Pushing the chair out from the desk, Sylvia brushed her greying honey-blonde hair back from her face, sighing , her fingers drumming impatiently on her desk, as she waited for the familiar click and whirr of her computer shutting down.
Glancing at the pile of paperwork that had accumulated on the floor beside the chair, she grinned sheepishly. No wonder she had been laid off. But she didn't care anymore. Ever since her ex-husband had gotten full custody of their three children, she hadn't cared about anything at all.
It hadn't been fair at all. Her husband had accused her of all sorts of terrible things and since she had had that drinking problem – for barely three months – they believed him over her. No one believed she didn't batter her children. No one believed she was a good mother. No one believed anything she had to say.
As she pushed herself to her feet, there was soft thump of something falling to the floor and she bent to pick it up: A picture of herself and her wonderful children in happier time.
Tear accumulated quickly in her eyes, as she stared sadly at the smiling, happy faces of her babies. They were all so beautiful, so easy to love. And they were no longer hers.
Discarding the frame on the desk, she brushed her fingertips across her cheeks, sweeping away the hot tears impatiently, her eyes burning. All she ever wanted was to be a mother and to be loved for who she was. Now she had nothing.
Shuffling across the floor, she scooped up her bundle of playbills, wandering over to the leather couch and sinking down onto it, comforted by the thought of the non-judgemental pictures of the casts of her favourite musical.
Only an hour or so, she realised, before she was meeting up with several of her closest CATS-friends online to discuss what she should do, now that she was thirty-nine, divorced, unemployed and falling into a black depression.
None of her old friends understood the appeal the online world had for her. They couldn't see that people didn't judge on how you looked, what you had done. Instead, they – like many other people – just wanted friends.
They would be there to tell her everything would be all right in the end, that they were always her friends, they wouldn't criticise her for being a bad mother…but they still couldn't take all the pain away.
Staring blankly at the photographs, Sylvia rubbed her eyes wearily. She knew what she wanted to do. And she knew she would never do it, but she could think about it. Oh, how she would think about it.
*
Clutching his swollen jaw, nineteen-year-old Timothy Henlan stumbled into his room, his eyes filling with bitter tears.
Parents shouldn't be allowed to do that to their children, he muttered angrily. No child should be beaten by their parents. Especially not when those children weren't even children anymore! What gave his father the right to do this to him?
Throwing himself into his seat, he wiped a trickle of blood from his nostril, cursing under his breath. If only he had been stronger and bigger, he would show his father who was boss…that was for damn sure!
Brushing his dreadlocked ebony hair out of his eyes, he sighed, his nut-brown skin skin darkening more, bruises staining his jaw and brown eyes a horrible blackish colour.
Dabbing at the ongoing stream of blood with a scrap of tissue paper, he winced, blinking the stinging tears away again. He would NOT show his pain. That was something he would never give his 'father' the satisfaction of seeing.
Hitting the power switch of his computer, he sat back with a bored groan, waiting for the screen to illuminate with that comforting familiarity. He would find his friends there. Friends that didn't use him or hate him.
"Are you going on that damn internet again?" The hoarse, slurred voice bellowed from downstairs.
"No, dad." Timothy responded bitterly. "I'm not, you must be hearing things again…I would never disobey you."
Ignoring the mumbled curses and sputters from downstairs, he listened to the buzzing of the computer connecting him to the net and smiled with smug satisfaction. He could do what he liked now. His father was too drunk to give rat's ass.
*
Giggling down the phone, Kimberly and Joely exchanged gossip eagerly, chatting away in the way teenagers are prone to do.
The two were best friends, both happy-go-lucky, pretty teenagers. They had spent the previous summer together when Joely had traveled from Ireland to spend 3 months with Kimberly in sunny California.
Both girls were extremely popular and confident, always surrounded by an adoring gaggle of friends and admirers. Sporty and into dance in a big way, the two blonde girls could easily have been mistaken for twins, despite the fact they were from opposite sides of the world.
Now, they maintained contact the way they had started out. Using the internet and telephone, the duo's friendship cost their family more than they even cared to imagine.
The pair had met in a chatroom and – thanks to a mutual adoration of the musical CATS – had gotten to be the best of friends and had remained so for well over three and a half long years and many horrifically long phonebills later.
"I'll beat you there, Mercedes!" Kimberly reverted to Joely's nickname.
There was a wicked laugh down the phone, as Joely shifted to her computer. "Over my dead and putrifying body, Misty!" She retorted.
