"You idiot," Olaf hissed in Esme's ear, "You're supposed to be onstage! Get out there!" With that, Olaf gave her a little push, though she remained behind the curtain. Tonight would mark her first night as the lead role in play. Sure, she had been onstage before, but never front and center, captive of all the audience's attention. The very thought sent chills through her body.
But Esme knew she had no time to spare. She touched her short blonde wig lightly, to make sure it was in place, before striding confidently onstage. But the minute she set foot onstage all her confidence fell away. Onstage, with the hot stage lights burning her, she felt as though she had been stripped naked. Naked, as she stood onstage for all of the world to see.
But it wasn't just the opinion of the audience that mattered to her tonight. No, it was also her boyfriend, Olaf's opinion that mattered to her. It was one thing to make a fool of herself in front of an audience of hundreds of people. But it was quite another to make a fool of herself in front of Olaf. If she angered Olaf, he could leave her... or possibly do worse...
Esme snapped out of her thoughts, realizing she was still onstage. Quickly, she swallowed he fear, took a gulp of air, and said her first line. After she said her first line, she eased up onstage a little more. I know this , she told herself. And she did, she knew it very well. All the long nights Olaf had forced her to practice, berating her, and hitting her if she screwed up even the littlest bit. It was enough to make anyone know their lines.
She knew her lines, replying to the other actors, and even the long monologues. She scarcely had to think to retrieve a line from her mind. Since she didn't have to concentrate very hard, it gave her time to think. She wondered if she was doing well, and if the audience enjoyed it. She hoped Olaf was satisfied with it... otherwise, she could be in very deep trouble tonight. Just the thought of what he would do... she shivered, and decided to focus on reciting her part. All she had to do was make it through tonight.
Things were going smoothly, until they got to one of the parts... and unfortunately for Esme, it was the most important part, of the play. Her reply to the other persons question was- but she couldn't remember. He mind was blank. Utterly, and completely blank. She frantically searched her mind, but nothing appeared. She looked into the face of the other woman onstage, one of the powder-faced women... Tocuna, she thought. The question she had asked her was... "But, why, oh why, do you love this man?"
"Because I love a man that loves me, too!" Esme blurted. She had finally remembered. I love a man that loves me, too. She recited it to herself, over an over in her mind. Why had she forgotten it? It was one on the most important lines in the production. I love a man that loves me, too. She had probably forgotten the line because it was so untrue. That was not the relationship she had with Olaf... not at all.
Did a couple who was truly in love fight? Hurt each other? Threaten each other? Esme doubted it. She doubted it very, VERY much. Why was she wasting her time with Olaf? She knew the answer. it was because she loved him. She loved him, but he didn't love her. He didn't love her at all.
The next few lines she said had an odd quavering to them. The more she thought about the situation with Olaf, the more it felt like a sharp knife was being slowly plunged into her heart. Her voice wavered, until it became hard to speak at all. Her throat was all choked up, and hot stinging tears glided down her face. No, not here, Esme thought to herself, please, not now. But the vile tears just kept flowing, as she stood there, silently on the stage.
She didn't move a muscle, and neither did the audience. They merely sat there, morbidly transfixed at how horribly she was failing. Esme took a sharp breath, and dropped down to her knees on the stage. She was rocking slightly, her tear-stained face in her hands. She felt as though she was slowly dieing, with the cruel lights burning her to a crisp. Or, she may have died of humiliation.
When she didn't get up from her fit of sobbing, the audience began to gossip and chatter. Esme heard her name mentioned over and over, often associated with the phrase "broke down", or "failed". And she knew it was true. She was nothing but a broken down failure.
When she still didn't arise, Lucafont, who was working the curtains, gave a furtive glance to Olaf. Olaf quickly motioned for him to close the curtains, a command which Lucafont immediately obeyed. So, the curtain closed on a sobbing Esme, and Olaf was more enraged than he had ever been before.
Olaf strode onto the stage, and giving Esme a small kick when her got to her. "Get up!" he growled at her, through clenched teeth. She arose, her face turned toward the ground, to avoid looking at him. He gripped onto her arm, and dragged her of the stage. She reluctantly followed. As she tried to leave his grasp, so she could get her things from her dressing room, he dug into her arms with his sharp, scraggily nails, and wrenched her toward the door.
The minute they got outside, he turned to her, and whispered into her ear. "I'll kill you." He said softy, but surely. "You made a fool of me in front of everyone, you idiot. And for that... you will pay, dearly." Esme winced in the darkness. She didn't doubt Olaf. He was always true to his words.
