"Do you have everything you need, Trevor?" asked James Willim as he pulled his car up to the front of a multi-storied stone building that bore the sign "Muzick`s Music". It was a cheesy play on the man`s name, but Kirkland Muzick was considered one of the finest instructor`s in Tasnicaport, so his uninspiring sense of humor was overlooked by most. Although, given what he charged, by Rainere, he should have had a sense of humor. A good one.
"Yes, Dad," Trevor replied. He was a boy of eight with wavy blond hair and a smile that seemed to warm even the coldest of hearts-- in his father`s opinion, anyway. He opened the door and hopped out, dragging his bookbag along with him.
"Your mother will be by to pick you up when you`re done," James called after him. "Mind what Mr. Muzick tells you. Be good!"
With a look on his face that said his father had told him all of this a thousand times before, that it was insulting to think he`d forget, the boy nodded, waved goodbye, then entered the building.
With a sigh, James leaned across the car to pull the passenger door shut, which his son had neglected to do. Always anxious to get to Muzick`s class, Trevor was. He wished his son was half as enthusiastic about their fishing trips, which sadly wasn`t the case. Trevor was his mother`s child. Music (and Muzick, for that matter) left little time for father/son bonding.
The drive to work was uneventful, almost routine. James couldn`t even remember what it was that had brought him to this job. At the time he`d regarded it as a stepping stone for something... something greater... but, the stepping stone had wound up an island, leaving him stranded in a position with no room for advancement, no future to speak of, and a family to support. Any great dreams he might have had for his life died the day he took this position. And yet... there was Trevor. A smile crossed James` face involuntarily. He couldn`t help it. His son was still young, still had a dream, and it was James` job to make sure he had every possible opportunity to reach it. And that meant suffering the Kirkland Muzick`s of the world.
As he settled behind the desk in his tiny office-- only a bit larger than a closet, really-- his friend Nolan appeared in the doorway, rapping a knuckle on the frame. "Morning, Jim," he said. After a short pause, he continued, "You look terrible."
James rubbed his eyes and let out a small sigh. "I haven`t been sleeping much, Nolan," he answered. "Probably only three, four hours a night." He glanced at the few family pictures on his desk. "Did I tell you Trevor got into Muzick`s?"
"Really? That`s great news," his friend replied. "Marion wanted to get Shara in there, but there was just no way we could afford it. Heck, I`m surprised you can, given what Pembrook pays us here."
James heaved a mirthless chuckle. "No. Actually," he lowered his voice to just above a whisper, "I got a job at Centurion. Part-time. Sit in a parking garage most of the night, not much to do, but it pays for Trevor`s lessons. That`s what matters."
"So, that`s why you`re so beat," Nolan realized. "I don`t know if I could do that." He smiled. "I like my sleep."
James smiled back. "Trevor deserves it."
Nolan shook his head. "Most kids that age, they start playing sports. Teasing anyone who doesn`t. Do you ever worry about that? A boy devoted to music... I know that would have gotten me beaten up."
"A little," James confessed. "But, he loves music. I can`t really force him to stop."
"Nope, I suppose not."
"Anyway, what do you need, Nolan?"
The other man started. "Huh? Oh, right." He dropped a folder in front of James. "Pembrook wants this squared away before lunch."
Pushing all thought of Trevor and Muzick`s Music out of his head, James opened the file and began his day at work.
The anomalous account was barely dealt with by the time the lunch hour rolled around and was soon replaced by even more difficult tasks. One of the anecdotes Pembrook was fond of sharing with his staff was that if the work wasn`t difficult, it wasn`t worthwhile. In James` mind, the work was plenty difficult-- seldom what he`d call worthwhile.
As the day came to an end, Nolan once more peered into his office, shrugging on his coat. "Hey, Jim... Marion`s taking the kids to a show tonight, leaving me to fend for myself. Have enough time to grab a bite?"
"Can`t," James replied, tapping a stack of papers against his desk to straighten it and then setting it to the side. He rose and donned his own coat. "Need to get over to the CSS station. My shift starts in an hour."
"That`s got to be harsh," Nolan said. "I`ll see you tomorrow, then."
"Right, see ya."
It wasn`t a particularly long drive to the Centurion Security Services station, but it always seemed like it. It was all in his mind, James knew, a subconscious realization that this job was responsible for keeping him from being with his family, but there was no other way. No other legal way. A Willim would see their dream fulfilled, on that he was adamant.
A piece of classical Tasnican music began to play on the radio. Some day, he told himself, that would be his son.
Smiling, he turned into the CSS Station`s parking lot.
* * *
" `Kuat Music Hall is proud to present Trevor Willim`s Shining Star`." Trevor smiled as he put his arm around his wife, who held their infant daughter proudly. "I told you I`d make it someday, Shara," he said, gazing up at the sign over the entrance. " `Trevor Willim`s Shining Star`," he repeated.