Switching on their computers simultaneously, they giggled madly, saying goodbye, before hanging up and starting the frenetic race to get to the chatroom first, were they knew they would drag their other friends into the fight to say who got their first.
*
Jordan Bailey swung out of his car with a yawn, his briefcase gripped firmly in one hand, his pin-striped jacket draped over his other arm, the smell of the office and the stench of the city lingering on him.
"I'm home." He kicked the front door open and smiled tiredly as the avalanche of kids engulfed him, one snagging his briefcase and lugging it away up the stairs, another taking his coat while two struggled to pull off his shoes simultaneously.
A young woman came through from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a damp cloth, a smile on her face. Rising on her toes, she kissed him fondly, her dark red hair falling loose from the confines of the elastic band that pulled it back from her pretty face.
"The kids'll be off soon." She lead him through to the kitchen, the savoury scent of the bubbling contents of her pans and oven filling his nostrils, his mouth watering in eager anticipation.
"And then do we eat?" Plucking the hot lid off one of the pan dexterously, he quickly dipped his finger into the sauce, yelping in surprise as the back of a wooden spoon smacked him firmly on the back of his hand.
Sticking his sauce-covered finger in his mouth, he turned to his young wife sheepishly, blinking his dark blue eyes innocently at her.
"Yes," She sighed in exasperation. "We eat…if you plan to leave any of our dinner to finish cooking…"
Sliding his arms around her waist, he nuzzled her neck teasingly. "I know what I'd rather snack on." He murmured, pulling the loose band out of her hair and burying his face in the wonderful cascade of red.
Muffling a giggle, Maria continued to stir the contents of the pot, even though they didn't need stirred. Anything to distract her from the teasing of her black-haired husband's lips on her neck.
Behind them, their young charges sat in front of the tv, watching Maria's favourite video for the fifth time that week.
"Memory, turn your face to the moonlight..." Singing along softly, she smiled, her brown eyes crinkling as Jordan joined his voice with hers in his deep tenor. "Let your Memory lead you...open up enter in...if you find there..."
"Mr Bailey!" One of the kids called. "We can't hear the video!"
Grinning impishly, he stuck his head around the door with a feigned-shocked expression and remarked. "Oops!"
The youngest of the kid stuck his tongue out at Jordan, hiding a naughty grin behind his hand as Jordan returned the gesture before jumping back to his wife's side, giving an agonised groan as the phone rang in the hall.
"Y'ello?"
Leaning around the doorframe, he called to his wife. "Hey! Maria, its Kristian!"
Maria laughed. "Tell that cheeky viking that he said he'd phone a long time back…tell him he's still a stinkin' liar!"
There was a laugh from the other end of the line and Jordan grinned. "He says its nice to hear that you're as charming and witty as ever."
Kristian had been the man that had introduced the couple, seven years previously, when they were all attending a conference in London and the massive blond Norweigian had also been Jordan's best man when they had wed four years later.
"When are ya going to be in London again?" Jordan was asking merrily. "We haven't seen CATS in ages…"
"Not since the tour decided to disappear before it started." Kristian agreed lightly.
"How long ago was that?"
There was a moments silence until Kristian replied. "I think it would be about six and a half months now."
Jordan whistled through his teeth, running one hand through his unruly black hair. "Are you gonna be online tonight, mate?" He enquired, loosening his shirt. "Its just that my dinner is almost done and you know how stroppy Maria gets if I'm not ready to eat when she is."
Kristian laughed. "I should be on in about an hour, if that's enough time for you to make a pig of yourself again."
"I think that she be enough." Jordan chuckled, ignoring the glare that Maria sent his way. "Talk to ya later, my friend."
Hanging up, he returned to the kitchen to promptly receive a slap on the rear.
"What was that for?" He wailed in an injured tone, clutching at his stinging buttocks. "I didn't do anything!"
"You deserved it." Maria jutted her chin out, turning her back on him. "And don't think you're going online before me, mister…my computer, my choice!"
Grinning, Jordan murmured. "We'll see, my love, we'll see."
*
Brushing a lock of blue-black hair out of his eyes, Tadashi sighed impatiently. The system had been operational half an hour ago, but one of the students had managed to crash the entire network somehow and it was up to him to find out how.
Behind him, Hiroko sat typing quietly on one of her numerous laptops, waiting for him to finish work, her lips pursed in concentration as her fingers fairly flew across the keyboard.