"Get in." Olaf hissed, when they approached his long, black car. Esme stopped, saying nothing. She fought at the urge to run. "I said," Olaf repeated, "Get in, now." His voice was louder, and much more ominous the second time he said it. Esme, stared at him, before taking a deep breath, and saying, "No." "What?" Olaf asked. "What do you mean 'no'?" "I mean," Esme said, choking up again, but this time, in fear instead of sadness, "That I can't stand this anymore. You don't love me, and you never will."
"Get in the goddamned car, Esme." Olaf said, ready to push her in. But before he could force her to get in, she ran. She ran across the street, narrowly avoiding a car as she did. She ran blocks and blocks, until she was sure that Olaf was not following her. Had she dared to look back, she would have seen that he hadn't been following her in the first place. She was a possession of his, but now that she had gone, he didn't care much to go after her.
Esme collapsed on the curb. She had nowhere to turn to, nowhere to run. She had nowhere, and she had no one. She felt completely hopeless, until she saw a flash of a yellow car racing by. A taxi. She hurriedly jumped to her feet, and hailed down the cab.
When she got into the dingy automobile, she surveyed the driver, who was a chubby man of about 40. "Now, where might you be goin', little lady?" The man asked. Esme cringed, partly because she couldn't think of where she could go, and partly because the driver had called her "little lady". "Take me to..." her voice trailed off, but she spoke again when the thought she had been juggling around in her head all night finally seemed to make sense. "Take me to 667 Dark Avenue." She leaned back in her seat, for she suddenly realized how very tired she was. "With all due respect, miss, why does a lady like..." he paused here, for emphasis, "...You, have business on Dark Avenue" The man asked her.
"How dare you!" she yelled, furious at the driver, "Don't you know who I-", but she stopped insentience, realizing that he didn't know who she was. With her short blonde wig, and the floral housedress she wore in the play, she looked nothing like Esme Squalor, the city's 6th most important financial advisor. "I-I have a friend who lives in one of the lower floors." Esme said discouraged. The lower the floor you lived on, the lower class you were. And the way Esme looked, with her smeared makeup, and grungy clothes... she looked lower than lower class. And she felt it, too.
As the taxi pulled up to the gates of 667, Esme realized she had no money with her. She quickly tried to think of a way for not having to pay. The concept was practically alien to her. She had always had money, and a lot of it. But now, she might be getting it all back. Her old life, her money... everything. "I'll only be a minute," Esme lied, "I'll pay you in a few minutes." And before he could say another word, she sprinted across the pavement, and into the large building.
Once she was in the warm, softly lighted hotel, she felt instantly better. This would soon be her home again. Her wonderful, perfect life was becoming clearer and clearer to see. She started to ascend the staircase, when she realized with a small giggle, that elevators had come back "in", since the last time she had visited the penthouse. She walked over to the elevator, and pressed to "up" button, waiting as it slowly slid down to the lobby floor. The doors opened, and Esme stepped inside, surprised to see that there were no other people were in the elevator. Of all the 66 floors, you'd think that one of them would want to go somewhere. But she then realized that it was very late at night.
On the way up, since she knew that it took a long time, she practiced what she would say when she found Jerome. She would run, sobbing into his arms, begging for forgiveness, until Jerome had to agree, and take her back. A life with Jerome may be boring... but if was definitely better than a life with Olaf.
She smiled as the elevator finally reached the top floor. She stared at the huge "For Sale" sign, draped across the hard wood door. "I guess I got here just in time..." Esme said aloud. And with that, she turned the knob of the penthouse door. When she opened the door, she got the shock of a lifetime. There was no furniture, in all the rooms she could see. There was but one, bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, in the front room. But other than that, it was completely dark.
"Jerome?!" Esme yelled, running from bare room, to bare room. "Jerome, where are you?" But her search was fruitless. Jerome was gone, long gone. And Esme was left with... nothing. The penthouse was empty. Olaf was gone. Jerome was gone. She had no money. She had no house. She had nothing. She made her way through the dark rooms, toward the semi-light atrium near the front door. She turned the knob, and found herself back in the same dimmly-lighted hallway.
She heaved a huge sigh, and prepared to push the down button. But the words nothing and no one echoed in her brain. Her weary hand mover over a bit to the left to the down arrow. Her hand carefully pressed the "up" arrow, and when the doors opened, Esme took a final deep breath, and let herself fall down into the deep, dark pit of shadows below her.
