Christine fussed with a seam and repositioned the pin. "I'm sorry, just try to keep still? We've got an hour before we need to be in the office for the next meeting and I want to get this seam straight." She wrapped an unruly flock of curls around a clip and tucked it back. "Actual human shapes aren't exactly my strong suit."
"It's fine. We have a half hour before costume needs the room back to wrap up on the puppets." Erik rolled the words around. "I can't believe I just said that. I'm going to need to brush my teeth after this."
"You'll only be more kissable." The hair flopped yet again. "Did you see the revised piece about us on the news?"
Erik smiled under the heavy costume piece and adjusted his position in the hard chair. "The one your lawyer friend prompted? Oh yes."
"Well, it's being picked up by bigger stations. Probably going national in a day or two, assuming nothing more absurd than the status quo happens." She snatched a pencil from the table and stabbed it through her hair. "That shoulder is just going to be a little wonky. I can't fix it and finish out the head piece in time."
"It's fine," he said. The reflection in the wall-sized costuming mirror was impressive. And very, very red. "I mean, one bad seam is hardly going to show under all the puffy stuff anyway." The headpiece and mask was going to steal the show anyway. "I imagine we make a nice fifteen second happy story to soften all the grim news."
She snorted. "Months and months of work for maybe fifteen seconds of happy talk."
Christine's brow furrowed as she focused on the needles and the enormous, articulated costume headpiece he was wearing. His brilliant, beautiful, loving Christine, with her need to give and give with hardly more than a nice meal and a song at the end of their long days. But everyone's tank runs low sometimes.
Carefully, for she was holding enough needles to turn him into a hedgehog, Erik took her hands and folded them in his.
"I'm sorry we're not doing the shows we want to, and I'm sorry that months of insane work and community service are being treated like a punchline to this whole shitshow. I wish I could give you more."
The needles were settled into a pile and Christine lifted the headpiece off him and stepped close. Cool air rushed past his face, then was replaced by her warm hands.
"I don't want more," she said, her words ghosting over his forehead. "I just want normal, like everyone else."
The same words were probably uttered in frustration thousands of times a day all across the city. There wasn't really a response worth the breath. Erik wrapped his arms around her and sighed, nuzzling into her warm softness.
"But there's something I'll settle for," she said hopefully.
Her light perfume was subtle. Intoxicating. Erik started toying with the curls already straining against the pencil. "Anything, sweetheart."
She gave him a smirk. "I found the rest of the costume today!" Christine pulled out of his grasp and as Erik looked around dumbly, she snatched a heavy bag from the racks and unzipped it.
Erik looked upon a nightmare of dark red stripes and…
"Christine, is that a codpiece?"
"We're having the 'mask-erade' right before the big show! I thought you could get the party started? Maybe have some of the performers pretend to chase you out and we can let the stage manager take over?"
"In a massive codpiece."
"They're very practical."
"So are zippers."
Christine winked. "Not for what I've got planned after they banish you from the party."
She was only a little upset when he completely wrecked her hair a moment later.
…
They logged into the meeting two minutes late, joining in time to hear the general chatter and excited buzz that came with the final stretch before a big show. He liked it- it was a sign of life that had been largely missing for months. The streams were good and kept them in jobs, but they weren't the same challenge as a full production.
The stage manager and AV guy ran the meeting, calling out notes while Erik and Christine sat by, content to let the grown ups run the show. Their work was grueling, too, in different ways. No one person could be the creative center for an entire theater; not when creation required so much more than a handwritten calendar, an outdated phone, and sheer force of will.
Now, the AV box looked like a space station and the stage manager wore walkie talkies and headsets and commanded not just one but multiple stage teams, rising to the occasion like a phoenix. Interns (how many did he have now?) scurried in and out of their frames as they handled tasks.
A question popped up in the chat here and there, and Erik fielded a few of them, referring most to the respective team leads. When he got up to grab a drink from his office refrigerator, Christine kept watch on the meeting as he opened a seltzer and took aim before tossing the cap into a trash can across the room. He handed her a bottle of water and watched the meeting carry on, a tiny sense of wonder bubbling underneath his prickly exterior.
Christine muted their microphone. "Alright, what's got you so thoughtful?"
The bubbling coalesced. Despite the bone-rattling anxiety and utter chaos that continued to ravage every corner of life as he knew it, he had a strange sense of… not ease, for there was simply too much to do, but something more comforting. Something that turned the panic into something less immediate and threatening. A vague sense that doom was not, in fact, imminent.
"They're all so… competent." Christine said nothing, but looked up at him curiously. "I mean, I hired good people but this is," he looked at the jigsaw of faces on the screen. Their gazes roved, checking feeds and messages, notes and spreadsheets. "These are professionals."
Christine nodded. "They got that way because there's a good theater manager, you know."
Erik sat heavily on the futon behind her. "Am I a manager now? I feel like too much of a mess to be a manager."
"I have news for you, sweetheart," Christine said as she typed in the chat, then returned to gallery view. "Management is mostly dealing with the garbage so the specialists can do their work. That and pretending that everything is fine."
