Christine wiped the sweat off her forehead with a dirty cloth and then clapped her hands vigorously together to cleanse them from the dust. Since her hands stung viciously, she winced and simply leaned back against the sink, shrugging her shoulders to get rid of the ache.

Her kitchen table was newly sanded, and ready for the coats of primer on the bottom (in preparation for their coat of white), and the light stain for the top. It had taken her three hours of sanding to get the table to this point, and her fingers, arms, palms, knees…hell, everything hurt!

Despite all that, despite even the mess that completely coated the floor of her kitchen (sawdust was all-pervasive even given her thorough covering of newspapers), she chuckled and felt great. Cheesy eighties rock had gotten her through the project, and now she figured she had just enough time to sweep the floor before Meg showed up to help her varnish and paint.

She stood up straight and arched backwards, trying futilely to get the last kinks out of her back. Then she snatched the broom and dustpan and set about with vigor, even stirring up more dust than she put to rest. She sang loudly to Take On Me, hitting the high note with perfection and smirking as she heard her own steady voice nailing the difficult tone. Even after little more than a week of practicing, her previous training was reinforcing itself, and her diaphragm and vocal chords felt strong and sure.

Of course, she still had an awful long way to go. She had been far from perfection when she left off, after all, and if she wanted to be any sort of classical singer at all, she needed to get her range at least an octave about what it had been. What had scared her before (the hours of practice, the all-too-real possibility of failure) was now nothing more than an invigorating challenge.

She could do exactly what she wanted. And she would.

Christine laughed as she banged the dustpan against the interior of the garbage can to get rid of the last bit of dust, and as she did, she heard the telltale sounds of high heels clicking up the stairs of her building. Moments later, Meg's smiling face peeked around the corner of her door.

"Wow! You've got it all ready and everything? Christine, you've got to learn to sleep in on Saturdays…it's only noon!"

"Who could sleep on a day like this?" Christine motioned towards the window, where the sun poured down on the early spring flowers. Then, she admitted with a giggle, "I also forgot to close the blinds last night…I sort of woke up with the dawn. You know I can't sleep with any sort of light in the room."

"And again, you are so lucky you don't have my roommate. Actually, it's sad you finished the sanding already…I could have imagined I was sanding off her face."

"Ouch, Meg!" Christine laughed. "But sorry, you'll have to work off your frustrations with a paintbrush. Here, grab one."

Meg slipped off her shoes and tossed aside her bag. "Tell me how this whole DIY thing goes again…"

Christine sighed. "Okay, so you paint on the varnish and then wipe it away with a rag…"

"Isn't that counterintuitive? I mean, isn't it supposed to stay there?"

"Yes, but you make it lighter and more durable by having several light coats instead of one really thick coat. Between the two of us we should be able to get this done in an hour or so, let it dry, and then go on to the table legs."

Meg took up her paintbrush and started smearing the varnish on the table, a highly dubious expression on her face.

"You know, for being such a graceful surgeon, you're handling that brush like it's a dead rat."

She laughed. "There's a hell of a lot of difference between a scalpel and a paintbrush." Observing Christine's more professional manner, she asked, "When did you get to be so handy, anyway?"

"You'll laugh."

"Maybe. I'll try not to."

Christine puffed her cheeks out and sighed. "Okay."

"Well?"

"I did a little research."

Meg admirably swallowed her laugh, almost choking as she forced it back into her belly. "What did you use? The Better Homes and Gardens Bible?"

"DIY for Dummies."

This time the laugh exploded, and Meg got a smear of varnish on her arm for her pains.

(Later)

"You are so lucky I was able to wash that off."

"You said you wouldn't laugh. I'm totally justified."

"I said that maybe I would. And therefore I was completely within the limits of my verbal contract. If I wanted, I could take you to court for pain and suffering charges."