"I`m proud of you, Trevor," Shara smiled. "So is Olivia." She began rocking the infant back and forth. "And we`re going to be in the front row, cheering you on."
"Not too loudly," Trevor admonished, unable to banish the grin from his face. "The audience has to be able to hear me."
"Just loud enough," Shara promised with a wink.
With a kiss goodbye, Trevor watched his family depart-- they`d be back for the show later-- and then entered the building. His spirits were almost as high as the day Olivia had been born (nothing could compare to that). His own show! He`d only ever envisioned himself as a member of an orchestra or a performing group at this point in his life. Never in his wildest dreams did he let himself imagine he`d be putting on his own show-- something he wrote, that he`d perform, that others could see. This was the culmination of his life. It seemed arrogant to label it his "life`s work", but that was what it was. His life so far, but his life, nonetheless.
It had started with his mother and the old piano. He chuckled as he remembered the old thing, scratches all over the wood, notes drawn on the keys because sheet music had been "too hard", out of tune from all the banging. From there his interest had carried him to Kirkland Muzick, his first professional instructor. Muzick had taught him a lot, but wound up being too rigid in the end. His next teacher, Jaegun Isralde, had taught him how to feel the notes. From there-- Elian Dagare, Silota Findain, Ella Turquand, Igatha Yarrowly and all the others-- Trevor had learned much. And this was the result.
His smile broadened.
"Trevor," a voice called out. "Just the man I was looking for. Listen, we`ve got a real problem."
Trevor listened patiently to the stagehand`s dilemma, his mind focused on the show itself, but not enough to prevent him from offering a solution. After Trevor had explained things to the man, the stagehand walked off to take care of it. Just then, a slap on the back startled Trevor. "There`s the man of the hour!"
"Don`t sneak up on me like that, Toby," Trevor let out with a sigh of relief. "I can`t go breaking my leg today of all days."
Toby frowned. "Well, there goes my next sentence." He grinned at Trevor`s expression. "Relax. You`ll be fine. Big day and all that. I`ve never known you to crack under pressure."
"I`m that good at hiding it?" Trevor asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile.
"I bow to the master," Toby responded. "So, how are things going so far?"
Trevor took a deep breath. "I could lie to you and say horrible, but the truth of the matter is, this is one of the best days of my life." He crossed his arms and continued, "Shara and Olivia are back at the hotel, they`ll be coming later. My parents are driving up from Tasnicaport to catch the show and should be here in a few hours. I`m told we`re sold out. We`ve been rehearsing this thing like crazy, so everybody knows it by heart. We`re good to go."
"Knock on wood," Toby added, rapping the wall as he did so.
"Right," Trevor said with a wink, tapping the wall himself. "But, seriously, it looks like everything`s in place. Just a few last minute things to take care of and the waiting."
"I can help with that," Toby said, a twinkle in his eye. He suddenly produced a bottle of wine-- from where Trevor had no idea.
"Beware strange friends bearing gifts," he said with a smirk.
"I resent that," Toby shot back. "It`s not a gift. I`m charging you by the drop."
With a laugh, the two friends headed for Trevor`s "preparation room" (he hated the term "dressing room") to celebrate. And, of course, to wait.
The hours leading up to the show seemed to flash before Trevor`s eyes. The final rehearsals, the meetings, the costumer-- Shara and Olivia`s arrival, getting them situated-- a last meeting with the orchestra to make sure everything was perfect. Then, when the first members of the audience started to arrive, despite his excitement, Trevor felt like he wanted to throw up.
"You`ll be fine," Shara said, placing her hand atop his.
"What if they don`t like it?" he asked.
"They will," she reassured him with a smile. "No amount of jitters on your part will change that."
"Unless I blow it," he pointed out.
"Which you won`t."
"I hope you`re right," he breathed.
"Haven`t you learned by now?" She grinned. "I`m always right."
He couldn`t help but return her smile. "A fact which vexes me to no end." He kissed her forehead and rose. "Keep an eye out for my parents. They`re not that used to Egmont. I`m sure they`re going to cut it a little close." He gently stroked the cheek of his sleeping daughter as his wife nodded. "I`ve got to get back and finish getting ready. Be good."
"Olivia is always good," Shara pointed out, exasperatedly.
"Who said I was talking to her?" Trevor asked, then quickly moved out of his wife`s range. "Be good!" he repeated with a laugh.
He hadn`t gotten far before the director of Kuat Music Hall caught up with him. "I`ve just gotten a look at the sales projections, Mr. Willim. If things go well tonight, you could be looking at a long and healthy relationship with us."
"And if they don`t?" Trevor asked with a raised eyebrow.
