Chapter Eight: Voice Over

Amy sighed, walking into her house on Cobbler Street. Usually Wednesdays were calm at the theater, but not today. One of the stagehands had broken his leg surfing, and she had been calling around trying to find a replacement all the day. After leaving ten or so messages for various people, six o'clock had come, and it was time to go home.

Walking into the house she could hear Nathan, her doting husband, in the kitchen working on supper. She knew one of these days she had to cook for him for once, but that day wouldn't be coming during the summer months—the busiest time for the theater.

Instead all she could do was sweep quietly behind him and kiss his cheek, as he ground beef for tacos on the stove.

"Hi honey." He said, turning around to embrace her. "How did things go at the theater?"

"Eh, there was a minor setback." She sighed, leaning against his chest. She always did that when she felt exhausted.

"Uh-oh. What?"
"Fred Travers broke his leg surfing, and he won't be able to work for the entire summer."
"That's not good."
"No, that's not." She walked over to the cabinet to take out two wine glasses, then to the fridge to pour themselves a bottle of wine. "I need people for the next two and a half months. And I'm having a lot of trouble trying to find someone who's not on vacation."

"Well, just try again tomorrow dear." He set the stovetop on low heat, and put a lid over the pan, "You'll find someone." He walked over to her as she poured a glass, and he accepted the one she handed him.

"I know I'll find someone, it's just very frustrating when things like this happen." She finally poured some wine for herself, and they waked over to the island bar to talk for the evening. "Where's Maggie, by the way?"
"Upstairs reading. I had to force her out of the studio a few minutes ago."

"What was she doing?"
"Practicing for Swan Lake."

"My goodness, that girl all ready has eight hour rehearsals!" She exclaimed. "She's going to end up overworking herself."

"Just like her mother." Nathan pointed out.

Amy pushed her hair back out of her eyes, nodding. "Yes, I know I do, Nate. But I love working at the theater, and sometimes when I get going, I can't stop. And on top of that, I like being around in case Erik needs me. He started having the nightmares and face pain again."

Hearing this Nathan stiffened, and he took another swig of wine. "Shit." He hissed, "Not again."

"He didn't tell me until a few weeks ago, but apparently he's been having pains for the past three months."

"Damn, damn, damn!" He stood up. "We need to get him to therapy, Amy. Or put him in a home for people like him."

"What do you mean, a home for people like him? You mean somewhere for unstable or troubled young adults?"

"Not exactly, but like an institution or reform house."
"Nathan he's not some kind of drug user or cutter! He's someone who had a terrible, terrible thing happen in his childhood! He's still trying to find answers and deal with it! In a sense he's just a kid!"

"He'll be twenty or twenty-one in a few months."

"And where were you when you were twenty Nate? You were in college, trying to figure out how life worked. You were known as a college kid. Erik is going through the same thing, trying to find his place on Earth. Except, he has it harder because of what happened to him, and because of how unique he is! Let's face it, he's smarter than you and I combined, and has more talent than all of the artists I know. He all ready has forty plays published, and a roomful of music composed."

"Yes, he's very successful and has made good money off of that, but what about his mental and emotional state? How's he going to do with that when we can't protect him?"
"We're not protecting him; we're helping him cope. You know what the world is like. He has the most beautiful voice in the world, but since he doesn't have a pretty face to put with that voice… it means nothing."

"He can't use his face as an excuse."
"For God sake, he doesn't Nathan. He tries hard to get by in this life. But you know what lies beneath his mask."
"I know, but still…"
"You threw up when you saw his face for the first time. We cried, and it traumatized us. Now, if the nightmares get worse like they did before, we'll deal with it then. But for now, let the matter be done with."

"He can't stay under our wing forever."

"Nathan, just stop. He has four more years with us; that was the agreement we had. And we'll always be his guardians. That is a job that's never over."

"Well, I can't argue with that." He stood up then and walked over to the fridge. "Amy, you must understand, I only get upset with the situation because I hate to see you worry about him… and I hate to see him go through what he does."

"I know darling. It's difficult for everyone."

He took out some lettuce and began to chop it up on a cutting board. "Yes, it certainly is."

An hour later Nathan, Amy, and Maggie were sitting in the dining room, settling down for dinner. As they were passing the food around, Maggie took an envelope out of her jean pocket.

"Mags, what's that?" Amy asked, eyeing it.
"I found it in my dance locker today." She replied, "I didn't tell you or Dad about it earlier because I wanted to wait till everyone was in one spot."

"Tell everyone what?" Nathan said.

