Chapter 3: A Bit of Honesty
A week after his meeting with Zidler, Christian's curiosity had gotten the best of him. His former employer had slipped a date and address under the door of the apartment after being forcibly removed from Christian's presence. Christian convinced himself that merely walking past the theater would do no harm, and certainly would not lead to him being hired. Still, Christian tried not to think too much as he combed his hair more meticulously than usual and shaved for the first time in weeks.
Every step that Christian took towards the theater simultaneously pained and revolted him, and gritting his teeth and biting his lip did not quite suppress his desire to turn and run. It would be so simple just to go back to the apartment, he reasoned, but at the same time, something was prodding him onward. Everyone expected him to continue to be a depressed failure, so Zidler would not be surprised if Christian never accepted the invitation. Entering the building and following through with the idealist's project would be the greatest surprise.
He observed the theater from outside, noting that it was larger than the average Parisian theater, clearly newly constructed, and with a modern design. He recognized that there was a good deal of money backing this project, and receiving a paycheck and future commissions from accepting this job could skyrocket his career. However, Christian had turned down commissions for musical productions before. The invitations had flowed in after Spectacular, Spectacular, and he had declined them all. Why should this be any different? Zidler had made it sound different, but he was a notorious liar. Unsure of what to do, Christian continued to convince himself that no harm would come from merely standing in the lobby of the theater, so he went inside, clutching his notebook to his chest as if it could shield him from whatever lay ahead.
Immediately after he stepped into the lobby, Christian heard Zidler's voice calling his name cheerfully. He cringed but turned towards the sound, raising his hand in a half-hearted greeting. "I knew you would come!" Zidler exclaimed, firmly grabbing Christian's arm and leading him towards an office.
"Where are you taking me?" Christian hissed, not wanting to draw further attention to himself. The men that had been mopping the marble floor of the lobby had stopped and were watching him, as was a group of well-dressed men and women who stood chatting nearby.
"To meet le Patron, bien sur!"
"I haven't agreed to anything, Zidler," Christian objected.
"Neither has he. He's already rejected three writers today! What makes you so confident?" Zidler replied with a wink, before knocking three times on the closed door. He swung the door open and Christian barely had enough time to straighten his collar. A man was sitting at a large wooden desk, pouring over stacks of papers. The office was large and well-furnished, but not the typical office of a rich man due to the modern artwork that adorned the walls and the shelves that were packed with books. Christian hadn't even been introduced to this man yet and he was already impressed.
"Christian, this is Monsieur Claude L'Etoile," Zidler said in introduction.
"Enchante," said Monsieur L'Etoile, rising to shake Christian's hand, to which Christian nodded and murmured the same. He raised his eyes to quickly size up the noble patron, and he saw a young, earnest man, with an open, honest face and an excited expression. Christian guessed that he had stumbled into his wealth but most likely had never gone hungry or known any sort of strife. This L'Etoile was just the man he used to be.
"Come, shall we sit down and talk business for a moment," Zidler commanded, while still managing to make it sound like a suggestion. Christian could see that resistance was futile, so he sat down in a chair facing L'Etoile's desk, and Zidler sat beside him.
"So, you are a writer of some repute," L'Etoile began, more as a statement than a question.
"Some would say so," Christian replied, knowing that it was true. Spectacular, Spectacular had stirred up a fuss and demands had been made for further performances, which the death of the star and Christian's refusal to participate had rendered impossible.
"I have heard many things about your first production which incline me to hire you for my current project," the young man began. "I have also seen your recent plays performed and I have found them to be quite different from the reviews of your musical that I have heard." Christian instantly assumed that he would no longer be considered for this project due to his recent depressing, macabre, and morbid works.
"And for these reasons, I am disposed to believe that you will be the most suitable writer for my project." L'Etoile looked at Christian for a response, but Christian was dumbstruck.
"But, my plays, there's nothing bohemian about them! Not one has a happy ending!"
"I want more than a happy ending. I want happiness, but not just happiness. Life isn't so simple, and I want to show that. This won't be another one of your tragedies. There's more to life than tragedies. You've seen that. I want to show the pain and heartbreak that leads to happiness, and I don't want a fake, manufactured, version of it. I want loose ends. I don't want all the questions to be answered and boxed up. That isn't life and I want this production to be lifelike. Do you see? Is this something you can do? Is this something you want to do?" L'Etoile rose from his chair as he spoke, looking away from Christian, and around the room, as if he was speaking not just to the enthralled writer and the disinterested manager, but to the world.
Christian's mouth had dropped open as he watched the man speak. He had grossly underestimated the man, and now he was doubting that he had the breadth of talent to do what was required. Suddenly, Christian realized that for the first time in five years he wanted to do something other than become disgustingly inebriated or creatively bring about his own death.
L'Etoile stared at him, waiting, rather patiently for a response. "I'll do it. I want to do it." The words flew out of Christian's mouth so quickly and forcefully that Zidler sat up in his seat and stopped playing with his pocket watch to look at the writer.
"That's it? How did he convince you so quickly?" Zidler asked in shock.
"He was honest," Christian replied candidly.
L'Etoile smiled a genuine smile. "And I hope that you will be honest with me. I have impossibly high standards and I'm an absolute workaholic." His smile widened to a grin. "That might be a bit more honesty than you needed to hear," he mused.
"I think I can keep up with you," Christian replied, continually impressed with L'Etoile.
"Fantastique! Now, before we draw up a contract, I want to see some of your ideas, unmuddled by thoughts of a paycheck. Come back here, same time, tomorrow, with as many ideas as you can think of for the show. C'est possible?" Christian nodded, thoughts already running through his mind.
"That's what I like to see. You may go, Monsieur Christian." L'Etoile dismissed him formally, yet still warmly. Christian rose and nodded, and then showed himself out. He walked through the lobby with a bounce in his step and ideas churned in his head as he continued down the street. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Christian wondered what he had gotten himself into. That train of thought did not last for long, as he broke into a run towards his apartment to write down the flow of ideas that he had not felt in so long.