Chapter Five
Only three sets of eyes were felt on Christine and she felt them intensely pierce through her as if they were spears in her flesh. There must have been something wrong. There must have been something very wrong. This was not happening. There was no way.
"Christine Gallagher?" The Master Coordinator repeated, "I'm sure Mr Tusk didn't make a mistake."
"I didn't." said Tusk and pointed into Christine's eyes as if he was reaching to pull her soul right out, "That's her."
If three daggers seemed bad, several hundred more from some of the most prominent people in Washington were beyond the young woman's imagination. She felt the color from her face drain, her stomach must have fallen straight from her body through the chair she sat on and must have been resting somewhere on the floor to be swept up by a low-paid janitor later. The feeling in her arms was gone. The world was gone. She was ready to die.
Something touched her arm and a foggy version of Meg was beside her. "Christine," it said tentatively, "Christine, that's you."
Christine's vision was shaking with her head.
"Come on," Meg was smiling kindly, "Honey, it'll be fine. It's for a good cause."
"Christine," Raoul was saying somewhere beyond Meg, "This is great, right? This is your chance to sing again and it's for a ten grand!"
"Oh," the Master Coordinator stumbled cutely, "She looks a little shy folks. Can we give her some encouragement for these much-needed renovations?"
Slow, polite applause broke out and Christine thought she would drown in it. She wished she would drown in it. This couldn't happen. Her voice was gone, long gone, no more. There was a corpse inside of her and she intended to keep it that way forever and ever, locked away where no one else could even think to look for it.
Something was pulling on her elbow and she was standing, walking even. All sounds had faded, everything was bright and blurry and she was stumbling on the hem of her pretty dress. This couldn't be real, none of it. She floated to the stage and when her foot hit a stair, something snapped in her and she stood as still as a rail.
"Meg. Meg no. No, no, no. You know I can't. I can't Meg." She was now gripping her friend's hands. Raoul stood on the opposite side of her but wasn't touching her and she almost forgot he was there at all. So many eyes were on her and the weight was crushing. She wanted to die right there and never have to feel such pressure again.
"It will be fine, honey." Meg said as reassuringly as she could, "You don't have to be good. Just speak the words. Just speak them."
Tears began to sting her eyes, "No Meg, no. No, please."
"You can do this, babe."
"No…" she whimpered as she found her way up the five stairs to the stage with the assistance of the railing. Faces were blurring together under the lights and she felt the weight of every one of them. The heat was now hitting her senses. She would have forgotten to breathe if the man beside her hadn't said, "Christie?"
"Christie?" She gasped in response to hearing her name said so casually by a man she didn't know.
"Don't worry, unless you're a politician or a millionaire, they're not after you." He said kindly, "Am I right?" He added into the microphone.
People clapped around them and Christine felt her senses come back so fast it nearly knocked her right off the stage. The primal instinct to run, even somehow fly off the stage was coming to her, but a gentle and firm hand came to rest on her arm, "Everything's going to be fine sweetheart," Christine took a good look at the middle-aged man with greying jet black hair and hazel eyes, "Believe me?" She made no reaction and he squeezed her shoulder a little, "Okay?"
She didn't know what made her nod, but she did somehow. It helped to look at this one man instead of everyone else. She wanted to believe that he didn't mean her any harm, but she couldn't say the same for the vultures beyond her. Everyone was waiting.
"And what is she to sing Mr Tusk? There are eight songs to choose from, folks. I somehow get the feeling this man knows exactly what he wants to hear."
People were laughing somewhere before another strong cold man spoke, "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas."
Christine whimpered, so many memories flooding into her head at once. Her father. Her old favorite Christmas song. Those long rehearsals with various bands. His violin. Him. Him.
"How nice!" His voice was so jovial. It destroyed her. "Short, sweet, and simple, right Ms Gallagher?"
"Oh god," she squeaked.
He sighed only loud enough for her and the orchestra to hear, "Let's just get this over with, okay?" He said into her ear and away from the microphone. She wasn't sure if he meant well or not anymore and suddenly hated him and everyone else staring at her for it.