Christine swallowed her bite of sandwich and stuck out her tongue. The two girls, after varnishing the tabletop, had retreated into the bedroom with their lunches, all the windows open to let the smell of varnish dissipate.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, just basking in the birdsong coming from outside and letting their tired arms relax. Then, Meg (who never could learn to leave well enough alone), cleared her throat and tentatively began,

"Hey, Christine?"

"Mmm?" the other girl had her eyes closed as she leaned against the bedside.

"You remember that Carlotta's got her show at the Black Cat tonight, right?"

Silence.

Meg bit her tongue and then blurted, "You gonna come? It'll probably be good."

"Yeah, I'm coming."

Meg coughed. Christine smiled and opened her eyes, turning to look at her friend's dumbfounded expression.

"You are?"

"Yeah."

That took a moment to process. "Um, I thought there was insurmountable antipathy there."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. There is. I really do hate Carly's guts. But hey, she is a good singer, and I can afford to learn a few things from her." Christine's gaze turned steely. "Of course, if she suspects that for a moment, I will be forced to kill whichever nosy friend of mine gave her that idea."

When Christine looked like that, it was always hard to tell if she was joking. Most often, she wasn't. Meg held up her sandwich and waved it like a white flag. "She won't hear a thing from me…I guarantee it! It's not like I'm buddy-buddy with her either. When would I get the chance to tell her, anyway?"

"Oh, relax! Am I really that scary?"

"Have you ever looked in a mirror when you make that face?"

"…Point taken. On another note, if you thought I'd say no, why did you bother to ask?"

It was a sign of how far Christine had come that Meg was able to say it. "I think you need to get out more. And even though you'll only be socializing with people you see everyday anyway, I think it'll be good for you."

"That your professional opinion, Doctor?" Christine sighed. "You're right."

"Well, it had to happen someday. Hallelujah and Praise the Lord!"

"Come on you. Finish your chicken salad and let's start painting."

"Oh, can't we rest a while? My arms hurt."

"You call yourself a surgeon? Build up that stamina!"

"Don't want to. It's my day off."

"Just picture the table legs as your roommate and your paintbrush as a sword."

"…Let's go."

(Later)

Christine turned once more and examined herself from every possible angle in her mirror. The dress had been one she'd bought on a whim a few weeks ago, when spring was in the air and all the summer dresses made their ways out of hiding. It was white with a pattern of climbing vines in a simple v-neck style. With a little crocheted shrug in matching green and a pair of white flats, she thought she looked quite nice.

It had been a little while, however, since she'd gone out to a place that wasn't a bar to have fun. Well, technically the Black Cat was a bar, but everyone knew you went there for the music.

The club's owners were a kooky couple who catered to the indie music scene around town. Basically, if you were decent, you could perform. The club opened at 8 and stayed open until 4. Sometimes, groups of musicians who specialized in a certain genre teamed up and put together a night devoted to jazz, or metal, or techno, or whatever.

Carlotta was one of the ringleaders of the local jazz club, and she was often the brains behind the programs. From the few times Christine had gone to her performances, she had to admit that Carlotta had good taste when it came to the arrangement of pieces. Far from letting her ego get in the way of the other performers, the evening was usually nicely interspersed with improv, instrumental, and vocal pieces.

Though it killed Christine a little to admit it, she really could stand to learn from Carlotta's experience. So, she drew back her shoulders, took one last appraising glance at herself, and turned, grabbing her purse and heading out the door.

It was a quick fifteen minute drive to the club, but it took Christine another fifteen minutes to find parking (apparently jazz nights were pretty popular), and she arrived just before the curtain went up on the first act at 8:30. Meg waved her over to the table where many of the hospital staff sat, nursing their drinks, and pushed over Christine's favorite black Russian.

She barely had time to hear Meg's approving comments on her clothes (she'd barely been able to keep Meg from dressing her up), before the first act launched into A Night in Tunisia.

