FRIDAY

A knock on my door rouses me – someone from the hotel with my laundry. No piles of gifts from Charles.

Not yet, at least.

I allow myself a tiny snippet of hope. If Jaq went to speak with him, then Charles may not be a problem anymore.

That would require Jaq to grow both a brain and a spine.

I'm not sure he'd be able to do that in one night.

Among the garment bags is one containing a very fancy dress I don’t recognise. There’s a handwritten note attached to the hanger. It’s addressed to me.

Joanne; Wear this to the performance tonight.

I take the dress out of the bag and hold it up to myself in the mirror. It’s beautiful. Something a celebrity would wear to the Oscars. I feel like Cinderella.

I wonder who picked it out? Probably Frances. It fits the style of some of the dresses she selected for the engagement photos.

Another peace offering.

Maybe things will be easier now?

Knowing my luck, this dress is laced with the same caustic centaur poison that killed Herakles.

I hang the clothes in the wardrobe and return to the kitchenette. I sit at the breakfast bar, hugging my knees.

I forgot that the performance was tonight.

I’ll need to find someone to style my hair.

At least Friday opening nights tend to be quieter than the Saturday night following, assuming it’s the same for solo violinists as the theatre productions I’ve been a part of.

I wonder how well the tickets sold?

It doesn’t feel right to ask.

I do need to ask about some logistics though.

> Am I being picked up for tonight, or should I ask the hotel to arrange a car?

>

> Do I need to collect a ticket, or do I just give my name at the door?

I think about making coffee.

I’m about to get up when my phone rings – it’s Jaq. Couldn’t he have just texted his reply?

‘Hello?’

‘I forgot to arrange a ticket for you’

‘Oh. That’s okay, I can-‘

‘No, it’s not okay, it’s sold out.’

Sold out on a Friday? Huh.

‘I can sit backstage, somewhere out of the way – nobody’s taking photos of the audience, so nobody will know I didn’t have a proper seat.’

There’s a long pause.

‘I’ll pick you up and take you there. I’m going a bit early. Maybe there’s something the venue can do.’

‘Seriously, it’s okay.’

And I don’t really want to be alone in the car with you right now.

‘No it isn’t. I should have remembered.’

‘You had a lot on your mind. It’s fine.’

I mean, it kind of isn’t. You don’t forget to get your fiancée a ticket to your show.

He’s so careless.

He even mentioned payment in a text – I still need to talk to him about that. But, this isn’t a great time for it. He needs to be calm and collected for the performance. It's better to pretend that everything is fine for now.

‘Just worry about getting yourself to the venue. I'll sort out my own transport, and negotiate seating once I get there. I can do that much, no need for you to think about it. You should focus on the show. Okay?’

‘Okay. Thanks.’

I take the dress out of the wardrobe again, just to admire it. The fabric shimmers under the electric lights in my room. It's probably even more beautiful in the sunlight. Pity I'll be wearing it at night.

That's assuming I'll only wear it once.

I almost don't want to consider the possibility, but... this might be a gift. I may not have to return it. Maybe I can wear it in the sun.

I'm not sure what kind of event I'd wear it to, but...

I put it down.

Priorities.

I need to find a hairstylist. I need to do my makeup. I need a car. I need a seat at the venue.

I feel like I should be writing this down as a shopping list.

----------------------------------------

The murmur of the crowd dies quickly as I watch Jaq walk out onto the stage. The lights are so bright, the stage is so bare… and he looks so small and alone in his stupid cummerbund. It's almost as bad as his hair. I should have asked him what he was planning on wearing. I could have suggested something else.

He lifts the violin to his shoulder, raises the bow to the strings… and freezes.

He stands unnaturally still, locked in position as though transfixed by a basilisk’s baleful glare.

Moments stretch out into seconds, and the audience begins to murmur again.

‘Is this planned?’ hisses the stagehand standing beside me. I shake my head.

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Is it stage fright? I know he’s done this sort of thing hundreds of times before… but I’ve never seen him perform.

He never said anything about stage fright.

He didn’t seem any more anxious than usual.

He's not exactly a calm person... and he's not the type to tell me about potential problems in advance so they can be mitigated.

Pushing aside my deeply ingrained stagehand instinct to remain invisible, I lean out, precariously peering around the heavy velvet drapes. There has to be something that startled him…

There’s the Gorgon.

Frances and Isaac are seated in the front row. Isaac seems as cheery as he usually is.

Frances’ face is a mask of rage.

I lean back, getting as close to the stagehand's ear as I can.

‘Can you give a message to the lighting techs?’

‘Sure’

‘Kill the lights.’

‘What?’

‘Kill all the lights. He’s seen his parents. They're right in the front row. His mother's been terrorising him all week about his technique...’

I trail off while the stagehand whispers into a headset.

With the crack of the spotlights powering down, darkness envelops the stage. I hear gasps and yelps from the audience.

I don’t hear Jaq.

Seconds skitter by. The murmuring grows louder.

‘Now what?’ hisses the stage hand.

This is the stupidest idea…

I stride out onto the dark stage, praying I haven’t miscalculated the direction. My shoes click on the hard surface, deafeningly loud, cutting through the audience’s chatter. With both hands outstretched in front of me, I finally make contact with Jaq’s warm body. He’s trembling.

‘Jaq.’

I move around to his front, and cup his cheeks in my hands.

‘Jaq. It’s me. I’ve got you.’