As she watched him leave, sound flooded her ears, and chimes followed by soft strings filled the air. She looked to the orchestra and realized they were going to play with her. How dreadful! She would sound so retched next to them! Their sound went up a familiar scale and down the same one and ended on a harmonized whole note that was going a little longer than what it was supposed to as bows went across their strings once move to hold the note out longer.
Without breathing, Christine pushed back the growing bile in her throat and croaked out the words she knew all too well.
"Have yourself a merry little Christmas."
The rest of the world held its breath, but this time she didn't. This time there was enough memory of her inner workings to breathe.
"Let your heart be light."
Her eyes slowly shut to avoid the bright lights, to close out all of those awful and heartless people.
"Next year all our troubles will be out of sight."
Strings played on and she remembered what music was. A spark inside her began to glow white against the charred blackness that she had accepted for her feelings.
"Have your self a merry little Christmas.
"Sing the yuletide gays."
Then there was honesty. It buzzed in her stomach and warmed her limps.
"From now on our trouble will be miles away."
Two tears fell from her eyes as shattered memories began to reconstruct themselves all at once. Then suddenly, nothing else was there but her and music.
"Once again as in olden days,
"Happy golden days of yours.
"Faithful friends who are dear to us
"Will be near to us
"Once more."
And finally, it was personal for the only man she ever thought she would need from so long ago.
"Someday soon we all will be together.
"If the fates allow."
One big breath to shatter all of the scars that held her together so tightly. Her eyes opened into the bright light before her, everything falling away, and suddenly there was nothing.
"Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow."
Then, all at once, the sound of the very voice she had forgotten, the build of the strings behind her, and the entire room came back to hit her very painfully. Her father was gone. The music was gone. She was gone. No longer free, but weighted right where she was, her dress suddenly seemed a hundred extra pounds, her hairpins were in too tightly, her feet swelling in the shoes. A huge part of her was dead. There was no future. There was nothing but all of the terrible people standing before her, faceless, soulless, nothing.
"So have…" she spoke away from the music and could only finish with, "Christmas…"
There was a silence. A long silence. Too long. Fight or flight came back and Christine was turning to all but jump from the stage when applause erupted from everywhere in the banquet hall. People who had been sitting were now stood. Everything was closing in. The sound was thunderous and it scared the young woman so terribly that real tears were filling her eyes. It was too much and within mere seconds she had run from the hall altogether, a nude-colored shoe falling off near the doorway.
The applause continued for a little while before the Master Controller made his way to the stage again, but this time, he didn't seem to have much to say, instead, he visited with the conductor of the orchestra where they spoke with big excited expressions.
"Well, that was interesting," Phillip commented to his step-brother after the young woman ran away.
"Shit. Holy shit." Raoul stuttered.
"Language, brother."
He pointed to where he last saw her "Should I…Should I go after…?"
"You're poorly hiding anything right now." His tone was cold, low, and heartless, "Leave her be. Maybe this will get her a job elsewhere, eh?"
"Sure…"
Raoul turned only slightly. Phillip's arm was casually around Raoul's shoulders and suddenly everyone seemed to be crowding their table.
"Phillip who was that young woman?" A senior woman in colorful rich drapes asked.
"I remembered her face from a summer job Raoul kept." The older man shrugged, "She wasn't afraid to sing back then. I don't know what happened."
"Is she looking for representation?" A salt-and-peppered haired man asked.
"She works for me." Raoul butted in.
"Don't tell me you're a talent agent now?" The salt and peppered hair man teased.
"No, I mean, she has a day job with me."
"Just a job?" Someone teased, "Someone as pretty as her? In your office?"
Raoul scowled, but couldn't answer before another question was brought to his attention.
"What made you bring her here?"
Raoul looked out to see a press badge on the man who had just asked the last question. He gulped and began to recite his planned speech for in case someone caught onto him, "She practically turned my office upside down in less than a year working for me and since I didn't have anyone else to bring, seeing as Phil is already here, I thought it would be a nice treat to invite her."
"And you knew her from a summer job?" The same man asked, "From when?"
"Back in college. She was singing with her father then and I remembered she was nice. It just so happened that she turned out to be a phenomenal office hand as well. Who would have thought!"
"Well, your secret is out of the bag now. Good luck keeping her from pursuing a different profession!" A woman joked, holding a glass of red wine proudly in one hand.