"That I got a letter from the Theater Ghost. He even left three Hershey bars!" She clapped her hands excitedly. "Almost every one of the ballet girls has gotten a letter. I was the last one to not get one!"

"What?" Amy said, sitting up more, "Maggie, how often do the company members get these letters?"
"Oh, at least twice a week, all from the Theater Ghost. He critiques us, and gives us great advice. Most of the company keeps his letters. It's like, once the Theater Ghost notices you, that's when you know you're really good… or really bad. You know what kind of letters he sends to Candice after all. And now I finally got my letter!"

"What does it say?"
Maggie took the paper out of the envelope, and unfolded. Holding it close to her face, she began reading aloud:

"Dear Ms. Gardens,

It seems this letter to you is long overdue. You have proved yourself in your talent recently and I congratulate you. Not many young women can dance with the skill and grace you have, and that says a lot about you. You seem to be an extremely hard worker, and I can tell you love your craft.

If I had any suggestion for you, it would be to have more confidence. You are an extremely good dancer and you deserve this role. Give yourself a break now and then, keep your health up, and you'll do fine. I can't wait to see your performance opening night. After that evening, you'll be the toast of Belleview.

Break a leg, and I'll be at the first show.

Sincerely, the Theater Ghost"

At that moment Nathan laughed, trying to sound natural. "Oh well, if the Ghost is going to send you notes like that, then he's welcome to critique you anytime."

"It's funny how people are so afraid of him!" Maggie giggled, "There's no record of him hurting anyone, and he seems gentlemanly enough. It's funny, how we are afraid of what we don't know."

Amy smiled, shaking her head. The things we hear out of the mouths of babes. She thought. Just then the phone rang in the kitchen, and she stood up to answer it.

"I'll be right back guys." She said, walking into the next room. She picked up the receiver that was attached to the wall and put it to her ear. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Gardens."

Amy froze where she was standing, in shock of hearing Erik's voice. Quickly she closed the kitchen door and leaned back against it. Her heart began to thump wildly in worry. He rarely called her at her home, and the only time he did, was if someone had broken into the theater or there had been another emergency like that.

"Erik, are you all right?" She inquired, "Is the theater fine?"
"Yes," He said softly, "there's just something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"It's a matter that has to do with Christy Davis."

She put her hand on her hip and sighed. "Erik, I know you don't approve of her working there, but I'm not going to…"

"Hear me out, please. I do approve of her work actually, and I encourage you to keep her in your employment. I just found out something very—peculiar, about her."

"What's peculiar?"
"Mrs. Gardens, she has the voice of an angel. Your little costume mistress can actually sing." She started; surprised that he actually mentioned her voice.

"Yes, she can sing. I have known this for quite a while."

"Then why haven't you put her in more roles?"

"Well, first off, I can't put her in more shows because of Candice's family. You know that they make healthy donations to us each year as a theater, and if they're little girl wasn't on stage I would lose those donations. Secondly, whenever she is in a role, people come. This actress simply makes money."
"It's because the theater audience does not know any better, that they pay to see her." He grumbled.

She smiled. "Yes, I have to agree with you there. But it's not just that, Erik. Chris does have a lovely voice, this is true, but she is untrained. And for some reason she hasn't gotten lessons."
"She can't find them. She's told me she's looked."

"Wait!" She cried, "She's told you she's looked? As in, she talked to you?"

"I was hoping that I could actually explain that to you as we went along, Mrs. Gardens."

"Oh no, I think you'll explain it now. When did you talk to her?"

"Tonight and last night."

"And how did this come about?"

"To make a long story short: I heard her voice, offered her lessons, and she accepted."

She reeled back in surprise. "YOU DID WHAT?" She gasped.

"I offered the girl lessons." He said calmly, "She doesn't know who I am. She just thinks that I am a performer hiding from my fame. She doesn't even know my name, or that I live in the theater."

"How do you expect to pull this off, Erik?" She hissed.
"I'm seeing her at night, from eight o'clock, to nine in the theater. We're having lessons four times a week, Monday through Thursday, and she has agreed to not ask about my appearance or my identity. That's the deal we made."

"What makes you think you can take on a pupil?"

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out. By the end of the month you watch. She'll be able to do title roles and, if she can't all ready, out sing most of your company. She has raw talent, Mrs. Gardens. Her voice is simply the most beautiful instrument I have ever heard."

"There's no way you can pull this off. You can go ahead and use my theater after hours, but you won't be able to make her into a star in the next two weeks."

She heard him laugh softly. "Watch me."

And before she could say another word, the line went dead.