-tell to Dave in the morning.

But that excuse didn't hold. Reagan knew it was real. She could still hear Todd's words echoing in her head, coaxing her into a position that would change her whole life. It was a position that she'd always found to be untrainable, something that she might have daydreamed about while working at Wilson's.

An A&R person? At Geffen?

She snapped into sudden movement, jamming her key into the ignition and revving her car backwards out of her parking space. Her heart was still beating furiously and she could hear the thrum of it in her ears.

She had to get home as quickly as possible and talk to Dave.

__________

"Dave!" Reagan called as she walked through the front door. She fumbled with the strap of her purse that had gotten caught on the door knob. "Dave!"

He strolled out of the kitchen to greet her with a beer in his hand. The house was quiet except for the sound of the television playing in the living room. He was still in his clothes from earlier, a rumpled Bad Brains shirt and pajama bottoms. Weirdly enough, he almost looked like Kurt in the getup.

"Hey baby," Dave said cheerfully. He took a swig of beer. "How did it go?"

"He offered me a job," Reagan said, breathless as she clutched her keys. "Todd said he wants to have a meeting with me. With me. He thinks I should do A&R."

"That's great!" Dave cried. He widened his eyes and then made a face, owing to the fact that Gracie was sleeping in her room.

"I know. I wasn't expecting that at all. I don't even know what to think! I mean, me? I don't think I know enough but Todd says I do, that I'll be fine," she rambled.

"You'll be fine. You have me. I've had my fair share of encounters with A&R guys, I know how it goes."

"But me? You think I can do it?"

"It's not a question of 'think,'" Dave grinned. "I know you can."

He set down his beer and pulled Reagan into a hug, kissing the top of her head. She sighed against his chest and pressed her fingers into his shoulder blades.

"I can't believe this," she said, speaking not only to Dave, but to herself.

"Believe it, baby. Come on, you deserve this. You've been working behind that stupid front desk for too long. You've got more to offer than that. And you're a great drummer. You know a shit ton about music."

Suddenly, Reagan stiffened. Her hands fell away from Dave's back and her body went cold, draining of the exhilarated heat that had followed her all the way home.

She was a drummer. Dave had just said so. Todd had said so, earlier that night, when he had somehow known this about her despite her having never mentioned it.

I also thought it might have to do with you being one yourself . . .

"You did this," she whispered.

"Hm?" Dave said, busy skimming his nose through her hair.

Reagan took a wide step backward away from him, wresting herself out of his arms. She balled her hands up at her side and stared at him incredulously.

"You did this," she repeated. "You got him to take me tonight. You told him to offer me the A&R job."

Dave couldn't lie to her. The love that he had for Reagan made it impossible to be dishonest with her? even when it would have desperately worked in his favor. He could stand there and pretend to look offended as much as he wanted, but nothing could have dimmed the eventual expression of guilt that darkened his face.

"It was you," Reagan whispered. "It . . . it wasn't me. You told them to do it."

"Reagan . . . I didn't . . ."

"No, don't deny it. Don't lie to me. Did you or did you not have something to do with this?"

Dave grappled with what to say next, struggling to respond hastily before Reagan really exploded.

"I might have mentioned it, but —,"

"So it was a lie, then. All that shit Todd said about me being good for this job. It had nothing to do with me. It was you. You bribed them again."

"I didn't bribe anyone!" Dave denied fiercely. "Yeah, I might have suggested that they promote you, but that was only because you deserve better. You're too smart to sit behind that damn desk all day."

"You got me that job sitting behind that damn desk!" Reagan snapped.

"Yeah, I did, and then I realized that you're worth more than that! You can be in this business, Reagan! You can do what you love and not have to be in a band."

"You shouldn't have done that. You should have never stuck your nose in it. It was all a lie."

The night was crumbling in on itself, leaving Reagan to suffer beneath the rubble. All the flattery, all the confidence, all of it had melted away. Just like a dream. In the end, it had been what she'd originally thought it to be. A dumb, stupid dream.

Todd didn't see shit in her. What he saw contested against everything that Reagan really was under the surface. All he saw was the wife of an important client, a client who was absolutely willing to go the extra mile to see her succeed.

But it wouldn't have been real success. There was no sweat, tears and blood that would have gone into the title given to her. It would have been a facade, a sham. A product of another who-do-you-know game.

"He wasn't lying to you, he was telling you everything that I told him!" Dave growled. "I didn't bullshit him for a second about you."

"You did enough," Reagan said, pressing her mouth into a thin line. "You couldn't have just let me be. If anyone had noticed me, it could have at least been on their own terms, if they really saw something in me. Not because someone bullied them into it."

"I didn't fucking bully anyone!"

"I wanted to earn this on my own, Dave! You can't just expect me to ride on the coattails of your influence for the rest of my life! I can do shit for myself!"

"That's why I tried to help get you the job!"

They were really yelling now, leaning into each other and turning bright red in their faces. The fight was interrupted by the sound of a piercing wail that came from down the hallway.

Gracie's room. They'd woken her up.

Reagan drew back from her defensive stance and looked away from Dave. She loved him, god did she love him, but he had fucked up. He'd taken the wonderful turn of events and trashed them, proving that he'd been puppeteering the opportunity the whole time.

What hurt the most was the realization that Reagan had been right. She was indeed just a front desk girl, bound to wait on others for the rest of her life just like she had done at Wilson's.

The only notoriety that she'd ever gain for as long as she lived was the label of being someone's wife.

That was it.

"I'm going to get her," she mumbled, pushing past Dave and disappearing. She didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to look into anyone's face except Gracie's, her one true reward that she'd gotten out of existence.

Later in the night, once Dave crawled into bed after sulking angrily in the living room for two hours, they slept with their backs turned to each other.

For the first since he'd met her, Dave didn't hold Reagan while they slept.

a/n - i really hate spamming these chapters with author's notes, but i want to apologize for my lack of knowledge concerning record labels. i really don't know shit about them, though i did my best to compile some research. also, yes, i reused the name of charlie's band from ITS, don't hate me for it, i suck at coming up with band names! yes, i am lazy. yes, i also enjoy leaving easter eggs in this story that have to do with my nostalgic past