"Right, uh, yeah." Raoul looked sadly to his table and chose to sit down. This was not what he had in mind at all and he didn't know what to think of what Phillip had decided to do. Phillip was always working towards something in his head and was always so many steps beyond anyone else. How was Raoul ever to keep up with any of this?
No one wanted to follow the young woman out of the hall, no one else needed to. It would have been cruel to try and force her to speak to anyone else after such a performance and even vultures knew when to leave well enough alone. None of them knew her and they were willing to understand the second best thing to do was to seek out Raoul.
Erik was the exception to this. There was no politeness in his manners, no resistance to keep the usual distance from everything. Her voice already rang in his head in a constant echo and the only way to turn it off would hear her sing again. As she ran, he was already moving toward the same door as she. Even as she was half-way down the entrance hall with a shoe left deserted behind her, he had slyly slipped over to the main door. Her young reporter friend was calling out to her, but she was being waived off.
"Keep them away from me Meg! Keep all of them away from me!"
The young woman in pink, Meg, stopped painfully before turning around. Erik turned his body so that he faced a group inside the banquet hall. Eventually, Meg was back inside, a strong face covering her true anxiety-filled emotions. She did not notice who he was from behind and people immediately started to swarm towards her for questioning. The answer she gave them was very sly and he knew that if she was going to give a story on Christine, that it would be from her own hand. As he looked back for the woman running away from the group, he bent down to pick up her discarded shoe.
Erik was quick to understand that Christine seemed to realize where she was going. He tracked her down the hall, to a side stairwell, and down two flights of stairs into a short hallway. Around the stairs was a bathroom, various stacks of foldable black chairs, and two doors on his left side. There appeared to be a hallway to his right, but it was dark. Besides emergency lights, most of the floor he was on appeared to be dark except for a sliver of white light that came from a slightly cracked door at the end of the hallway.
Slowly, he approached, but before being able to look inside, he heard a piano being plucked. The song reminded him of Sous Le Ciel De Paris, but instead of sounding like a waltz, all of the notes were the same length and only the melody was played. This seemed like a strange choice for her to play, a strange action overall to run away to what appeared to be a large practice room only to note an entirely different song.
This young woman was intriguing to him.
Christine felt a presence behind her before she could see or hear it. Her eyes closed painfully and she forced herself to keep her eyes on the keys.
"Please," She muttered hoarsely, wiping at her stuffed nose for a second, "Whoever you are, I'd like to be alone."
"I like hearing you play. Though I believe this piano needs to be slightly tuned."
Christine had recognized such a clear well-spoken voice before, but she couldn't figure out just where. Her evenly split notes faltered a beat and she winced as if pained. The curiosity within her soon got the best of her and she was soon looking up to a masked man in the doorway. Her immediate reaction was to stand.
He held up a hand to her and she saw that his other hand held her shoe, "No need to get upset."
Faintly, she wondered if this was part of Raoul's bargain if she was now involved somehow. What else would he want from her? There was nothing that she could imagine unless he wanted to hold her shoe for ransom, but she whispered question came anyway, "What do you want?"
His tall, lean body was now leaning slightly on the door frame. She had always been intimidated by him on television and whenever she saw him pass through the hallways of the Capitol Building he passed by like a hurricane, but seeing him in person was so much worse. She suddenly felt so small and standing on her tip toes would have been a requirement even from across the room if she weren't already glued to the floor at the baby piano.
"I told you I came to listen. Didn't you hear me? Oh," he presented her shoe to her and she wanted to curse Meg for making a Cinderella reference earlier only to have an ogre to return it, "I thought you might once this."
"I heard you, Congressman Underwood." She presented as strongly as she could muster, her hands tight as fists, "And…I'll take my shoe, thank you."
Christine lacked much grace as she walked unevenly over to him and snapped her shoe from his outstretched hand. Shoe in hand, she quickly retreated to the piano, placed it on the floor, and slipped back into it. He seemed to be waiting for her to look back up at him. He was smirking as if very amused and she hated him for that look.
"We have not met and yet you address me by name. Very well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Gallagher."
She noticed how her name rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, and there was a meaning there that she couldn't place.
"I'm not any good at the piano." She began slowly, "I came here to be alone."
