After a few cold splashes of water, she stared into the mirror, inches away from the reflection. She studied her own hazel-brown eyes carefully, watching them slowly dilate and contract. This is real, she reminded herself. This wasn't a dream. The water slowly dripped from her cheeks, down her jaw line, and fell into the sink underneath her. Christine watched herself breathe for a few more moments before she moved again.
When she did, it was out of pure, unadulterated joy. She spun around in circles, bounced up and down, trying to let out all of her energy as much as possible in the tiny, cramped bathroom in the back of the airplane. She grabbed the pair of headphones that she'd left dangling around her neck, plugged in her mp3 player, and cranked up the volume and she found the perfect song to go with her small yet exciting achievement. Was this the beginning of it all? Maybe, maybe not, as she slowly came to realize the uncertainty of what had just happened. Nevertheless, it was a step forward. She looked in the mirror once more as the loud bass and vocoded singing thumped through her headphones. Christine then reminded herself of one thing, mouthing the words quietly: don't give up. This opportunity was just that-an opportunity. It wasn't a guarantee; neither a promise nor an indication of what could happen when she started
Still, Christine couldn't help but feel anything less than giddy. This had to be the start of something; she could sense it. Her conversation with Isak felt so warm and genuine, that is, it seemed so unlikely for him to be putting up a front. Christine allowed that she was an easily trusting person-much easier than most, in fact. But following her gut instinct got her to where she was now, hadn't it it? Her stomach churned after exploring the uncertainty of the whole situation. She had no idea of what the future held, that was all she could surmise right now. But she'd be damned if what just took place didn't motivate Christine even more. Silently, she made a vow that no matter what happened, she would never stop working on her music.
With that resolve, an idea suddenly struck Christine like a ton of bricks. She whipped out her phone and opened the voice memo application. Thank goodness for these things, she thought to herself. She pressed the bright red record button, creating a file named 'New Recording 124', and her phone began flashing the familiar countdown at her, prompting her to begin. Christine started to quietly vocalize, no lyrics, but a definitive melody in a major key. It matched exactly what she was feeling now, and she even had the confidence to pepper in a few falsettos and vocal runs. It was hopeful, it was exciting, and it was full of anticipation. It was only an unsatisfied, unfinished hook for the time being, but Christine silently hoped a resolute chorus would come to her-something that followed through in the melody-sooner rather than later, she thought rather poignantly. With a few unceremonious taps to the touch screen, she ripped off her headphones, stuffed her phone into her pocket, and hurried back to her seat upon the sudden realization they were about to land soon. Not to mention Isak was probably wondering what the hell was taking her so long, she thought with a twinge of embarrassment.
Less than an hour had passed, and Christine found herself in the back of a speeding car. To her left, a platinum-blond girl, barely reaching 5 feet tall, was babbling excitedly with a French accent. Prior to today, Christine had never seen this girl in the flesh before. It was strange, no doubt, but at the same time, it wasn't completely uncomfortable. It was a lot like Christine expected Meg to be like in real life.
"Christine, you really need to practice your French, if we're being honest," Meg stage-whispered. "The Uber driver didn't seem, ah, particularly pleased when you spoke in English." She gave a mischievous grin, and Christine rolled her eyes.
"Shut up, Meg," Christine said playfully in response. "Look, I'm really trying here, I have an app and everything, but when I'm put on the spot, I-ugh, I dunno," Christine sighed, slumping against the back seat. "I choke, I guess. Promise we'll practice around the house?"
"Mais oui," Meg responded in her effortless native tongue. "You are right, though, there's a big difference between writing and speaking. I guess I hadn't really thought of that when we were chatting online," she offered.
The driver hung a right turn, throwing around Meg and Christine in the backseat rather violently. Meg started to berate him in French; at least, that's what Christine surmised from how curtly she was speaking to him. Or perhaps she was giving him directions—yes, that was it, Christine realized as Meg leaned forward, gesticulating rapidly various shortcuts towards her apartment. Christine felt a twinge of guilt as she lost track of what her friend was saying to the driver—Meg was right, she really needed to brush up. Everyone here seemed to speak French at least twice as fast as she was able to keep up with.
