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Ivy should be tired of caring about Karen Cartwright. She’s wasted so many hours and so much emotional energy hating her and then, later, trying to repair bridges that had burnt before they could even be built. After their attempt at friendship a few years ago had imploded, Karen had made it very clear that she didn’t want to see, hear from, or even think about Ivy again if she could help it. Ivy should have washed her hands of Karen Cartwright right there and then; Karen Cartwright should be a flashing neon sign in Ivy’s mind labelled Do Not Approach.
And yet here Karen Cartwright is, swaying on her feet, eyes glued to Ivy’s Tony like she can manifest her own. She’d materialized at Ivy’s side almost the second she’d gotten to the afterparty and hasn’t left all night, apart from when Ivy had left her to go to the bathroom. When she’d returned, Karen had been noticeably more drunk, and had been holding Ivy’s Tony like it might shatter in her hands.
It’s hard to look at Karen. Her disappointment is clear on her face, easy to read in those perpetually wide doe eyes. Karen looks like Ivy, the night she’d been at the Tonys for Heaven on Earth—desperate to be recognized and aching for something more, except Karen has it much worse than Ivy ever did; Heaven on Earth's lead actress Tony had never been Ivy’s to win or lose. Ivy shifts the Tony in her hands, moves her clutch in front of it like blocking it from Karen’s view will make the loss hurt less.
Karen tracks the motion. “You don’t have to do that,” she says. She’s slurring her words slightly, her eyes too-bright with alcohol. “You won it; it’s yours.” She offers Ivy a strained smile. “I haven’t congratulated you yet.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Ivy echoes.
Karen doesn’t. She’s a shadow by Ivy’s side, silent as people approach again and again to congratulate her. Most of the well-wishers don’t even notice Karen, and those that do falter in their praise. Some of them hastily tack on a congratulations aimed at her, too. Karen says nothing in response, just smiles tightly and takes another sip of her drink.
The party winds down.
Ivy’d lost Derek earlier in the night, sometime after Karen had attached herself to Ivy’s side like a limpet. He’d made to come over and Ivy had waved him off, frantic but subtle. Derek’s lack of charm combined with Karen’s new bitterness was a recipe for disaster. She loves her husband, but delicacy is not his forte. He’s well and truly gone now, either to an after-afterparty or, Ivy hopes, home to relieve their babysitter.
Someone knocks into Karen and she stumbles, almost falling. Ivy steadies her, a hand on her waist for support, and Karen’s head sways briefly onto her shoulder. She hasn’t kept track of how many drinks Karen has had. Maybe she should have; a friend would have. All Ivy can come up with is probably too many.
“You okay, Iowa?”
“Yeah,” Karen slurs, muffled, her breath warm as it ghosts across Ivy’s neck, and Ivy doesn’t believe her for a second.
“Maybe we should get you home.”
Karen pulls back, stumbles, and Ivy catches her again. “Don’t, it’s all for you.” She gestures wildly at the party, and her eyes go big and sad again. “And not for me.”
She looks heartbroken, tears welling in her eyes, and Ivy’s heart breaks a little for her. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says without meaning to, “let’s go.”
She gets Karen outside with some effort—their heels, height difference, and Karen’s inherent clumsiness even sober making it difficult even if Ivy wasn’t supporting most of Karen’s weight. What a picture they must make, Ivy strong-arming Karen towards the taxi stand while brandishing a Tony in the other hand. Maybe in five years they’ll be able to look back at the inevitable paparazzi pictures and laugh.
She was going to put Karen in a taxi and send her home, alone. That plan evaporates the second Karen collapses into the backseat. She can’t leave Karen like this. Not when this is her fault, not when Ivy still owes her for that terrible last night at Heaven on Earth.
She’d hoped she’d never have to repay that favor.
Ivy slides into the backseat. “Karen, honey,” she says gently, “what’s your address?”
—
Miraculously, Karen hasn’t lost her keys. No, in alarming—and alarmingly clever—fashion, Karen—clutchless, purseless, in a dress molded onto her body with no room for pockets of any size—reaches into her bra and retrieves keys, wallet, and phone while Ivy looks on in amazement.