Underwood put up his hands as if in mock protection, "Then be alone. I'll be here."
She faltered, "But I can't-"
"Do not worry, Ms Gallagher." He spoke softly, kindly, in a way she had never heard him speak before when speaking to the press, "I will not bother you unless you allow me."
Knowing that she couldn't kick him out without calling further attention to herself, and in full recognition that she shouldn't have been down there anyway, she took what she could out of the strange moment and once again sat upon the piano bench slowly. A heavy sigh came and just as her fingers touched the keys, she withdrew them.
"I'm sorry, it's not the same." She said to the piano and finished to herself, "I should go home."
"I'd rather you not." Christine looked up and met his gaze. His eyes weren't piercing her, they were simply cool and curious.
"Why?" she gasped.
He pulled his eyes away, "You intrigue me Ms Gallagher and I'm not sure if I understand you. You make such a huge fuss on having attention being brought to yourself, nearly pass out in front of hundreds on your way up three thin steps, but when you sang, you appeared to be right where you needed to be."
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't play back this evening to me." She said through gritted teeth as embarrassment made her cast her eyes down.
"This isn't to mock you." Her suspicious eyes looked up to him and he continued passively, "I'm curious, remember? Your singing. All of the technique was correct, your breathing, posture, the notes were exactly on-pitch and yet, there was something lacking. Those talentless twats out there may not have sensed it, but something was missing somewhere. Somewhere in you. I thought if I followed you I might find it."
Christine's eyes had begun to sting from the combination of tears and unfamiliar makeup. She quickly brushed anything under her eyes away and stuttered, "I d-don't know what you're talking about."
"Clearly you do." He said dryly, "I'm very good at reading lies, Ms Gallagher. I make a profession out of it."
Accepting that it was time to leave she closed up the piano keys, "I need to go." Her intent was to move towards the door, but he was blocking it. An unfamiliar fear kept her from moving past him. He, even as he was still leaning so casually on the door frame, was still far more intimidating than she could have ever imagined. There was no wonder for her as to why Raoul agreed to work for him. What now? Was she to be a slave too? To fall victim to this tall, masked man as so many in Congress so often did?
They stared at each other a long while, their eyes meeting and never leaving each other. Christine unwillingly relaxed a little as something behind his eyes made him a little more human. What was it? What could possibly be hiding behind this man in a mask? She found herself in wonder of what he was thinking and just why he had followed her down there when no one else could keep up. Questions welled in her eyes and she wondered if he could hear them through the thin stale air of the practice studio.
"I might be able to help you." Was what Underwood said so quietly that she wasn't sure if words had come from his moving lips at all, but his tone was unmistakable. He wanted more of her.
"What?" she gasped.
"I know what you're missing in your voice," he replied in a low full voice that sounded like subduction to her.
Christine quickly responded once she realized what he was saying, "I don't sing-"
"But you do." Underwood said with a lifted finger to stop her, "You woke up tonight after a long time, didn't you? Ah, ah, I see you trying to lie and say otherwise. Remember who I am."
"What do you know?" Christine spat even as she felt something in her chest begin to crush her from the inside out. Her hand went to her heart to try and keep whatever was pressing against her at bay, "You don't know me at all. This night was a mistake. I need to leave."
She took a step further and this time, he stepped towards her. They stopped only a few feet away from each other. Christine kept her posture as straight as she could. Her other hand was in a fist beside her, her mouth in a flat strong line, but her eyes were pleading. Just what her eyes were pleading for was unknown. How could he possibly be correct in what he spoke of? There was no way. She was nearing tears because she wanted to leave to find solace alone. The feelings couldn't possibly be from his implications of her needs.
"Perhaps," Underwood said quietly without missing a beat, "I do not know you, but I do know music. Is there not a part of you that wishes you could be something more than what you are? Do you enjoy being a shiny new thing on Peter's arm or would you like to not require his employment? I could help you Ms Gallagher, you simply need to let me."
He already knew too much. How much more was she willing to give him? Her eyes failed her and she found herself looked towards the floor as if there might be an answer there. When she found none, she whispered a question, "And…and what would you seek in return?"