During a lull in their chatting, Christine's thoughts couldn't help but wander back to Isak, and their parting words as they deplaned. He had expressed that he was looking forward to seeing her again, and while Christine thanked him politely, giving a serene smile, her heart was hammering in her chest all the while. She assured him she'd get in touch with him as soon as she had settled in-Christine decided that was a decent response; not too desperate, while not seeming too standoffish, either. As soon as they had parted ways, she pulled out his business card and typed in the phone number and e-mail into her phone's contact list. There was no way she was going to risk losing this potential foot in the door-
"So, what are we going to do tonight?" Meg bounced up and down excitedly in her seat, interrupting Christine's pensive state of mind. As she turned to Christine, tendrils of her white-blond hair bounced about, framing her olive-skinned, heart-shaped face. Christine was reminded of their first time video chatting; she marveled at how her deep, tanned skin contrasted with her bright, blue eyes and pale hair. Her eyes were a naturally occurring color, but she knew Meg religiously went to the salon to get her hair bleached. Christine recalled Meg choosing that shade because it made her look like a young Donatella-was that her name? Christine thought absentmindedly. Meg looked over at Christine expectantly, but her face fell a little when her friend failed to match her demeanor. Christine was still flopped back into her seat, looking less than energized. "Don't tell me you have jet lag," Meg added, scrunching up her face.
"Meg, merde, I've been travelling literally all day," Christine said helplessly. "Can't we just jam to new music and, like, chill at your place? You have to show me around anyway." Christine smiled to Meg in such a way that she knew she was right. "I can't properly settle in until I get the entire, official tour of the Giry Chateau, you know."
A deep, gravelly voice from the front of the car carefully cut in to the conversation, murmuring something in French that Christine couldn't completely understand, but could figure out well enough: The car had slowed down, beginning to pull up to an apartment building, and he glanced at them through his rearview mirror expectantly.
"You're getting the heavy one," Meg muttered to Christine as she jerked her head back towards the trunk. "Honestly, how much shit did you pack, your entire hard drive of music? I hope you packed at least some halfway decent clothes for when we go out…"
Her voice trailed off as she scrambled around for her purse. With some assistance from the driver, they managed to haul all four bags out of the trunk and to the apartment's walk-up. Christine secretly hoped the driver would have offered help, considering she didn't have the confidence or skill to directly ask, but once he had the fare money in hand, he had all but ran back to his car before either of the girls could try asking him. "Guess it's just us," Christine said rather sheepishly.
Meg just rolled her eyes. "Next time we need a favor from a strong man, let's wear lower cut tops," she chided Christine, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
Christine made a noise of disgust, turning away from her to start lugging the heaviest suitcase up the flight of stairs. "Oh, so that's why you were asking why I packed cute clothes?" She called out over her shoulder. "Not because you wanted to steal them?" She clearly recalled Meg oohing and aahing over some outfits of hers from past video chats. They discovered some months ago they were the same size, so Christine could sense a wardrobe swap happening sooner than later. Meg was also the type who hated to wear the same outfit twice, and she had a very particular eye for fashion, which actually could play to Christine's advantage-she thought about how expensive shopping in Paris would likely be, so the more access to different clothes, the better for her wallet, she thought happily.
She couldn't hear Meg's reply because she had already managed to round the first flight of steps, surprisingly. Luckily, she had remembered Meg's apartment unit from when she would send her friend the occasional care package over the years, so she knew she only had to go up one more level to arrive at the door of what would be her new home.
