Elisabeth hurried across the animated streets, pulling the collar of her coat even higher to shield herself from the surprisingly glacial October wind. Tonight would take place the long-awaited recital Ida had been raving about for months, and Elisabeth was far from sharing her sister's excitement at the prospect. It had been agreed that she would meet Manuela at the theatre after her rehearsal and that they would walk straight to the concert hall together. The promise of a night out with Manuela, particularly for an event that meant so much to her sister would have normally filled her with joy. But not tonight. Tonight, saying that Elisabeth was in a foul mood would have been an understatement.
After yet another day of fruitless enquiries at institutes and schools of all shapes and sizes, and countless hours spent at the employment agency, so far in vain, she was starting to believe that she would never get to work ever again and would instead have to sponge off her wife and sister until the end of her existence. Like each time, she had put on her most resolute and professional façade and asked if, perhaps, they might be looking for a teacher or would be in the near future, and like each time, she had been met with the same, invariable refusal. Upon arguing that she was also well-versed in non-German literature and perfectly capable of teaching a variety of other subjects, as her certificates could attest, she had been given the usual stiff smile, and a promise to consider her application if the need arose. At times, Elisabeth felt like the problem came from her altogether and tonight was one of these times. In the end, maybe she was not fit to teach; maybe she was simply inadequate and was only coming to this sad realisation now, at almost 40. These doubts that now plagued her more often than not would make her mind inevitably wander to imagining a future with Manuela, brilliant and thriving in her art, and herself, increasingly old, bitter and dependent. The younger woman, of course, was nothing short of supportive and encouraging, and even had gone as far as to ask Gerhardt Jensen to hire Elisabeth as a drama teacher for future comedians at the theatre. The man had been enchanted at the idea. Elisabeth, true to herself, had been outraged and rejected the possibility. At first, Manuela had been displeased, to say the least. She simply was unable to comprehend why her wife insisted on making things so difficult, but she also knew that, for all her good sense, Elisabeth was also extremely proud and stubborn. This was one of their many common traits, but also one of the most infuriating.
As soon as she reached the theatre, Elisabeth decided to let herself in directly through the small door at the back of the building leading to the dressing rooms, unwilling to wait in the cold for longer than was necessary. It would not be the first time, anyway. Upon stepping inside, she was almost startled to see a young blonde woman standing in the narrow corridor and holding a red metal box against her chest in a death grip. She had never seen her around before. The woman turned to her and gave her an enthusiastic smile that Elisabeth attempted to return as politely as possible. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, the blonde woman –a girl, really- looked at her again, still beaming.
"Are you waiting for the comedians?" she asked, and Elisabeth noticed how lovely, and how young she looked. She was probably around Manuela's age, and the idea made her strangely uncomfortable.
"One in particular, yes."
"Yes… So am I," the girl sighed, waving her metal box as if to prove a point. "Manuela is amazing, isn't she?"
Elisabeth flinched at hearing her wife's name in the blonde woman's mouth and her smile turned into something a lot less agreeable. "I suppose she is, yes."
"Whenever I see her onstage, I forget everything. She's so –so magnetic, you see. There's no one quite like her," she continued, oblivious to Elisabeth's struggle to maintain her composure.
"Do you come here often?" she could not help but enquire.
"As much as I possibly can! Today's rehearsal was amazing."
"Is that so," Elisabeth simply hissed through gritted teeth, and let silence settle heavily between them once more.
"Look, I'm sorry to ask, but I need to go and I don't think I'll get to see her before I leave," the young woman said after a while, biting her lower lip in the most irritating way. "Would you mind giving this to her? I think they're her favourite."
Elisabeth looked down at the box that was pushed into her hands. A box of chocolate. She nodded mutely, and the girl's smile grew even wider.
"Tell her this is from Abigail," she thought important to specify. "Thank you so much! Goodbye"
And with that, she was gone, leaving a positively seething Elisabeth behind. A few minutes later, a door flew open and a lively group of well-known faces walked past her, each one greeting her with various levels of familiarity. As expected, Manuela was the last to walk through the door. She was slightly out of breath and her eyes were shining with the satisfaction she usually harboured after a most gratifying day of work. She beamed when she spotted Elisabeth. Elisabeth did not.
"What a sight for sore eyes! Listen, I just need to change very quickly and then I'm all yours," she started, but her lopsided grin progressively fell as she noticed the wrath written all across her wife's face. "Are you alright, love?"
"Fantastic," Elisabeth answered curtly, and pushed something against hard her stomach that Manuela seized on instinct.
"For me?"
The other woman nodded and finally smiled back, as cold as ice. "From Abigail."
Manuela frowned. She knew no Abigail. Except for this girl who often came around with her arms full of gifts and the embarrassingly obvious torch she was bearing for her –oh, this Abigail, then.
"She says these are your favourites. I hope you enjoy them," Elisabeth spat and, without waiting for an answer, stormed outside.