He glanced at the screen and saw the patchwork quilt of backgrounds and people. "But, it might actually be fine?"
Christine giggled at something in the chat and smothered her grin. "I guess you're good at it."
"What's going on in the meeting?"
"Nothing." Christening started to close the laptop but stopped, instead angling the screen for him to see. Everyone in the meeting was suddenly still and a few were misty-eyed and others wiped their cheeks.
Erik leapt from the futon. "What's wrong? What happened?"
Christine motioned to the chat.
Christine: The Boss is very proud of you all.
"You WHAT-"
The image that froze on the screen as Christine exited was of Erik lunging, the unmasked portion of his face blurred in motion and distorted in agitated horror. Screenshots were, no doubt, forthcoming.
Christine packed the laptop into her bag and tugged on her jacket. "C'mon, there's no time for this. Let's go pick up dinner and get ready for karaoke night. You owe my lawyer friend a few more requests for how well the news story turned out."
"I'm still not playing Piano Man."
…
Time is scarce in the days before a big show, so Erik and Christine raided the market on their way home and bought all the soup, stew, and casseroles they could grab. Chilly weather made the rich food welcome, and the coming lack of time and sleep made it necessary. The sellers asked after the show, admired the activity around the theater and thanked them for their support of the district.
Erik bought a cocktail and sipped it surreptitiously on the walk home. Christine wrinkled her nose when she tried it and handed it back.
This was not heaven. This was not even a dream, but Erik was grateful for these moments- an eye in a never ending hurricane. He hoped that they could keep doing these things when everything was less terrible. Maybe the world could pick up a few better habits when this was over.
…
There were five cameras pointed at the stage and six more around the theater space. Live feeds were arranged in some performer's homes and the secondary cast was doing dance numbers and 'crowd' scenes in a nearby movie theater that had sat empty for months. The primary cast, who had seen no one but each other for nearly a month, was in the theater, distanced, and would have solo and close up shots, while scenes of interaction…
Erik sighed.
Christine double checked the costume. "I know what you're grousing about, and you need to get over that really quick."
"I'm not saying it's not brilliant. It's just… puppets?"
"Yes, puppets." She tightened some laces enough to remind him to behave. "And it's going to be great."
Erik held in a squeak and nodded. Damn this costume. Specifically the lower half. His phone chirped.
I've got the feeds from the rest of the theater all running. Break a leg.
The intern had kept track of the interior rooms and halls of the theater while he'd been away. It had been good to have an extra set of eyes on the place, even if the little black cameras everywhere were disconcerting. When the intern had mentioned maybe editing a bit from the old elevator to add to the full version release later and Erik hadn't thought of a reason not to.
It's your last week, right? How is the project?
Yep. They need extra time to clean the dorms before the students return. Project good. Learned a lot. Looking forward to seeing the theater again tho.
That was music to Erik's ears. They would need all the help they could get to edit and manage the last few weeks of material.
Looking forward to having you back. Let me know if you need help, I have funds set aside.
Will do. Break a leg tonight, Death.
Erik set aside the phone and cracked his neck. "Is it time?"
Christine held up Death's mask. "It's time."
…
Revelers scattered as the pounding beat of party music wavered and cut off with a scratch. It was cheesy, but Bach's Toccata and Fugue crashed through the theater loud enough to shake Erik's eyeballs as he burst through the shadows and onto the stage. The lights shifted from rainbows and disco sparkles to a sickening, shifting wave.
He slithered, as best as one could wearing twenty pounds of velvet, felt, gold braid and trim. Erik drew in a deep breath, his first stage performance in more years than he cared to recall.
"Why so silent, my friends? Did you think I had left you?" The articulated jaw of the headpiece had taken some practice and even now, it felt like it rattled the words out of him.
The cast cowered, dressed mostly in their show costumes with an extra piece here and there to cover the bustiers and fishnets. Erik could see them struggling to cover their grins.
"Have you missed me?" Erik purred. "You know I never left." He drew himself up and arched to puff out the costume's chest. He certainly did not fill it. "I will not leave until I have you all!"
A bit of maniacal laughter with the echo turned up. He'd have to thank the AV team, it sounded great.
"Not so fast!" Chistine shouted as she sprang up, dressed like a nurse with massive feathered angel's wings. They'd bought the scrubs when they couldn't put together a proper angel costume and decided this worked better anyway and they absolutely didn't steal the wings from the ballet's frankly immoderate production of Les Sylphides (they totally did). Christine held out a handful of masks and a spray bottle of vodka they swiped from the costume workbench.
"We have the power to defeat you, Death!" Christine brandished the masks at him and squirted the bottle at him like he was a naughty cat. "I banish you!"
Erik fought back a snigger and forced it into a strangled cry. "No, No!" He ducked her and ran to the edge of the stage. The other performers drew out masks and held them out, and Erik held up his gloved hands like Nosferatu.