A brief thought flashed into the forefront of Christine's mind. This was it, she thought. This was the beginning of a new chapter. This was the chapter that she had been working so hard just to start writing it. Crossing the threshold into Meg's-now Meg's and her-apartment was very much the beginning of the beginning, Christine thought as her chest expanded with hope and pride. Behind her, she could hear Meg's chattering growing louder, but she couldn't seem to focus on it just yet. Christine took in everything at this very moment, closing her eyes as if to absorb everything as a camera shutter would, from the weathered blue and ivory paint, the sight of some old receipts that had been strewn about the floor of the hall, the slight scent of her scarf, how it smelled of both home in New York and the synthetic leather of the airplane seat she had sat in for so many hours, Meg's voice echoing up the stairwell, and Christine's feeling of hope and excitement of what the future held. What Isak's conversation could mean for her, and-
"Christine! Did you hear anything I said?" Meg shouted even though she had already reached the top of the stairs. For such a small girl, Meg carried a large set of lungs, Christine noted to herself fondly. "We're going out tonight, and that's that, I don't care how much energy drinks or cups of coffee it takes to get you back up and running. Jammes has some great clubs in mind, and she knows what kind of music we prefer, too-" she stopped momentarily, grunting to set down the last of Christine's bags so that she could dig in her backpack for her keys. Once again, Meg impressed Christine with her strength for someone barely five feet tall. "I can't wait for you two to meet, by the way, I know you'll hit it off," she added hastily before unceremoniously shoving a large brass key into the door handle. With a skilled and well-practiced movement, she jiggled the handle with one hand and simultaneously shoved the door open with the opposite shoulder. Meg must have felt Christine's stare, because she jerked her head up and began to turn slightly pink. "The damned super, she still won't fix the door…" She shrugged it off, and instead plastered on a big smile. "Are you ready?"
Christine took a big, sharp inhale, shrugging and laughing, looking a bit earnest when she replied: "As ready as I'll ever be!"
"Welcome… to Chez Giry!" Meg announced, swinging the door wide open, both for dramatic effect, and so that she had plenty of space to begin dragging in Christine's luggage.
Christine had something of an idea of what Meg's flat looked like, after all, they had had countless hours' worth of conversations via webcam. Some days, Meg would be lounging in her bedroom, other days, they would have dinner dates in the kitchen, or movie nights in the sitting room. She more or less knew what the place looked like, but to see everything at once, in real life, high-definition, without poor lighting or a bad internet connection to obstruct her view-it was something entirely different.
She drank in her first glimpse of the flat: upon walking through the door was a small entryway with a table of mail, dance programs, and keys strewn about, with a very full coat hanger neighboring it. The other end of the hallway led to a kitchenette with a small breakfast nook. Christine was most impressed just by how much Meg was able to cram into such a small space-not in a cramped sense, just in the sense that she was extremely economical with what little she had to work with. Every wall and corner had at least one set of shelves, completely filled with things like books, magazines, old French vinyl records, and antique dance figurines. Where there weren't bookshelves, the walls had colorful, graphic, modern renditions of dancers posing or leaping about candidly. As Christine started to make her way down the hallway, she noticed a small photo framed, it looked like Meg and her ballet friends tried to recreate a Degas painting, complete with the proper ballet skirts, the high angles, and the impressionist feel. They must have worked hours to get it just right, Christine thought to herself, smiling softly.
"Christine, there's a set of keys on the table in that hallway for you," Meg called. She jerked up out of her reverie, and Meg's voice had become disembodied since she had already disappeared around the corner, past the kitchen. Christine pushed the remainder of the luggage into the hallway, closed the door behind her, and on her way to locate Meg, swiped a small set of keys that had been placed carefully on the edge of the table. A tiny pair of headphones dangled from the keychain; pink and bedazzled.
"Meg, this is awesome, your place-" she stopped in her tracks, realizing that after rounding the corner and veering to the left, she had landed in the living room. It was overwhelming, with just as much-no, far more than what she first saw in the hallway. And it was wonderful, Christine couldn't help but think as her gaze slowly combed through the room. There were pillows, candles, fairy lights, and an impressive set up of a futon and large cushions in the corner that all somehow puzzled together into a large sofa, perfect for sprawling out and watching movies on the small plasma screen hanging from the opposite wall. Pinks, purples, and soft yellows and golds filled this room, with so many nooks and crannies of different mementos Meg had collected over the years. Christine yearned to sift through every single one, wanting to pick each one up, examine them carefully, and have her friend explain each of their origins. There were so many memories in here, and even though she had never been here, Christine could sense the love and care Meg took to keep everything in its place, from the candles arranged on the ledge of a bookshelf to a soft pink lampshade that casted a warm glow around the whole room. She couldn't wait to drink tea and snuggle up in a large blanket in this room, or build a pillow fort with Meg on rainy days when they felt like being kids again.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Christine jumped about a mile in the air, giving a small yelp.