The recital, overall, had been a pleasant affair. Ida has sung exceptionally and the crowd had been swayed, as expected. It had been far less enjoyable for Manuela, however, who had spent the evening clutching at Elisabeth's hand in despair, anxious to assure her of her undying love and devotion. It hadn't taken long for her to catch up with the woman in the street, although she had managed to forget her coat in her haste. She had dragged her into a narrow street, ready to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness –for what exactly, she wasn't sure. But Elisabeth had been quicker, mumbled incoherent words of apology and assured that she was not mad at her, but at everything else. No further mention of the incident had been made as they had strolled silently together to the opera house, but Manuela's incessant glances had betrayed her concern. Admittedly, Elisabeth was not exempt of flaws, but jealousy had never been one of them. Manuela was the jealous one, the one who would get into a fight without a second of hesitation if anyone so much as looked at Elisabeth for too long. Whenever Manuela was on the receiving end of someone else's advanced, however, the other woman rarely ever showed any sort of reaction and when she did, it was often amusement as she stood back and watched Manuela extricate herself from the situation as graciously as she could. By all means, Manuela had never seen her as blindly enraged as she had been tonight.
"Are you going to stay here all evening?" Elisabeth's voice interrupted her musings, and Manuela blinked at the lights that were now back on. Had she really been ruminating so much that she had missed the curtain call?
"Well, that was beautiful," she announced, undeterred, and got on her feet.
"I could hear the wheels turning in your head throughout the whole show," the older woman chastised softly, getting up as well, and they started making their way outside of the auditorium. "Stop being so anxious."
"Then stop giving me reasons to be."
Elisabeth linked arms with Manuela, and let her other hand travel up to give Manuela's upper arm a loving squeeze.
"I truly am sorry," she said sincerely. "I behaved in the most ridiculous way."
"For once, I am afraid I have to agree with you. Utterly ridiculous."
"Don't push it," Elisabeth laughed.
"You do trust me, don't you?" Manuela insisted, forcing Elisabeth to look at her. "You do know that there is nothing between me and anyone who isn't you, nor could there ever be?"
"Of course, my darling. Of course, I do."
"If you ever forget, I will make sure to remind you, over, and over again," the younger woman murmured, and the huskiness of her voice made Elisabeth shiver.
"We should probably hurry and give Ida her our well-deserved congratulations. Then as we get home, you can start reminding me."
Manuela had to stop herself from leaning forward and kissing the other woman with the passion she felt bubbling within her. "Let's be quick about it, then. We haven't brought any flowers, though. Do you think she will let us in?"
At that, Elisabeth only laughed and led them both upstairs, circulating easily through the crowd.
When they reached the diva's dressing room, they didn't even have to knock as the door was already wide open. Ida, still in her heavy concert gown, was busy hugging a tall gentleman who was wearing very stylish and presumably very expensive suit. As could be expected, the small room was already overflowing with flowers and a few bottles of champagne had been popped open.
"And there she is, the prima donna," Manuela exclaimed, letting herself in without waiting for an invitation. "Bravissima!"
"I must dash," the man hurriedly said, nodding at the two women who had just entered the room. "Let me take you out for lunch sometimes next week."
"I'll hold you to it, honey. Bye-bye," Ida waved happily, before she threw her arms around her sister-in-law's neck. "This was Georges."
"Don't tell me. Big bucks, personality of a shoehorn," Manuela teased, earning a playful smack in return.
"You were amazing, dear sister of mine," Elisabeth congratulated as she stepped between the two bickering women. "Manuela loved the Bellini, didn't you darling?"
The comedian looked perplexed for a moment, unable to remember a single aria Ida had sung.
"Yes! That was –quite frankly Ida, that was fabulous."
"Oh, stop it! But thank you. Just for that, I won't say a word about you not even bothering to change out of your theatre rags before my recital."
The two other women exchanged a slightly guilty look, but did not comment on the matter.
"Anyway, you will stay for the after party, right?" Ida commanded more than she asked.
"Actually, Elisabeth is rather tired. We were hoping for an early night…"
"Nonsense!" the singer interrupted. "I even managed to get the Hendersons to come. I had to apologize for the other night's misunderstanding, and you can imagine that I didn't do it gladly. But if it's what it takes to avoid a gigantic diplomatic incident and be in the wife's good books, so be it."
"I am impressed by your maturity, Ida. We won't be staying for too long," Elisabeth said pointedly.
Before Ida could complain, she spotted the couple she had just been talking about over her sister's shoulder. Douglas looked his usual dashing self, and Katarina was splendid in a long golden evening gown, holding a disproportionate bouquet of white roses in her arms which Ida supposed was meant for her. Mechanically, she looked between the woman walking towards them and Elisabeth who was standing in front of her, and the abrupt realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning. Everything clicked into place, and she blanched.
"Ida? Are you alright?" her sister enquired, her voice laced with sudden concern.
"Elisabeth… I think you need to go."
Note: Phew, yeah, I know :) For the record, I have Marie Kondo'ed the hell out of the previous chapters and attempted to seriously proofread it, so don't be surprised if you notice any changes -hopefully they're for the best.