He leapt up and took to the stairs, then turned dramatically. "You win today, but I will be back! I will always come back!" Erik threw down a smoke bomb and ducked out of the camera angle. Once he was at the back of the darkened theater, he loosened the ties on the headpiece, lifted it off, and quickly slid his other mask back on. His limit on masks was two.
The cast broke into a cheer and a celebratory song then bowed to Christine, who thanked all the doctors, nurses, and first responders. Erik made sure the lower half of his face was covered and headed into the hall, stopping off briefly to snag two bottles of slightly less cheap champagne, then went to wait backstage for Christine.
And there it was, the first ridiculous strains. The fact that he didn't actively hate it after all these years probably said something about him, didn't it?
Science fiction, double feature
Doctor X will build a creature.
Christine came dashing up, wings dropping feathers and barely hanging on.
"The ballet is going to be pissed," Erik said as he popped a cork.
Christine took the bottle and drank. "I don't care." She lunged at him, scattering a stack of noisemakers and wacky sunglasses. The first wing ripped off when Betty threw the bouquet, leaving a trail of shredded feather bits on the floor of the hallway.
The hallway rail bent when Erik slammed backwards into it, Christine pulling at the ties that held the heavy Red Death costume together. The first arm loosened and she flung the piece to the side then hitched her leg up, balancing on the rail.
"I can't believe we're actually here," she said between kisses. "Did you feel all that energy out there?"
Their resident Brad was damning Janet with as much chest voice as he'd ever heard out of a semi-trained twenty six year old college dropout. That same dropout had coordinated half of the camera set up and arranged for the theater site where the dance numbers were in exchange for modest payment and credits in the final stream.
"Yes," Erik sighed against her neck. "I can feel the energy here, too."
They made it a few more steps before Erik tugged at the heavy brocade on the side of the chest piece of the costume. Christine handed him the open bottle and he drank to victory while she unlaced the side of the shell piece. It dropped on the hallway floor, dusted with feather bits.
His office door was locked and Christine attacked his mouth and neck and was working on the laces of the-
"Christine!"
- when he finally fished out the keys and got the door open. She flung the remaining wing into the hallway and they tumbled in, nearly falling to the floor. The ostentatious codpiece was hanging obscenely from a few loose laces, gold brocade swinging jauntily.
Erik tugged it free and flung it godknowswhere. Then he slammed the door shut and locked it.
There was a light; it shined from the monitors on his desk with a live feed of all the main cameras. The puppet feed was shockingly good and made a convincingly ridiculous forest and castle shot.
"Are you seriously watching that right now?" Christine shoved him toward the futon and lifted off his mask. The cool air of his office was a relief after the full costume, though warmth rose in his cheeks as she kissed him again.
"Looks better," he said as he pulled off her scrub top, "than I expected."
She pulled at the last laces on the costume pants. "Told you."
The pants made their full exit moments later, followed by the scrubs. It was less about the specific piece being performed, but that something was being performed at all- that people who were hungry to be on stage were getting that chance again after months of starvation. The voices were more joyous, more pained, and more angelic than they'd ever managed before. They threw themselves into every moment.
The specifics faded into a haze as Christine slid her hands down his chest. He was grateful, so grateful, to live in the same world as her. In this wretched life, this forsaken year, he was grateful she was his companion now, and that he'd found her just in time.
She tugged the last of her clothes off and pressed against him, all fire and blaze.
"Thank you," he gasped. "Thank you for being here with me. For making this year so good."
With a throaty breath, she nodded. "I love you, Erik. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
The scrubs were defiled with spilled champagne and the futon may have been defiled by something else. Either way, by the time puppet Janet was learning new tricks, Erik and Christine were sipping champagne and watching the monitors. The dance numbers were a riot, and the crew managed to angle their props to make the online audience feel like they were part of the fun. They even threw glitter, but only at the borrowed movie theater.
It was two in the morning when they finally left, knowing the next few days would be full of work, but at least it would be slower. They'd banked a few days's worth of streams and would replay their greatest hits. They held hands as they walked under the dangling fairy lights in the withering garden of the square, the first hint of real cold deepening the fall night.
"I think we've got one more container of casserole left."
"Perfect. That will get me through a two-day coma until I can function again."
Christine rose up on her toes for a kiss. "There's karaoke tomorrow night. I'll wake you in time."
…
Erik was awakened by his phone. The screen reported a handful of emails and texts. Nothing urgent but the smell of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen and a lazy evening at home awaited.
A few minutes before the karaoke show, an email pinged into his inbox. Erik looked up from the keys and tapped the screen of his phone to view it while Christine finalized their planned music list.
She scrolled through a page and made a few notes. "Anything interesting?"
Erik swallowed. Some news is so large and unexpected you can't quite manage it. If he had time he might have had an opinion but there was a show and a playlist and Christine was already setting up the camera and what was the first song and oh everyone wanted to hear music from last night's show.
"Christine, is your lawyer friend logged in?"
"Yes. Why?"
Erik brushed a sheen of sweat from his temple. "I'm forwarding you something. Take a look, then send it to her. I think we need to pay her this time."
...