Chapter 2: I Know It All Will Come Back
Ross watched as Chandler made a game out of flipping a pencil end over end using his thumb. The writing utensil landed with a clatter upon the tabletop, the sound echoing through the almost deserted auditorium.
Or, it would have echoed, were the sound not competing with the truly horrendous rendition of Gene Austin's 'My Blue Heaven,' delivered with tone-deaf gusto by the latest chorus girl who fancied herself a prima donna. Ross checked her resume: a line dancer for the Russian ballet. Little wonder: chorus girls were hired for their legs, not their pipes.
Even though the performing arts played to Ross's carefully cultivated worldly sensibilities, he hadn't thought much of Chandler's plan at first, when it was laid out to him. Not the least because Chandler did not seem concerned with concealing the real reason for holding auditions from those walking through the door: they were going to select a plausible enough Monica look-alike to sweep away to Paris and fool the old Grand Duchess out of her rubles. Naturally, the poor chorus girls making minimum wage in the ballet and the opera would not care what the job was, aside from that it paid, and handsomely. At least, Ross hoped they wouldn't. What he really worried about was someone leaking information about these auditions to the Soviet authorities.
Maddeningly, this too, Chandler seemed unperturbed about. Though he had conceded, "Now it's risky, but not more than usual. We'll need papers; we'll need tickets. We'll need nerves of steel!"
The poor chorus girl was currently butchering the climactic bridge to My Blue Heaven, giving off a noise that was more akin to two people having sex - badly. Ross lifted the auditionee's resume up towards his face, the better to cover his wince. Oh, yes, this was risky - a lot more than usual. But it wasn't his job to worry about the plan's feasibility. It was his job to worry about the details, which is where he excelled anyway. Chandler talked the good game, while Ross delivered the goods - however counterfeitly obtained - to back it up. And anyway, to Ross's mind, it mattered less how they were going to get out of Russia (aside from the obvious: alive), then when. Which was hopefully soon. It didn't even matter to Ross if there were two or three of them boarding the train with forged passports. Just that they did.
Chandler had done his best to reassure him: "We'll steal across the border with our princess and our plot."
"Hopefully, disaster won't ensue..." Ross had counseled him.
"It won't! With luck it all goes smoothly..."
And with luck, we won't be shot!, Ross had thought, but hadn't said.
"Who else can pull it off but me and you?" Chandler had posed rhetorically in an Have-I-Ever-Steered-You-Wrong? tone.
He had, but Ross wasn't about to give his pal a list. The point was that before very long, they'd be rich, with the last living Gelleroff's money. They'd be out! And then, St. Petersburg would have some more to talk about!
Ross smiled to himself at the thought of fame, legitimately... OK, maybe not legitimately earned, but earned all the same.
My Blue Heaven mercifully ended, and the chorus girl whose name Ross had already forgotten sat back on the balls of her feet with an expectant smile.
Chandler spoke for both of them when he cleared his throat and said delicately, "My, my! I've never... heard Gene Austin interpreted in... quite that way..." He and Ross shared a look. "Perhaps... if we are in need of a last-minute... understudy."
"Replacement!" Ross agreed, making a show out of shuffling the papers in his hand. "Thank you!"
The dismissal in his tone clear, the chorus girl stormed off the stage with an affronted sniff.
Chandler ran a hand over his face. "Why do they even need to sing, Ross? We don't know if the princess ever sang!"
"You never know..." Ross mused, making notations on discarded resumes. "The Grand Duchess might wish to see the girl perform a special skill or something, to prove it's really her!"
Chandler stared at him. "There are other talents besides singing, you know."
"Hmm. Yes," Ross drolled, demurring. "Like ruining my ears of the sweet sounds of making love ever again!" He sighed. "Ahhh... I remember my sweet Rachel, the Duchess's handmaiden, and how we used to make love..."
"Don't start," Chandler held up a tired hand. "All I care about, man, is whether or not the princess Monichivna was known for herSINGING!" The last word was blasted out in a punctuated, frustrated bellow that could be heard all the way to the stage. The wall of sound was certainly startling and jarring to the next girl who now wandered out onto the stage.
Ross let out a nervous giggle, shuffling the resumes and sign-in sheets. "Well, from what I remember when I served in the Imperial Court..."
"That's right!" Chandler sneered snidely. "You were a member of the Imperial Court, or so you say!" He eyed Ross with a pointed look that clearly said they both knew this waschush sobach'ya, but that both had long ago agreed not to divulge this beyond themselves. Chandler now gestured towards the stage despairingly. "Forget about finding a girl who can do anything and everything the Grand Duchess might want - we can't even find a girl who might halfway look like her granddaughter!"
It obviously didn't help that they were holding these auditions in the abandoned Yusupov Palace, the auditorium stage of which featured a prominent tapestry of the supposedly late princess Monica.
"Excuse me?"
Chandler and Ross's argument abruptly halted mid-rant, and they both looked towards the stage. Even from this distance away, Chandler recognized her: it was the girl. The same one he had saved from the oncoming, backfiring truck.