The man-- a portly fellow named Frederick Caflown-- threw back his head and laughed. "Why, you`d never work anywhere ever again!"
Despite the man`s apparent joviality, Trevor got the impression that he was dead serious. "Don`t worry, Frederick," Trevor said after the man had settled down. "Everything will be just fine. Short of someone declaring war on Tasnica, I don`t see what can go wrong."
The director suddenly became very serious. "Don`t say that," he hissed. "It`s bad luck. That`s exactly what happened to Marquand Ulmecci."
"Who?" Trevor asked.
The man`s hands shook in front of Trevor as if he were trying to show him something. "You see my point?!" He wiped his sweating brow-- a receding hairline made that almost all of his head-- and took a deep breath. "Never joke about something like that," he said.
"Okay, okay, fine." He paused for a moment, then offered, "Okay, short of Kuat going bankrupt and being bought by Saeder-Krupp, nothing can go wrong."
A look of terror was frozen on Caflown`s face, as if he were only a few seconds away from having a stroke. Or he`d just found out Tasnica had gone to war, Trevor thought with a smirk. Too easily excitable, Caflown was. Leaving the director to his shock, Trevor quickly retreated. He had enough to deal with without adding Caflown`s constant (and always nervous) threats to the mix.
Roughly an hour later-- twenty minutes to showtime-- he peeked out at the audience, which was now quite full. He noticed Shara`s parents had arrived and were sitting next to her and Olivia. His father-in-law appeared to be holding a deep conversation with Toby, who sat to his right. On Shara and Olivia`s other side, however, the two seats reserved for his parents were empty.
"Nineteen minutes to curtain, Trevor," someone behind him said.
"Yeah," Trevor said, nodding absent-mindedly. "Hey, listen, would you mind sending someone outside to see if there`s an old couple trying to find their way in here? My parents haven`t really been in Egmont before, and..."
"Don`t worry, I`m sure they`re fine. Listen, you need to get those last touches done. You`re going to be on!"
"But" Trevor protested.
"I`ll get somebody on it," the person promised. "Come on, you know Caflown will have your head if something goes wrong! Get going!"
Reluctantly, he yielded and returned to his preparations. A few moment`s later, somebody stuck their head inside his door. "Trevor, phone call for you down the hall. Sounded pretty urgent."
"Thanks," he replied. He dropped what he`d been fiddling with and hurried down the hall. "Hello?" he asked when he picked up the receiver.
"Oh, thank Rainere, Trevor," the voice on the other end said.
"Mom?" Trevor asked. "What`s going on? Where are you?"
"Tasnicaport," she answered.
"What?!" Trevor exclaimed. "Mom, you two should be in Egmont by now. I go on in a few minutes. I can`t--"
"I don`t think we`ll be able to make it tonight, sweetheart," his mother interrupted.
"What?" Trevor was certainly confused now. "But, why--" Then, suddenly, the panicked sound of his mother`s voice registered with him. "Mom, what happened? Is something wrong? Did something happen?"
His mother paused-- he thought he heard a sniffle-- then she replied, "Your father collapsed, dear. We`re at the hospital. The doctors aren`t sure, but they think it`s his heart. I don`t think he`d have wanted me to call you, but I had to let you know why we wouldn`t be there tonight and that we want you to knock everyone`s socks off."
"Knock their..." Trevor repeated. "Mom, I can`t go on now. I`ve got to get back to Tasnicaport to be with you two."
"No," his mother replied, her tone strong enough to rival seraphim plastic. "The last thing your father wants you to do is give up your show because of him. He`d never be able to live with himself if you did that, Trevor."
"But"
"No `but`. You go through with your show and you knock `em dead, sweetheart. Your father and I will see it eventually."
"Mom..." Trevor said.
"I`ve got to go now, honey. The doctors are here. Take care! Do your best! We love you!"
"I love you, too, Mom..." Trevor replied. Then, the other line hung up. In shock, Trevor stared at the phone. How could she expect him to go on now, to...
He glanced down the hall and caught a glimpse of the corner of the audience. The show must go on...
He shook his head. He didn`t know if anyone who went on with the show while their family needed them could be called human. He certainly knew they couldn`t be called a Willim.
He hung up the phone and raced back to his dressing room, grabbing his coat. "Hey, hey, hey..." Caflown`s voice called out. "Where do you think you`re going, Willim?"
Trevor silently groaned, then answered, "I`m afraid something`s come up, Frederick. An emergency. We`ll have to postpone the show."
Caflown`s eyes shot wide and he began floundering about as if he were choking on something. Maybe he was. Trevor didn`t have the time to care.
"Do you have any idea what you`re suggesting?" Caflown demanded. "This sort of thing is not done, Willim! We`ll lose thousands! Tens of thousands! We won`t forget this. Do you hear me? You leave here and Kuat will see to it you never work again!"
