"So are you performing tonight?"
This wasn't so much of a question of ability or anxiety, she could perform tonight - she would definitely perform tonight. No it was more a question about emotional ability, every night there was always a question about whether or not she could handle being on stage. She had been preparing for opera her whole life, years ago she even had some mediocre success - had being the key word. She pushed away the images of her mother, the hole in her chest, the hole so big you dare not look, for you could probable see straight through it.
Helena stands up and looks in the mirror for a second, her dress looks absolutely stunning and that gives her some confidence. As she runs her fingers over the varying colors of blue and gold she thinks about the audience. Most have probably never heard of her, never knew she had a mother assassinated on stage, and would never guess how close she came to ending it all. Then again there was the passion, the passion for the song and for the emotions aroused by the songs. Long ago her mother passed her an adage about performers without passion, about how they can never make it for long: the demands of the audience, the production house, and the demands on your body to perform. She would talk to her as they sat there together on the piano her mother singing in between sentences, telling her about those she had worked with who couldn't take it for more than a few years. She can remember these talks as if they had happened yesterday, the flowery smell of her mothers perfume and the way her mothers hair would sway from side to side as she sang.
Helena had always been attractive, as a girl she was cute, as a teen she was pretty, and as an adult she was beautiful. The last five years hadn't helped her much, she still had long blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but her expressions seemed to be less positive and more indifferent. The last two years had been better, the last two years she had been performing and it was exactly what she needed.
"Of course I will be on stage tonight, " Helena finally answers.
The production manager, was a short man with large bald spot on top of his head. He was the closest thing she had to family, he had worked with her mom for longer than she could remember and at the funeral he was the one who stayed with her long after everyone had left.
Pierre looks at her sadly and bows, "Your mother would be proud."
It is not the words, well not simply the words, it is hearing them in French, it is hearing them as all her friends would have said them. Berlin has been very accommodating and she has enjoyed her time here, but Germany is not France, and Berlin is not Paris. She looks into the mirror on the vanity table and begins to drift away her eyelids slowly closing.
She is awaken by a soft rapping at her dressing room door, it catches her off guard and she takes a moment to remember where she is at. Finally she looks over at the clock on the wall and notices she must have slept, or daydreamed, for about ten minutes. Still plenty of time for the show. There is another knock,
"Fräulein Helena?" Comes from behind the door.
"Come in," She finally responds.
One the front-end personnel slowly enters the room, a blonde man about medium height and a slightly small frame holding a program with some handwriting written over the text. His English is as bad as Helena's German, but still they try to communicate.
"It was girl and boy, to see you," The words hesitantly leaving his mouth.
Helena takes the program and looks at the writing, it takes her only a second to read and after her face lights up. In response the man now seems as though he has done something good and he begins to smile and stand more confidently. It seems as though she may even cry, she stands there for a second, and then sets the note on her vanity. She reaches down and grabs a small slip of paper and makes a motion to the man the she needs a pen. He quickly reaches into his Tux and pulls out a black pen, she quickly scrawls some words on the slip and hands the note to the man,
"Take this note to Pierre," She emphasizes the name, even if he can't understand the sentence he knows who the Production Manager is. He takes the note and begins to turn when she grabs him, he turns back around to face her.
She reaches down and grabs the program with the handwriting on it and speaks again, "Bring them here after the show. Verstehst du?" She finally remembered the phrase she was looking for, 'do you understand,' at least she hoped she was right.
"Ja," He says as he reaches for the door know and exits the room.
It seems tonight will be one of the rare nights where things happen better than anticipated. She sits back down, this time on the couch and begins to think. It had been a long time since she had any good news; it had been a long time since she could remember actually being happy to see someone. Maybe her mother would be proud, not about her brief foray into running a multi-national company, but that she was actually back on the stage, and that there were at least two people who cared she was alive.
She knew they were both from Germany and had run across them shopping at a local health food store. She couldn't believe her eyes at first. She tried to avoid them but when she was at the register they and recognized her. It was a pleasant surprise that after their last meeting they wouldn't simply try to kill her right there, right by the magazines talking about celebrities. She was amazed about how much they knew, the assassination attempt, the secret lab experiment, and the destruction of the company headquarters. They had met for tea one other time and the conversation was quite delightful, it seemed that everything was working out for them. That was two years ago, and in truth it was their ability to bounce back that had inspired her to begin singing again, they were the ones responsible for what popularity she had regained, and for that she was delighted to see them.
As she lay there on the couch she began to think about how wonderful this night had turned out to be, she tried to focus on the lyrics but found herself to happy to think about heartbreak and death as the lyrics proclaimed. There was nothing she though, nothing that could ruin this perfect night. Unfortunately for her nothing was sitting in a cheap motel, and nothing ran across her picture in the paper, and nothing was dialing her number right now...