Title: Of Mice and Children
Author: Rainstorm55
Rating: K+
Synopsis: 10-Year old Todd Manning gets lost in Lincoln Center and meets a young girl with a boy's name…
December 23rd, 1983
Todd Manning took a last, longing breath of freezing, fresh air as he trudged past the Christmas tree and into the chandelier-lit foyer of Lincoln Center. After so many hours driving through snow and slush, it was a relief to be out of the stifling, overheated, coffin-like atmosphere of the limousine, but he was dreading the even duller ordeal that lay ahead.
"Dad, I don't want to see the stupid Nutcracker. Can't I wait for you in the limo? I swear I'll behave."
Tickets from tonight's performance of the famous ballet were going towards New York Children's Hospital, and his father never missed a chance to make a good philanthropic impression – or a tax-deductible donation.
Even a book would be better than this.
Todd had packed plenty of reading material for the deadly boring drive from Llanview, and he still had several books to choose from. Diving into 'The Two Towers' or 'The Castle of Lyr' in the quiet privacy of the spacious backseat sounded like heaven to him.
"You CAN, but you may not. Now shut up, and stand up straight."
"Dad, we're in Manhattan. It's a clear night. Can't we skip this and go to the top of the Empire State -"
Peter Manning suddenly lost control.
"You little - get over here!"
Todd's stomach plummeted into his shoes as his father grabbed the back of his neck in an all-too familiar grasp and dragged him around the corner out of sight into a darkened alcove. He shouldn't have pushed his luck, but he hadn't realized that Lincoln Center would have hidden corners where his father could rage at him unseen.
Todd grunted as his father shoved him against the wall and held him there by the collar. .
"Listen to me, you little bastard," Peter Manning hissed. "You think I put up with your snotnose company all the way from Llanview for my health? We're here to meet people, to make connections. Connections for YOU. And before you argue, you little punk; it's never too early to start knowing who to get favors from. You never know when you'll run into people later in life. So you will get your ungrateful ass in there. You will smile and shake hands with whomever I tell you. You will not make a sound during the performance. And if you make one more argument, so help me God, as soon as we get back in that car, I will make you even sorrier than I am that you were ever born. Is that clear?"
It was clear enough, so Todd briskly nodded. Peter Manning's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he scanned his adopted son's face for signs of facetiousness. He didn't find any, but he still delivered a stinging smack to the back of Todd's head before releasing his shirt collar.
Tears bit the backs of Todd's eyeballs as his father reached out and roughly straightened the tie he'd mussed by grabbing him. He told himself it was just that the smack had hurt, and had taken him by surprise. But he knew that neither of those things was true. What hurt deep down was the knowledge that only the presence of strangers had saved him from a real beating. And it was probably only a temporary reprieve at that. He wished his father had gotten it over with. The pain of the bruises was nothing compared to the sickening acid drip of waiting that constantly burned his stomach.
The roads had been snowy, which had prolonged their journey. Their brief argument had further delayed their entrance, so Peter Manning merely nodded at a few business acquaintances as he herded his son across the crowded foyer with a hand on his shoulder. To a casual observer, the touch might have appeared protective and guiding – even loving. Only Todd felt the deep ache of his father's strong fingers into his neck and collarbone as they entered the massive performance hall.
Their seats were fifth row center, which Todd quickly discovered was a small blessing. Since they were sitting so close to the stage, his back was to most of the audience, so he was less likely to be caught yawning by a fellow theatergoer. He was also grateful to note that they were sitting close to a side exit of the theater.
The lights dimmed, and a tall conductor dressed in what Todd privately deemed "penguin chic" emerged and made a dignified bow amidst a polite shower of applause from the audience. The sound muffled Todd's tiny sigh, which thankfully went unheard by his father.
Peter Manning sat bolt upright next to his son. Todd knew from experience that his ramrod posture was a silent warning to him. Peter Manning couldn't have dared Todd to slouch or stretch his arms more clearly if he'd delivered a diatribe or cuff to the head like the ones he'd shot at Todd in the foyer.