"Meg!" She said breathlessly. "For someone who can be so loud, you really know how to sneak up on someone," gasping while her friend just cackled in satisfaction.
"Well, you were spying on my things, weren't you?" Meg said. She looked rather forlorn suddenly, to Christine's confusion. "I mean, what do you think, really, Christine? Is it all terribly tacky? My mother thinks so, she always talks about coming in here to throw away all this junk and make it look like where a real lady lives."
"What? No, of course not!" she exclaimed, this time reaching out to grasp Meg's shoulder. "This is amazing," she said earnestly, looking into Meg's doleful eyes. "Meg, this is you. This feels like home already. I mean, I've never actually been here, and I feel home. I mean it."
Meg's eyes suddenly began to water, turning Christine's reach for contact into a full hug. She embraced Christine both gently and with gusto. It felt wonderful, Christine thought absentmindedly, to be able to hug someone she'd known for years but had never been able to until now. "Christine, I'm so glad you're here," Meg said, her voice being muffled by the scarf Christine wore. She hugged her dear friend tighter, this time noticing her voice catching. "Seriously! I don't know- I don't-"
"Shh, mon ami," Christine said, rubbing Meg's back soothingly. She guided her to the futon where they both sat down, and Meg grabbed a feathery pink pillow to hold onto, wrapping her arms around it so she wasn't enveloping Christine anymore. Now she could see the poor girl really was crying, tears starting to trickle out from her long, dark brown lashes. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders as she bent down, nuzzling her face into the pillow for a moment before she found the strength to speak again.
"Christine, I didn't want to tell you this, I didn't want to worry you," Meg started to say. She had to stop herself several times, using her pillow and Christine's soft sounds of comfort as her means of encouragement. "Mother-mother almost made me move out," she said, tears falling still. "She almost made me quit the ballet."
Christine stayed silent, letting her expression urge Meg to continue. "Mother thought I would be better off going to a real university, you know, like studying business or-or something, I dunno."
"Meg, your mother probably only wants what's best for you," Christine said quietly. "Maybe she wants you to have a better life than she did, you know?"
"Well, that's all well and good, Christine, but when your mother thinks you ought to break up with your girlfriend and marry a man with money so he can take care of you and your poor mother…" Meg's voice began to lose its sadness, the tears began to stop and instead her brow furrowed, letting her anger and resentment take over her visage. "Christine, when your mother basically tells you you're not good enough, that's pretty much the worst feeling I can think of." Her blue eyes, their whites now tinged with red, shone back up at her friend.
Christine was once again silent, but this time because she had arrived at a loss for words. All she could do was take Meg's hand, squeezing it tightly as her thoughts raced. Move out? Leave the ballet? Did Madame Giry really think that poorly of her own daughter?, Christine thought with a twinge of despair. Sure, Meg liked to complain about the long rehearsals and difficult choreography they had to learn, but never did she seem dissatisfied with her work. She enjoyed dancing, Christine knew that much. What was more surprising to her was the fact that her mother didn't approve of Meg's relationship-possibly even her sexuality, she realized as her stomach lurched with worry.
Christine elected to voice her concern in the most optimistic way possible. She didn't know the whole story, and she thought it rude to pry, even if Meg was a close friend. "Well, you're still here, aren't you? I'm here with you now. Did she change her mind?"
Meg shrugged, flicking a piece of hair away from her face. "I really don't know, Christine. She doesn't bring it up anymore, not since I told her you were moving in. I mean, it's not that she's changed her mind, I think she's just talking to me less. I like to dance, sure, but I like exploring different things she would never dare to, and I think that scares her. She knows I'm not her little girl anymore, and I think that's freaking her out, more than anything. When I told her you were coming, she seriously thought that you were either a new girlfriend, or some crazy American that would just be a terrible influence," she said, laughing in disbelief. "I can't wait to prove her wrong."
After a moment of pause, Christine tried her best once again to understand. "I think you're right, though. I think she's scared. That's normal. And maybe once she gets to know me, she'll understand. I don't want to lecture you, too, but don't let her affect you too much. You know in your heart you want to dance, right?"