A tiny nod.

‘It’s just me. Play for me. Nobody else is here.’

Another tiny nod.

No sound from the violin.

He’s dying.

I release his face and shuffle back behind him. After some bumbling, I have my hands on his waist.

This is a terrible idea.

I can't think of a better solution in the dark.

I remember the tempo of the opening piece, and begin to softly count it, swaying as though the music had already started, and only I could hear it. I pray that the movement will remind him of his own easy motion as he plays, and that the memory will unlock his joints.

'One, two, three, four.'

I can see people turning on phones in the audience. The shuffling of hundreds of feet and bags and chairs is starting to sound like a roar.

'One, two, three, four.'

Finally, the first sonorous note, clear and full.

It draws out, silencing the audience with its dark maple tone.

I feel Jaq’s posture soften. He sways with me, bending gently like a sapling.

CRACK.

I flinch, struck by the heat of a stage light. I open my eyes – a single spotlight illuminates us. I can’t see the crowd. They’re completely lost in shadow.

They can see me.

I’m breaking too many rules. I’m not meant to be on the stage.

The melody continues.

I can’t leave now – my shoes are so loud… and even if I try to walk quietly, it will be obvious this was all a big stupid mistake, not a calculated artistic choice…

I’m not meant to be here. Yet, here I am.

I am part of this performance now.

Can’t someone turn that light off?

I have to pretend I’m supposed to be here.

I try to sculpt my face into a serene, loving expression. Gently, I release Jaq's waist. I echo the motions of his body as he plays – a human shadow in a glittering gown. We dance and sway like grass in the wind. I become the muse Euterpe, guiding my chosen human pawn into divine mania.

The dance is familiar, the moves are simple – I’ve heard these songs repeated over and over, and seen him sway in the same pattern – I can pre-empt his movements, creating the illusion that I’m his puppeteer.

He's lost in the music, unaware of my awkward attempt to ape him. I worry that he'll notice.

If he sees me, how could he interpret this as anything but a cruel satire?

Still, I dance.

I try to distance myself from him, to descend into the obscuring shadows, but a second spotlight starts to follow me.

I am cursed.

I continue to dance.

Closer, further, closer, further, always behind Jaq so he won't catch sight of me.

I try to follow the flow of the music.

Finally, after an age that passes in a moment, the music stops. The spotlights finally lift, and we return to the thick, blessed blackness. The audience erupts into applause. I clatter across the stage back to safety, drowning in the wash of noise from the crowd. I run past the bewildered stagehand, and sprint down into the fluorescently lit bowels of the concert hall, searching for bathrooms.

I slam into the door with my shoulder. It crashes against the wall as I skid over the tiles into a stall, twisting my ankle in the horribly high heels.

What did I just do? That was the stupidest thing, it was stupid, why would I do that? I should have just run. I should have run away. I looked like an idiot, flouncing around, just… I want to die. I want to die, I want to die.

I tense my entire body like a spring, trying to alleviate the agony in my head.

My brain feels like it will burst. I can't take it.

Volcanic tears drip down my face, and I’m so grateful to have found a bathroom to hide in.

I kick and thrash, I weep and stretch my muscles to their limits. I bite my wrists, my hands... the pain won’t stop. There's nothing I can do to distract from the thunderous storm of emotions lacerating my mind.

Shame, anger, embarrassment, guilt, rage, confusion, terror, humiliation, remorse, grief, regret - swirling like an ocean of broken glass.

The door to the bathroom creaks open.

‘Hello?’

I freeze. I don’t want to be seen like this.

I don't want to be heard like this.

I don't want to be like this.

‘Are you in there? Joanne?’

Footsteps cross the tiled floor.

I hold my breath, praying she'll go away.

‘Joanne? Are you okay?’

If I open my mouth, I won’t be able to hold it in anymore.

‘Joanne? You did great. You really did.’

The voice is coming from the opposite side of the stall door.

My façade cracks.

I sob. I can’t stop it.

‘Hey, Jo. That took a lot of courage. You must know Jaq so well to have been able to get him back on his feet like that.’

I cry harder.

‘Hey, come out. Let me give you a hug.’

I fumble with the latch and launch myself into the arms of the stagehand. She holds me tight, stroking my hair.

'That wasn't supposed to happen,' I wail.

‘You did good. You really did.’

She holds me until my weeping recedes into sniffling. Her shoulder is soaked. She fetches me some paper towels.

‘I’m going to go get you some water, and let Jaq know you’re okay.’

I nod, leaning against a sink. I splash my face with icy cold water and try to breathe.

By the time the stagehand returns with Jaq, I’ve dried my face and tidied my makeup as best I can. My eyes are puffy. I can’t hide that. Jaq is pushed into the bathroom, and the door closes behind him.

‘…Jo…’

I can’t bring myself to look at him. He waits a moment, then says;

‘Thank you.’

Tears well up, unbidden.

‘That’s okay,’ I sob.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, no, I’m sorry. I ruined your performance.’

‘…no, you didn’t. The audience thought it was planned. They wanted you to come back onto the stage for a final bow.’

I shake my head.

‘I just want to go home.’

‘Okay.’

He steps out of the bathroom and I’m alone again. I can feel myself shutting down, sinking into divine numbness. The stagehand returns and guides me to an unfamiliar exit, where a car is waiting for me. I obediently climb in, and I’m driven away.