Todd knew he wasn't as stupid as his father always accused him of being – at least, he had sense enough to spare his own skin whenever he was given a clue how. So he sat as still as his father and as tall as he could, ignoring the pain that slowly built between his shoulder blades.
The discomfort helped to distract him from the inane performance they were being treated to. The whole story was based on a stupid girl's stupid dream, for God's sake – just like 'The Wizard of Oz', which he also despised. Dancing mice? Toys that came alive? Please.
The first two hours of the show were interminable, but intermission finally came. As the lights rose and people politely excused themselves to their seatmates to head for the lobby, Peter turned to smile at the woman with a helmet of blonde hair and a black sequined dress next to him.
Todd, never one to miss an opportunity, rose and stretched onto his toes for a moment, barely managing to suppress a groan of relief from the tension in his arms, back and legs.
"Sir, may I please be excused?"
Peter Manning rolled his eyes in disgust but then jerked his head to the red glowing Exit sign to their left. "Don't dawdle. Don't get lost. Don't open your mouth to people you don't know, and don't draw attention to yourself coming back to your seat."
"Yes, sir. I won't, sir."
Todd hurried to the men's room, wanting to make the most of the brief fifteen minutes of solitude before the ballet's second act. At least at home, his father usually let him pretty much alone in his room. Sometimes he even confined Todd in there all day, little imagining what a respite it was for his son.
The hours in the back of the cramped, stuffy limo sitting six inches away from his father's relentless barbs had been endless. The two hours in the dark theater had been quieter, but almost worse because they drive home the point that no matter how open and wide-ceilinged a room thy sat in together, his father's presence would always choke him. The knowledge made Todd feel hopeless beyond reason.
And as he washed his face in icy water and then dried his hands, he asked his bleary-eyed expression for the thousandth time why he'd ever been born. His blood parents hadn't wanted him anyway, a fact that his father took delight in mentioning as often as possible.
"The day I took you in was the day it all went downhill for me. You were trouble from the start. Always a puling, spineless little whiner. Your mother couldn't take it, and God knows how much longer I'll be able to. I must have been temporarily insane, taking on a brat that wasn't even mine. You'll never be anything but grief to anyone."
Todd never had any response to these statements – they were all indisputably true. As he dwelled on these and other happy thoughts, he noticed a rear exit to the men's room and decided to use it. The way back through that door would probably be quicker and quieter, and he was dead if he was late back to his seat.
As the door swung shut behind him, Todd stopped suddenly on the thick red carpet and realized in horror that the hallway was totally unfamiliar. His stomach clenched like his father's fists as he turned back to the men's room door and realized it was locked, and he couldn't risk drawing attention to himself by banging on it. He was locked out, and now he was lost.
Things went from peachy keen to perfect as the house lights flickered on and off several times. Even if he could have doubled back through the restroom, Todd had been to enough live concerts to know that the theater doors would now be locked and no one would be admitted.
His father would never believe that he hadn't been able to find his way back to the hall. He wouldn't care that Todd had never been here before and had no way of knowing how huge the place was.
Todd's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he sighed deeply as he weighed the pros and cons of the situation.
Cons? His father would be seething in his seat, but wouldn't risk a spectacle by storming out to search for him. Todd had about ninety minutes of respite before the ballet ended. When it did, Todd knew he had better be waiting for his dad right outside the immense doors of the hall. His punishment would get worse for every single second that his father had to look for him.
Pros? His dad probably would have whipped him anyway for daring to suggest that they do something together as father and son rather than sit through this sissy ballet. At least now he wouldn't have to suffer through its second half.
Todd, cheered by this thought, relaxed slightly as he strolled through the corridor. If someone found him here, he'd just tell the truth – that he'd gotten lost. It had surely happened before, and it's not like he was going to steal anything or break into any place.
He jumped slightly as the rich melody of a piano spilled from a nearby room down the hall on his left.