“Are you Mary Poppins?”
“Practically perfect in every way,” Karen says, affecting a British accent, and Ivy laughs, shaking her head.
”Don’t let Derek hear you do that.” Ivy takes the keys from Karen and unlocks the door.
Karen kicks off her heels and stumbles deeper into the apartment while Ivy hunts for a light switch.
The apartment’s a studio—a shoebox, really—and reminds Ivy not-quite-fondly of her own old apartment.
When Ivy reaches the bedroom, Karen’s trying to get her dress off, contorting herself in an attempt to reach an invisible zipper.
“Let me help you with that,” Ivy says, rushing over. She puts her clutch down on the nightstand and the Tony clunks down next to it.
She unzips Karen’s dress and busies herself looking in Karen’s closet for something more comfortable for her to sleep in. When she turns around, faded t-shirt and sweatpants in hand, Karen hasn’t moved.
Her gaze is laser-focused on the Tony. The Tony on Karen's nightstand. The Tony where Karen would likely have put it if this night had gone differently.
“Oh,” Ivy says dumbly. “I’m sorry; I didn’t think.”
She goes to move it, to hide it, to get it away, and Karen stops her.
“Don’t,” she says, and gives Ivy a watery smile. “Let me pretend?”
And Ivy’s heart breaks again.
She squeezes Karen’s arm, tries for a gentle smile of her own. “Sure, honey,” she says, and flees to the bathroom because she can’t bear to look at Karen any longer.
She splashes water on her face. She’s long since sobered up, but she needs something in order to brace herself to face Karen again.
This is not where Ivy had thought she would end up tonight. This is not where Ivy thought she would end up any night.
She wonders if she’d looked like this to Karen, that night after she’d lost Marilyn. If she’d been this lost, this devastated. She hopes not. She doesn’t remember much of that night; it's a blur of light and color and drug-and-alcohol-induced happiness. She vividly remembers bumming a twenty off Karen, thinking that if she was going to trail Ivy like a puppy she might as well be useful.
She returns to the bedroom, makeup wipes in hand. Karen’s changed into the clothes Ivy laid out, dress crumpled in a pile on the floor. Thankfully, she’s no longer staring sorrowfully at the Tony. Unfortunately, she’s instead flat on her back, crying silently.
“None of that, Iowa,” Ivy says firmly. “You’ll stain your pretty sheets.”
She tugs Karen back up to sitting, and Karen lets herself be moved like a doll. Ivy cleans her face quickly, efficiently, like she would for another ensemble member.
Ivy pulls back. “That’s better,” she says, with brightness that she doesn’t feel.
”Am I not good enough?” Her voice is hollow, and Ivy wants so badly to hug her.
”Oh, Iowa, why do you think I was so scared of you?" She squeezes Karen's hand. "You’ll get there next time. You’re good, Karen.”
She can tell Karen doesn’t believe her. Without makeup, Karen looks achingly young, and so lost that Ivy presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’d give it to you if I could.”
She’s not lying, isn’t trying to spare Karen’s feelings. Karen Cartwright is nothing if not talented, and when Ivy had seen her perform it had been obvious she’d be nominated. She’d felt threatened, actually, a flash of old fear and anxiety that she’d had to stamp out before it became something ugly and undeserved. It was only when they’d read out Ivy’s name instead that she realized that she’d assumed it was Karen’s Tony to lose.
How true that was now.
Karen’s eyes are drooping now, and Ivy helps her under the covers. She can’t resist tucking Karen in like she would her son, and when she looks up after smoothing the covers, Karen’s already asleep.
Ivy tries to be quiet as she moves around the apartment. She leaves Karen two glasses of water, some aspirin, and moves the wastebasket next to the bed.
She wonders if Karen will remember any of this tomorrow. She doubts it.
It’s only when Ivy’s back home, fishing her keys out of her clutch, that she realizes that she left the damn Tony on Karen’s nightstand.
She braces herself against the door and laughs so hard she cries.