This is my entry for the femslashficathon. My challenge explained at the end.
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Tara licked her suddenly dry lips nervously. Just because she’d been doing this for a while didn’t mean it was easy. Having an audience didn’t help. Willow had helped her practice for this last night, and she’d certainly thought Tara’s technique was good enough. Just think of the money, Tara told herself as she stepped forward, opened her mouth and … started to sing.
She’d been a waitress at the Espresso Pump for a few months when the owner, started looking around for local singers to perform one night a week. Tara had done a bit of singing in the church choir as a little girl, but nothing for years. However, textbooks on Taglarin Mythic Rites were expensive and soon Tara decided to give it a try.
Tara gazed into the audience as she sang. Willow, Xander, Anya, Buffy, Dawn and Mr. Giles were sitting around one of the larger wooden tables, Willow so excited she was practically jumping up and down in her chair.
In what felt like no time at all, Tara’s thirty minute set was over. She thanked the audience and went to sit with her friends.
“You were incredible!” Willow exclaimed, and each person added his or her congratulations. She’d performed at the Pump a few times before. But, this was the first time they’d all been to see her as a group.
The manager of the Pump walked up to the table and said, “Tara, there’s a man asking to see you,” pointing to a man and a woman who looked like something out of W magazine.
“Now there’s something you don’t hear every day,” Anya remarked as Tara stood up and walked to the man’s table.
“Tara, sweetie, so great to meet you at last!” the man said, standing up and air -kissing Tara on both cheeks.
Tara stood awkwardly, not sure what she was supposed to do.
“This is Sinclair, and my name is Michael Pearson. We have a proposition for you,” the man said, gesturing to Tara to join them.
Tara had heard of things like this happening to singers, but she hadn’t expected it from a half-hour set in a coffee bar.
“I’m very flattered, but I don’t r-really, I mean it’s not that I have anything against w-women,” she smiled at Sinclair, “But th-three, and I’m seeing someone,” Tara beckoned furiously to Willow, who walked over and stood by Tara.
“Is there something wrong?” Willow asked frowning slightly.
Tara whispered into Willow’s ear, “They’re propositioning me!”
“What?” Willow almost shouted, turning around to give Michael and Sinclair a piece of her mind.
Michael laughed, stopping Willow’s tirade before it could begin. “No, not that kind of proposition. Tell me, Tara, have you ever thought about singing professionally?”
After a few seconds of shocked silence, Tara answered, “No, never.”
“I’m an agent,” Michael began. “I am here to offer you a contract with my agency,. We’re pretty confident we can get you a recording contract. Maybe you want to discuss it with your girlfriend,”
Tara walked over to a separate table, Willow following her.
After what must have been five minutes of silence, Willow asked, “Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?”
Tara hesitated, then said, “I want to sign.”
Willow was surprised: her normally shy girlfriend wanting to sign a contract that could make her into a star? Odd.
“Why’s that sweetie?”
Tara’s face was serious..“I figured out I was gay when I was twelve and I was so scared: I thought there was something wrong with me. There wasn’t anyone around to tell me it was okay. I think there needs to be someone around to let other girls know that they don’t have a problem.” The corner of her mouth lifted in an impish grin. “And I kind of want to be on Total Request Live.”
Willow reached across the table and held her girlfriend’s hand between her own, “I think you should go for it.”
Tara flashed her a bright, beautiful smile.
Returning to Michael’s table, she announced, “I’ve decided to accept your offer.”.
“Wonderful,” he said. “Now, one minor problem.Which is why I brought Sinclair here with me.” Sinclair was a portrait in black: sunglasses (indoors, at night), shirt, jacket, tailored pants and boots. Tara thought she looked kind of scary.
“What problems?” Tara frowned.
“Sweetie, it’s the look,” Sinclair drawled, looking over the top of her Chanel sunglasses.
“The look?” Tara repeated, not quite getting it.
“Frankly, you look like a Bulgarian peasant who decided her own clothes weren’t dowdy enough - so why not borrow some of Grandma’s?”
Willow was practically spluttering with anger, “How dare you? I bought Tara that shirt!”
The stylist sniffed, “It shows,” she muttered , taking in Willow’s green and pink peasant top and long brown skirt.
Once, Willow would have cowered from a contretemps with the fashion police. But, having faced the fashion Terminator, Cordelia, since kindergarten, Willow was ready to fight.
“Yeah, well at least I don’t have delusions of Catwomanhood..ness..dom!” Willow fired back, “Tara likes the way she dresses, and nothing you can say will change that!”
“Yes, but then even Hitler’s mother loved him,” Sinclair observed dryly.
Willow almost jumped in triumph, “Godwin’s Law! You lose the argument!”
“What?”
“If you mention Hitler or the Nazis in a discussion, you automatically lose,” Willow explained,
We are the Champions playing in her head.
“Oh, well, I guess you’ll be providing the record contract then,” Sinclair observed archly.
Tara moved over to Michael, and whispered. “Is she often like this?”
He nodded and whispered back, “She’s not good at shutting up.”
“I know the feeling,” Tara empathised.
Willow and Sinclair continued to sling designer mud, oblivious.
“Why do you want me to get a stylist?”
“For one thing, the way you look is important when your face is on millions of CD covers, and for another, look at you. You can be stunning without being a size zero bleached blonde. Don’t you want to prove that?”
Willow was still telling Sinclair that Tara would wear what she damn well wanted, while Sinclair sniffed and spewed phrases like ‘babushkas on parade.’ Tara took a deep breath and told them to, “Shut up! Please.”
Willow and Sinclair stopped in their tracks.
“Sinclair, thank you, but I don’t want you as a stylist,”
Willow smirked in a smug, I-told-you-so way, when Tara continued, “But I am going to have someone to help me pick out outfits, someone I know and someone I will choose.”
Tara walked back over to where the now rabidly curious Scooby Gang were sitting, craning their necks to see what was going on.
“Anya, could I speak to you for a moment?” Tara asked.
Anya followed her over to yet another part of the coffee bar, demanding on the way, “Was that man a groupie? Does he want you to take part in an orgy? I’m guessing wild monkey sex with men isn’t exactly your forte, so if you want some pointers, I know this excellent trick with-”
“Please, no more,” Tara interrupted, “He’s a music agent and he’s signing me to a contract, but he wants me to change my image. So I wanted to ask you, would you please help me to dress better?”
Anya’s eyes gleamed. There was nothing she loved better than a challenge, and after having taught Xander Harris the finer points of oral sex, this should be easy.
“Yes. I will. In exchange for two and a half per cent of whatever you make from the singing.”
Tara wasn’t expecting to make anything, “Done.”
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Tara got a record deal less than three months later. Her debut single entered the charts at number two, her album at number four. It climbed to number one after Tara came out in an interview in Rolling Stone, simultaneously delighting and devastating millions of men.
Anya’s taste did the trick. She was directly responsible for Tara being voted ‘Best Dressed Woman’ in several fashion magazine polls.
Tara got on MTV and managed to get backstage passes for her friends. This especially delighted Dawn, currently dating one of Justin Timberlake’s dancers.
Willow has managed to tell everyone in both hemispheres that “My girlfriend has a band!”
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I had to fix the one thing about W/T that irritated me the most: I chose Tara's wardrobe.