"I need to obtain papers to buy a ticket to Paris! I was told to come here and ask for Chandler...?" the girl asked hesitantly.
"Um... uh..." Chandler stuttered stupidly, as he now took note of the tapestry just behind the girl.
The tapestry whose subject looked... eerily, remarkably similar to the girl now standing before them.
"Um... Y-yes! I - I am Chandler, and this is my... associate, Ross Popov! So... you're not here to audition?"
The girl wrinkled her nose in a frown. "Audition for what?"
"Excuse me a moment!" Chandler called as politely as he could, before grabbing for Ross. "Ross! Do you see what I see?!"
Ross adjusted his spectacles along the bridge of his nose, then let out a gasp. "Why, yes... It... it's certainly possible..."
"... that we could pass her off as the Grand Duchess Monichivna!" Chandler's eyes gleamed. Beckoning, the two men headed through the house and jogged up onto the stage.
As they drew closer, Chandler was struck by not only how much this girl resembled Monichivna, but also, all over again from when he had bumped into her on the street, how... strikingly beautiful she looked.
"Excuse me, Miss...?"
"Mona."
Chandler refrained from wiggling triumphantly in excitement. Gosh, even the name was similar sounding! And she just happened to want a train ticket to Paris? It was too good to be true!
... Of course, his mat' (back when he had one) would often say that if something was too good to be true, it probably was. But Chandler didn't allow himself to think about that just now. "Mona..." Chandler savored the name on his tongue. "Got a last name?"
Mona's face fell. "I don't know..."
"What are you talking about? Everyone has a last name. Here: I'll start." He held out his hand. "Chandler Bingayev. You've already met Ross Popov."
"Mona. Just Mona," Mona smiled in amusement.
"So you don't really have a last name?" Ross wondered, almost marveling.
"Don't have much of anything, really, except for a decent job and the clothes on my back."
"You're an orphan, then?" Chandler inquired, finding himself drawn more and more to this mysterious girl with each passing second. He could identify with her. Strongly. He was an orphan too. Had lived on the streets.
"Yup, from the time that I was 17."
Chandler nodded. In this, Mona was luckier than most, to be nearly fully grown though not quite when she was orphaned. "Who were you parents?"
"I don't know. I don't remember them. They say I was found by the side of a road, tracks all around. It had recently snowed. All I remember are things like rain on the windowpanes, bedsheets, nurses whispering over me. They decided to call me Mona, since I came to them with no name. Gave me clothes. I don't remember a thing before that."
Chandler couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Nothing?" he asked eagerly.
"But I know it all will come back one day! I just remember... someone... telling me to go to Paris. I think I'll find answers there!"
This was incredible. Chandler and Ross looked at each other, unable to believe their luck. This girl was it. She was their imposter. All they had to do was groom her a little bit. Her striking resemblance to the Grand Duchess Phoebe Althea's granddaughter meant she was already halfway there; the rest could be made up with some training.
Chandler stroked his chin, pretending to think. "So... Mona: have you considered just what you'd do upon getting to Paris? Aside from... finding your family, of course."
Mona shrugged. "See the sights. Anywhere would be better than Russia... this dump!"
Chandler smiled. "Because Ross and I... we have a proposition for you: we are searching for the princess Monichivna."
Mona snorted. "Sure, you and everyone else..."
"... and we think... we may have just found her," Chandler gestured back towards the tapestry.
Mona glanced back at the beautiful tapestry, her mouth falling open a little in wonder at the beauty of its subject. She glanced back at Chandler...
... Then she started to laugh.
"Hold on!... you don't really think I'm the future Grand Duchess Monichivna, are you?"
"I don't know. There's nothing that's telling me you're not the future Grand Duchess Monichivna. Or that you could be!" Chandler pointed out. "And the current Grand Duchess is currently residing in Paris, desperate for any news of her one granddaughter who may or may not still be alive!" He shrugged. "You say you're looking to find your family... in Paris. Well, we happen to have a... long-standing affiliation with her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess..." He glanced pointedly at Ross. "... and she has the power and the means to help you find your lost loved ones. All you have to do is convince her that you are the princess Monichivna. And even if you aren't, the Grand Duchess wouldn't refuse to help a poor girl from her beloved Mother Russia." He shrugged wide. "Hey, I'd say it's a win-win."
Mona appeared thoughtful. "Well... you're heading that way anyway... to Paris... and if anyone could help me find my real family, it would be royalty..." She bit her lip. "But if I don't even know who I am - much less if I could be the future Grand Duchess - how am I supposed to convince Phoebe Althea that I'm really Monica?"
Chandler grinned broadly. "That's what lessons are for."
Mona was quiet for a long moment. Then she smiled. Chandler was struck by how he rather liked her smile. It was luminous and matched her sparkling sapphire eyes.
"Gentlemen: start your teachings!"
Chandler and Ross cheered and huddled with their newfound imposter. None of them saw the trio of jilted and rejected actresses watching them conspire from the wings...