Some say she died from the impact of the fall. Some say that she died as she was falling, from the fright, and anticipation. But there are others, still, that say she was already dead. She had simply died from the inside out. And that by throwing herself down the deep, seemingly endless shaft, she had finally come to the bottom of the endless pit of her life.
But Esme knew she had no time to spare. She touched her short blonde wig lightly, to make sure it was in place, before striding confidently onstage. But the minute she set foot onstage all her confidence fell away. Onstage, with the hot stage lights burning her, she felt as though she had been stripped naked. Naked, as she stood onstage for all of the world to see.
But it wasn't just the opinion of the audience that mattered to her tonight. No, it was also her boyfriend, Olaf's opinion that mattered to her. It was one thing to make a fool of herself in front of an audience of hundreds of people. But it was quite another to make a fool of herself in front of Olaf. If she angered Olaf, he could leave her... or possibly do worse...
Esme snapped out of her thoughts, realizing she was still onstage. Quickly, she swallowed he fear, took a gulp of air, and said her first line. After she said her first line, she eased up onstage a little more. I know this , she told herself. And she did, she knew it very well. All the long nights Olaf had forced her to practice, berating her, and hitting her if she screwed up even the littlest bit. It was enough to make anyone know their lines.
She knew her lines, replying to the other actors, and even the long monologues. She scarcely had to think to retrieve a line from her mind. Since she didn't have to concentrate very hard, it gave her time to think. She wondered if she was doing well, and if the audience enjoyed it. She hoped Olaf was satisfied with it... otherwise, she could be in very deep trouble tonight. Just the thought of what he would do... she shivered, and decided to focus on reciting her part. All she had to do was make it through tonight.
Things were going smoothly, until they got to one of the parts... and unfortunately for Esme, it was the most important part, of the play. Her reply to the other persons question was- but she couldn't remember. He mind was blank. Utterly, and completely blank. She frantically searched her mind, but nothing appeared. She looked into the face of the other woman onstage, one of the powder-faced women... Tocuna, she thought. The question she had asked her was... "But, why, oh why, do you love this man?"
"Because I love a man that loves me, too!" Esme blurted. She had finally remembered. I love a man that loves me, too. She recited it to herself, over an over in her mind. Why had she forgotten it? It was one on the most important lines in the production. I love a man that loves me, too. She had probably forgotten the line because it was so untrue. That was not the relationship she had with Olaf... not at all.
Did a couple who was truly in love fight? Hurt each other? Threaten each other? Esme doubted it. She doubted it very, VERY much. Why was she wasting her time with Olaf? She knew the answer. it was because she loved him. She loved him, but he didn't love her. He didn't love her at all.
The next few lines she said had an odd quavering to them. The more she thought about the situation with Olaf, the more it felt like a sharp knife was being slowly plunged into her heart. Her voice wavered, until it became hard to speak at all. Her throat was all choked up, and hot stinging tears glided down her face. No, not here, Esme thought to herself, please, not now. But the vile tears just kept flowing, as she stood there, silently on the stage.
She didn't move a muscle, and neither did the audience. They merely sat there, morbidly transfixed at how horribly she was failing. Esme took a sharp breath, and dropped down to her knees on the stage. She was rocking slightly, her tear-stained face in her hands. She felt as though she was slowly dieing, with the cruel lights burning her to a crisp. Or, she may have died of humiliation.
When she didn't get up from her fit of sobbing, the audience began to gossip and chatter. Esme heard her name mentioned over and over, often associated with the phrase "broke down", or "failed". And she knew it was true. She was nothing but a broken down failure.
When she still didn't arise, Lucafont, who was working the curtains, gave a furtive glance to Olaf. Olaf quickly motioned for him to close the curtains, a command which Lucafont immediately obeyed. So, the curtain closed on a sobbing Esme, and Olaf was more enraged than he had ever been before.
Olaf strode onto the stage, and giving Esme a small kick when her got to her. "Get up!" he growled at her, through clenched teeth. She arose, her face turned toward the ground, to avoid looking at him. He gripped onto her arm, and dragged her of the stage. She reluctantly followed. As she tried to leave his grasp, so she could get her things from her dressing room, he dug into her arms with his sharp, scraggily nails, and wrenched her toward the door.
The minute they got outside, he turned to her, and whispered into her ear. "I'll kill you." He said softy, but surely. "You made a fool of me in front of everyone, you idiot. And for that... you will pay, dearly." Esme winced in the darkness. She didn't doubt Olaf. He was always true to his words.