"How are you doing?" She asked, never breaking the frenetic pace of her typing.
Sitting back with a sigh, Tadashi rubbed the back of his neck. "Did I ever tell you how much I really hate students?"
"Actually," She replied with a smile. "You seem to repeat it like a chant every single day…I'm surprised the other tutors haven't turned you into some kind of religious Icon for the religion of 'studenthatism' and make you chant with them every morning."
"A religious icon?" He repeated thoughtfully, taking off his glasses to rub the barely perceptible film of dust off. "Now there is a fine idea. Its not as if I don't deserve it."
Shaking her head with a laugh, Hiroko glanced out of the wide windows at the skyline of Tokyo, gazing down at the ant-size figures moving along the streets between the sky-high buildings.
Clicking on the internet icon, she shut her typing down and swivelled her chair round to face him as she logged on. "Mind if I do a little surfing?" She enquired, grinning as he pretended to attack the computer with a samurai sword.
"Go ahead." Slumping down in his chair, he kicked the desk in annoyance. "Doesn't look like I'll be doing anything that interesting for some time."
Tapping the access code in, she tossed her braid carelessly over her shoulder, glancing back at the weary face of her friend. He always got stuck with the jobs no one else wanted to do. And he deserved a break. A good, long break.
*
"Good…keep your leg straight…yes…" Clapping in time with the music, Jenna nodded approvingly as Kristov pirouetted, then flipped into a back-flip with a half-twist and landed neatly on his feet.
His hands on his hips, he bent double, inhaling a slow breath as he straightened up. His dark blond, sweat-soaked hair was plastered to his scalp as his caught the bottle of water his trainer tossed to him.
"Was that okay?" He picked his words carefully.
"Top class, mate." She grinned, slapping him fondly on the back. The young Russian smiled shyly back at her snatching his towel and roughly rubbing his hair dry.
The duo were working together in a small training school in Saint Petersburg, in Russia. Jenna had traveled from Australia to work with some of the up and coming talent of the Russian ballet schools, having been a dancer and acrobat for much of her life.
Sometimes, she wondered why she hadn't bothered learning Russian before she came to this wonderful country. It might have helped, she mused ruefully, re-fastening the net around her long, ginger hair.
More often than not, she had Tatiana to help her. Her fellow-dance instructor was the least Russian-looking woman that Jenna had seen in a long time. Hardly surprising, since she was half-Jamaican, half-Belarussian. And she was due in any moment.
Sauntering into the room, her body swaying to some unheard reggae beat, the beautiful black dancer rocked lightly on her feet, her body as flexible as a rubber band as she wiggled her hips, her eyes closed as she danced to the rhythm of her own silent music.
Despite the chill in the room, she only wore the slightest of leotards, every muscle in her toned body rippling as she stepped this way and that, under Jenna and Kristov's fascinated gazes.
The woman was a natural dancer. At twenty-three, she was six years younger than Jenna, and six years older than Kristov, yet she got on with both in equal terms, counting them both as great and loyal friends.
"How'd it look?" She enquired, spinning to a halt in front of Jenna, flashing her dazzling white grin at her friend.
Half-shaking her head, half-nodding, Jenna gave a weak smile. "Annoyingly good." She admitted ruefully. "You'd be a natural Bombalurina."
"And you'd be my Dem, huh?"
Jenna shrugged. "Played her already…but if Kris here was Macavity, I wouldn't want to complain."
"You think I could be in CATS, like you, Jenna?" Kristov asked shyly, his deep brown-green eyes curious.
"Sure you could!" Tatiana grinned impishly. "If Jenna gets in, anyone can!"
Jenna pouted indignantly. "I am too a good dancer!" She mumbled, which was really an understatement. As dance captain on the Australian tour, she had understudied more roles than anyone and had taught dance since she was twenty-two, on top of the touring.
"As if anyone will believe that!" Tatiana chuckled, pausing to twist another bright band into her braided curly hair.
"Someone might." Kristov volunteered, flushing scarlet. "Like Father Christmas."
Tatiana doubled over with a snort of laughter, as Kristov's shade of red deepened. "Lordy! The boy made a joke about you, Jenna! If even our shy Kristov starts making jokes, what chance do you have?"
"That's it!" He hands on her hips, Jenna jutted out her small, pointed chin in annoyance. "For that, we will do the beetle's tattoo!" Stooping over her bag, she pulled out several pairs of tap shoes and tossed them to her friends with an evil chuckle.