"Yes, but… with the Opera?" Meg looked torn. "I really don't know, Christine. It's not that I hate it. There's so much more I want to try still."
"Then try everything," Christine insisted. "That doesn't mean you have to leave the Opera forever, or even leave it completely for the time being, you just need to try other things."
Meg looked rather pained upon hearing this, but despite her initial reaction, she nodded, looking down back at her pillow. "You're right," she said, half to Christine, half to herself, tracing patterns along the stitching of the cushion. "I can't leave the corps, it would be too much for Mother, though. I'll make it work-somehow."
Christine leaned over for another hug, savoring being able to hold her friend anytime she wished. "I know you will, Meg. You're so strong, and you are an amazing dancer." Letting go, she looked her in the eye, giving her a slight smirk. "That may not mean much from me, though, I have two left feet compared to you."
"Shut up, Christine, you walk like a Disney Princess. You glide, with such grace, too," Meg insisted, joining in with Christine's soft giggling. They exchanged a brief look, as if to silently thank one another.
Meg needed her so much right now, just as Christine needed her.
Meg got up to leave the room, calling after her friend to come and see her new room, and as Christine got up to join, she couldn't help but instinctively reach into her coat pocket and brush her fingertips against the business card Isak handed to her. Why haven't I told Meg yet? She chided herself silently. But, the more she went over it in her head, the more she felt it right to keep this to herself. Perhaps her family's superstitious ways were getting the better of her, but she felt it wrong to share it right now. Maybe it would jinx what had happened, or somehow ruin the perfectness of this unknown journey Christine knew she was about to embark on.
When the time was right, though, Christine promised to herself, Meg would be the first to know.
Xxxx
A quiet chime trilled, slicing through the still air. It was left unnoticed for its owner had a large pair of wireless headphones, hands deftly moving from a midi controller, to an electronic keyboard, to a computer keyboard with accompanying monitor. Buttons illuminated every few seconds, and the computer captured every movement, every button pressed. Anyone else wouldn't be able to keep up if their life depended on it. He was creating and conducting a symphony at the same time.
The vibration of the cell phone eventually broke his concentration. Cursing silently, he threw off his headphones and mashed a button on the computer keyboard, stopping the current track recording. Four different mixes on the screen halted in their tracks as he pawed around for the phone.
"Khan, this had better be good," he seethed, venom dripping around every word.
"Save the lecture, Erik, I know you're-working, but this is important." Isak sounded like he was in public, for his softened voice was hard to distinguish from all the street noise and passerby in the background. "I… I think I found someone."
Erik was about to spit back another retort, but Isak's tone made him falter. He paused, thinking about what this could mean. After almost fifteen years together, Isak Khan never believed that Erik would be able to work with a partner. This was unprecedented. Perhaps this was some kind of joke, but Isak was also not one for practical jokes, either. "How do you know?" was all Erik could manage to say.
"Erik, if I knew, I'd tell you. We're meeting again and I'm going to get a copy of some of their demos, I'll hand it off to you then."
"Oh, I can't come?" he shot back, this time tinged with the same kind of attitude when he first answered the phone. "Please, I'll promise I'll be good," Erik pleaded mockingly. Even he couldn't help but share a small chuckle with Isak.
"Seriously, I-I don't know, Erik. There's something about her. Something I've never seen in anybody else when she talks about music… except you."
Her. Erik's heart skipped a beat. "Her," he echoed back hollowly. "Where you get off, picking up a female musician?" He deflected his momentary panic with another sardonic remark.
"Shut up, Erik. She's… weird, kind of like you. I promise." No response. Erik's mind was still racing. "I'll call you back, okay?" Isak's tone changed to more gentle, more careful. Even over the phone, he could sense Erik's sudden change in demeanor.
"I doubt it, Isak. But if it makes you feel better, talk to her again." Erik chose a standoffish tone to deflect this time. "Can't wait to hear about it," he said, coating every word with sarcasm.
"Her name's Christine." That was the last thing Erik heard before he hung up unceremoniously on his friend. That word echoed in his head for the rest of the night. Christine.