"Get in." Olaf hissed, when they approached his long, black car. Esme stopped, saying nothing. She fought at the urge to run. "I said," Olaf repeated, "Get in, now." His voice was louder, and much more ominous the second time he said it. Esme, stared at him, before taking a deep breath, and saying, "No." "What?" Olaf asked. "What do you mean 'no'?" "I mean," Esme said, choking up again, but this time, in fear instead of sadness, "That I can't stand this anymore. You don't love me, and you never will."
"Get in the goddamned car, Esme." Olaf said, ready to push her in. But before he could force her to get in, she ran. She ran across the street, narrowly avoiding a car as she did. She ran blocks and blocks, until she was sure that Olaf was not following her. Had she dared to look back, she would have seen that he hadn't been following her in the first place. She was a possession of his, but now that she had gone, he didn't care much to go after her.
Esme collapsed on the curb. She had nowhere to turn to, nowhere to run. She had nowhere, and she had no one. She felt completely hopeless, until she saw a flash of a yellow car racing by. A taxi. She hurriedly jumped to her feet, and hailed down the cab.
When she got into the dingy automobile, she surveyed the driver, who was a chubby man of about 40. "Now, where might you be goin', little lady?" The man asked. Esme cringed, partly because she couldn't think of where she could go, and partly because the driver had called her "little lady". "Take me to..." her voice trailed off, but she spoke again when the thought she had been juggling around in her head all night finally seemed to make sense. "Take me to 667 Dark Avenue." She leaned back in her seat, for she suddenly realized how very tired she was. "With all due respect, miss, why does a lady like..." he paused here, for emphasis, "...You, have business on Dark Avenue" The man asked her.
"How dare you!" she yelled, furious at the driver, "Don't you know who I-", but she stopped insentience, realizing that he didn't know who she was. With her short blonde wig, and the floral housedress she wore in the play, she looked nothing like Esme Squalor, the city's 6th most important financial advisor. "I-I have a friend who lives in one of the lower floors." Esme said discouraged. The lower the floor you lived on, the lower class you were. And the way Esme looked, with her smeared makeup, and grungy clothes... she looked lower than lower class. And she felt it, too.
As the taxi pulled up to the gates of 667, Esme realized she had no money with her. She quickly tried to think of a way for not having to pay. The concept was practically alien to her. She had always had money, and a lot of it. But now, she might be getting it all back. Her old life, her money... everything. "I'll only be a minute," Esme lied, "I'll pay you in a few minutes." And before he could say another word, she sprinted across the pavement, and into the large building.
Once she was in the warm, softly lighted hotel, she felt instantly better. This would soon be her home again. Her wonderful, perfect life was becoming clearer and clearer to see. She started to ascend the staircase, when she realized with a small giggle, that elevators had come back "in", since the last time she had visited the penthouse. She walked over to the elevator, and pressed to "up" button, waiting as it slowly slid down to the lobby floor. The doors opened, and Esme stepped inside, surprised to see that there were no other people were in the elevator. Of all the 66 floors, you'd think that one of them would want to go somewhere. But she then realized that it was very late at night.
On the way up, since she knew that it took a long time, she practiced what she would say when she found Jerome. She would run, sobbing into his arms, begging for forgiveness, until Jerome had to agree, and take her back. A life with Jerome may be boring... but if was definitely better than a life with Olaf.
She smiled as the elevator finally reached the top floor. She stared at the huge "For Sale" sign, draped across the hard wood door. "I guess I got here just in time..." Esme said aloud. And with that, she turned the knob of the penthouse door. When she opened the door, she got the shock of a lifetime. There was no furniture, in all the rooms she could see. There was but one, bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, in the front room. But other than that, it was completely dark.
"Jerome?!" Esme yelled, running from bare room, to bare room. "Jerome, where are you?" But her search was fruitless. Jerome was gone, long gone. And Esme was left with... nothing. The penthouse was empty. Olaf was gone. Jerome was gone. She had no money. She had no house. She had nothing. She made her way through the dark rooms, toward the semi-light atrium near the front door. She turned the knob, and found herself back in the same dimmly-lighted hallway.
She heaved a huge sigh, and prepared to push the down button. But the words nothing and no one echoed in her brain. Her weary hand mover over a bit to the left to the down arrow. Her hand carefully pressed the "up" arrow, and when the doors opened, Esme took a final deep breath, and let herself fall down into the deep, dark pit of shadows below her.
Some say she died from the impact of the fall. Some say that she died as she was falling, from the fright, and anticipation. But there are others, still, that say she was already dead. She had simply died from the inside out. And that by throwing herself down the deep, seemingly endless shaft, she had finally come to the bottom of the endless pit of her life.