"Yay!" Tatiana mumbled without enthusiasm, as she fastened the shoes on. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we present Jenna-enna-dots."
"Oh, haha." Jenna tapped her toes several times, wiggling her foot. "Attention!"
Leaping to attention, Kristov and Tatiana grinned at each other. This looked like it was going to be fun.
*
Tossing his basketball onto the floor, Mickey pulled his shirt of with a sigh of relief, as the damp material peeled away from his sodden torso.
Cropped white-blond hair glittered with drops of sweat, his blue eyes gazing beyond the window at the rest of Cape Town that sprawled as far as he could see. At least as far as he could see from his bedroom window.
Wandering out into the back yard, he threw himself into the cool pool, letting the water splash over his head as he kicked his feet lazily. Swimming to the end and clambering out, streams of water pouring off his close as he wandered back onto the patio and sat lazily down on the sun-warmed flagstones.
"How was practise?" His mother called from the kitchen.
"It was good." He replied, lying back, letting the sun add more to his already golden tan. "Tony and Josh tried to dodge me, but no one beats the dodger." He grinned as he said his school-yard nickname out loud. "The Dodger."
"That's good." His mother replied absently, her attention turning from her teenage son to the pile of groceries.
"It is good." Mickey repeated contentedly to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's very good." Closing his eyes, he smiled.
*
Pushing himself again, Marco gave a low moan as a burst of pain erupted in his ankle. He needed to get this routine right, but it just wouldn't come together for him.
Sinking down against a wall wearily, he pushed his bleached hair out of his eyes, rubbing his aching ankle gingerly. The pain blossomed as he touched it again. This really did not look good at all.
"What's wrong?" Angelo looked around the door of the gym area, spotting the young athlete crouched on the floor, grimacing.
Marco hastily brushed tears of frustration from his olive eyes, clenching his jaw and struggling to his feet again. "Nothing's wrong." He lied, wincing again, leaning on the wall apparatus for support. "My ankles just acting up."
"Let me see." Angelo forced him to sit, gently lifting the swollen ankle into his lap. "Marco - you started training to early again. It needs to heal."
Staring defiantly at Angelo, Marco jutted out his jaw proudly. "I'm fine." He announced firmly, standing up. "I can still do my routines as well as I ever could. I'm going to make the squad for the next games – you see if I don't…"
To emphasise his words, he started to run, launching himself into a handspring with a twist only to drop to his knees as his ankle went out from beneath him, a low, guttural moan of pain breaking from his lips.
"Marco!" Running to his side, Angelo drew the sobbing Marco to his chest, stroking his hair gently. "You'll be fine. I know you will."
"Why do I let you be my doctor, on top of everything else?" Turning his tear-filled eyes to Angelo's, he touched his companion's Adonis-like face. "Can you just answer me that simple question?"
Kissing the trails of tears away, Angelo murmured. "Because you love me." He held his lover close, burying his face in the gaudy blond hair, his hands running soothingly down the muscles of Marco's torso.
"That's right." Marco murmured absently, his tears slowly drying. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Angelo."
"Have a serious problem." Tilting Marco's face up, he kissed him tenderly. "But I'm not going anywhere, so why worry?"
"Exactly." With an exchange of smiles, they got to their feet and slowly made their way out of the silent gymnasium.
*
Glancing over at the TV out of the corner of his eye, Jordan absently noticed the screen was flickering, but – as Maria called his attention to the dinner – he listened to the report with half his attention.
"Reports are coming in of weather phenomenons occuring in various parts of the world. It is not clear what has caused such phenomenons, but it is believed that they are the prelude to severe electrical storms and it is advised that everyone in the affected regions remain in their homes and do not attempt to travel.
Areas in the path of the phenomenons – that seem to be immobile at the moment – include Saint Petersburg in Russia, Tokyo in Japan, Cape Town in South Africa, the central counties of Ireland, California and Texas in the United States, the Southern tip of Norway and much of the United Kingdom.
Take all precautions to ensure the safety of property and persons in areas where effects of the phenomenons may be prominent."
"So much for going for a nice walk." Maria murmured dryly, handing him his plate.
Jordan chuckled softly. "I can think of a lot more things we could get up to that are more...fun than going for a walk..."
"You'll have to enlighten me." Maria smiled naughtily.
Grinning, Jordan nodded. "You know I will!"
*
Outside, the storms grew in intensity and ferocity.