Underwood laughed, "How timid you are, Ms Gallagher! How am I to believe you keep such a reckless man as Peters in line?" She narrowed her eyes at him for that remark only to find him smiling kindly, "And to answer your question: I'm not sure what I want of you just yet."
Hardening, Christine replied quickly, "I don't want any of your back-handed deals."
"You say that in such a way…" His eyes narrowed and Christine glimpsed the fearless politician she had so often seen in Congress, "I take it he's told you of our agreement then."
"That's not what I-" She had already said too much. She had placed her employer in danger and tried to recover, "I - "
"Hm. Very well. Let's see how much you care for him. I'll keep his secret if you agree to meet me after this night."
Christine involuntarily stepped backwards.
"What…What do you mean?"
"Purely professional, just as my relationship is with him. You see, my understanding with him will turn to be for both of our benefits even as he fears it will only be for mine. I only offer opportunity Ms Gallagher. You entertain me for a little while in something besides politics and I will help you find that missing place inside yourself. Deal?"
"Entertain?" The word fell slowly from her lips.
"I'll have you know I don't keep many people in my close circle. I do not have people over to my house unless they are of importance to me. Are you not at least curious about the elusive Erik Underwood and how he lives to see his home?"
"I don't understand." Christine said slowly, her thumbs spinning around each other nervously, "You're willing to let me in, as you say, and you don't know anything about me. Why?"
"I know your voice and it reflects something I find of use to me."
"I still don't understand why. None of this makes any sense. I just want to go home-"
"You don't see yourself as anything of real interest to anyone, do you?"
His words cut her and she was stunned to stillness.
"You don't." He continued, "You've let yourself believe you were nothing better than a servant to a pretty and rich little brat. How far that servitude extends seems to be beyond what I find attractive for the workplace. He may have been given an easy life to coast on and perhaps eventually squander in totality, but you are hardly in his class of people. So few are designed for greatness and those select few ought to seek each other out."
Christine looked up to him, noticing once again how much taller he was than her. There were lines on his face from wear and age. He must have been fifteen years her senior and while she had felt like a child in front of him before, there she stood strong. There was a sort of strength she could take from his eyes and it was something she seemed to return to him. Plenty of questions swam around her head, plenty of things that would all lead to the same answer from him. In the end, what was she to lose here? Even if she didn't believe that she was great, this man clearly believed in her to an extent that Raoul did not. It would be playing with fire, but Christine had already been burned, how much worse could this get?
Her response came slowly and she found herself looking away from him, "I'm not sure if I would want anyone to know. I don't want to come back to things like this again if I can help it.'
"I assure you that if you are to come back, you will not be the same person before them. You will have no need to be so fearful again. Don't you realize that it was not them you were afraid of tonight? You were afraid of yourself. It is natural to fear greatness when one knows it is within them, but I will not let such a containable emotion keep you behind again. You may trust me on this."
His lips were a thin line across his pale face. The smell of his aftershave smelled of dark spices and something relating to a bittersweetness. His hair was perfectly smooth and pressed back on his head with gel making it shine lightly under the florescent lights. His eyes, eyes that she had always thought were grey, appeared to be slightly different shades of green.
When the feel of air left his nose and brushed her lightly on her own face, she suddenly realized how close they had somehow become and she took a step back quickly, breaking their eye contact. A connection was broken and she turned completely, feeling her heart suddenly beat back to life and recover from not having been working for some time. The sound of her dress rustling mixed with the buzz of the lights, and the light taps from her shoes. What was all this strangeness?
Christine turned around and found that he had retreated a bit farther to the frame of the door again. Underwood spoke quickly, seeming to recover for both of them, "I will be in contact with you shortly on when we can set up a time to meet again. You will not be seen."
She wasn't entirely sure if he meant that as a question or not, but she agreed that the more secretive they could make these meetings, the better it would be for everyone involved. A new thought came to her, "You don't have my information."
To this, he laughed, "How easy that will be to obtain from someone as uncomplicated as you." He looked back at her for just a moment, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms Gallagher. I look forward to our next encounter."
With that, Erik Underwood was gone and it seemed as if a part of Christine had left too, but instead of feeling pain, she actually felt a little better inside, lighter somehow. After the night's events, to feel a little lighter was such a relief.
The first direct encounter. Tell me ya thoughts - Review! :)