When 9 o'clock rolled around, Christine had just started to relax, mostly because of the influence of her two drinks. It was strange, being surrounded by so many people, and apparently so welcomed by them all. She was not on close terms with many of the staff, despite working with them every day, so the goodwill she felt and the smiles she received were humbling and touching. During the song breaks, she chatted shyly with Rebecca and a cute orderly, Jonathan, while trying to avoid Meg's raised eyebrows and winks.

The house lights dimmed again, and a warm red glow enveloped the stage. The curtain slowly rose, and there stood Carlotta, dressed in a burgundy dress that set off her color beautifully. She lifted her head, smiled at the audience, and began Sway.

Christine loved that song, and she mouthed the lyrics, bobbing her head as she listened. She always wanted to dance when she heard the lyrics. It was perfect.

As if Carlotta was reading her mind, she motioned to the dance floor and several couples strayed there, swaying lazily to her rhythm.

Jonathan turned to Christine and offered his hand, and without a thought, she put hers into it and let him lead her out onto the floor. Together they moved, sometimes getting the steps wrong (neither of them really knew how to dance), but it was still nice to be held and moved by a cute guy, with her brain a little fuzzy and her body warm, and all the time hearing the lyrics that made her want to move.

The song felt like it ended too soon, and a beat after the music stopped, Christine held onto Jonathan, wanting to keep the moment going. But the crowd was applauding and she joined them, smiling up at Carlotta, who for a moment caught her eye with a smile instead of that glint of arrogance that always sparkled when they spoke.

In that moment, Christine even wanted to be friends with her.

After all, she thought, you really had to understand music and its purpose if you could make people feel so good.

When the jazz evening ended at midnight and a string quartet took over, Carlotta joined them at their table, flushed from performing and radiant with success.

"Thank you all for coming!" she gushed, sounding truly pleased. "Did you like it?"

Meg said, "It was really good. As always."

Christine smiled and added, "You put together a good event."

Carlotta's goodwill seemed to expand, because she forewent a niggling comment to say, "I do my best. Sometimes it comes out well." Then she smiled and tugged at Jonathan's arm. "Are you gonna buy me a drink? I'm a thirsty woman, after all?"

He chuckled. "Sure. What can I get you?"

"Screwdriver. Keep it simple."

"You got it."

They kept chatting together until past one. Unfortunately, Christine was the one who started the party breaking up. Glancing at her watch, she remembered all of a sudden that she'd promised to be at family lunch the next day, and if she wanted to look fresh-faced, she needed to get her sleep.

"I'll see you all on Monday," she said, "I have to get to sleep or my mom's gonna wonder how I've been spending my nights."

"Oh, crap! Is that the time?" Meg said, standing up so quick she nearly knocked over her glass of water. "I promised I'd spend time with Mark tomorrow!" Mark was her boyfriend of a year and a half, but he never came to Carlotta's performances because his tastes in music ran towards the goth/metal mix. Christine always wondered how they could get along, but Meg always smiled and said, "opposites attract, darling" before dodging any more questions.

"Is anyone going to be brave and stay on with me?" Carlotta said, as Rebecca and Jonathan also realized they had to go.

"Sorry!" was the universal reply, and Christine was out the door, down the street, and in front of her car before she realized she'd forgotten to grab her purse, hanging off the back of her chair.

"Crap," she grumbled, starting to jog back towards the club. There was no danger of it being closed already, but if someone had stolen it, she was a little way from home. She got into the club just as a new act was starting. Carlotta was nowhere in sight, but thankfully her bag was still hanging over the chair. She crossed the room to grab it just as the lone player at the piano started a delicate piece by Debussy.

The lovely strains of the song stopped her in her tracks, and she was sitting again before she knew what she was doing. Resting her head on her hands, she glanced dreamily in the direction of the piano and let the music drift her off into a realm of beauty and sound, before her eyes glanced briefly across the face of the performer.

Her whole body jerked as though shocked with a current of electricity.

Erik!