"Yes, foolish to think Kuat would put family first," Trevor called back over his shoulder. He`d regret this, he knew that. But, he also knew he`d have regretted going on with the show even more. He hopped down the steps on the stage and went over to where Shara and the others were sitting. He had to let them know what was going on.
Naturally, Shara wanted to go with him. He shook his head, though, and told her to stay with Olivia. There was no reason to disturb their daughter. She should stay here with both her mother and her grandparents.
With a kiss goodbye to his wife and a pat on the back from Toby and his father-in-law, Trevor hurried to their car. He tried not to look at the "Kuat Music Hall is proud to present Trevor Willim`s Shining Star" on his way out.
It had started raining, he noticed immediately. There was something almost theatrical about that. In movies or plays, it was always raining in the dramatic moments. In real life, bad news could be delivered on sunny days as well as rainy. In a sense, this day had been both. From sunny to rainy, in a perfect parallel of Trevor`s own life. In the morning he`d had everything, now he stood to lose two important aspects of his life at once.
He started the car, ignoring the radio. The last thing he wanted to do right now was listen to music. He hoped his father was okay. He didn`t think he`d be able to do the show if his father wasn`t there. If...
No. Don`t think that way. Don`t think about it.
He sped down the streets, ignoring the speed limits when he could, intent on making it to Tasnicaport. If his father... (Don`t think about it.) ... if his father died... (Don`t think that way.) ... he wanted to at least be able to say "goodbye". (Don`t think.)
The rain became harder. The wind was strong enough to make the trees bend.
He`d never thanked his father, he realized. Always shuttling him to his lessons, canceling... he chuckled as he remembered the few they went on... canceling their fishing trips so that he could participate in recitals. Always making sure he had the right equipment.
Trevor pushed down on the accelerator even more. He had to get to Tasnicaport.
Lightning flashed, followed a few seconds later by a thunderclap. The drops hitting his windshield seemed almost an inch wide, but that had to be his imagination. As the road entered a relatively clear stretch, Trevor suddenly became very conscious of the winds as they fought to push his car off the road. He had to steer into them just to keep straight. He would not let the wind keep him from getting to see his father.
More lightning and more thunder.
Yes, this was almost theatrical. He could almost see this playing out in a bad movie, could almost see the tragedy written all over it. This was not a movie, though. This was real life.
As his car sped down the road, suddenly the wind picked up even more. As Trevor fought to compensate for it, ahead a small tree finally succumbed to nature`s assault and snapped in two. The lower half now stood short enough to be largely unaffected by the mighty wind, while the top half spun around, buffeted by the gale.
Trevor barely had time to see the tree as it flew through the air and right through his windshield.
He died instantly.
"I`m proud of you, Trevor," Shara smiled. "So is Olivia." She began rocking the infant back and forth. "And we`re going to be in the front row, cheering you on."
"Not too loudly," Trevor admonished, unable to banish the grin from his face. "The audience has to be able to hear me."
"Just loud enough," Shara promised with a wink.
With a kiss goodbye, Trevor watched his family depart-- they`d be back for the show later-- and then entered the building. His spirits were almost as high as the day Olivia had been born (nothing could compare to that). His own show! He`d only ever envisioned himself as a member of an orchestra or a performing group at this point in his life. Never in his wildest dreams did he let himself imagine he`d be putting on his own show-- something he wrote, that he`d perform, that others could see. This was the culmination of his life. It seemed arrogant to label it his "life`s work", but that was what it was. His life so far, but his life, nonetheless.
It had started with his mother and the old piano. He chuckled as he remembered the old thing, scratches all over the wood, notes drawn on the keys because sheet music had been "too hard", out of tune from all the banging. From there his interest had carried him to Kirkland Muzick, his first professional instructor. Muzick had taught him a lot, but wound up being too rigid in the end. His next teacher, Jaegun Isralde, had taught him how to feel the notes. From there-- Elian Dagare, Silota Findain, Ella Turquand, Igatha Yarrowly and all the others-- Trevor had learned much. And this was the result.
His smile broadened.
"Trevor," a voice called out. "Just the man I was looking for. Listen, we`ve got a real problem."
Trevor listened patiently to the stagehand`s dilemma, his mind focused on the show itself, but not enough to prevent him from offering a solution. After Trevor had explained things to the man, the stagehand walked off to take care of it. Just then, a slap on the back startled Trevor. "There`s the man of the hour!"
"Don`t sneak up on me like that, Toby," Trevor let out with a sigh of relief. "I can`t go breaking my leg today of all days."
Toby frowned. "Well, there goes my next sentence." He grinned at Trevor`s expression. "Relax. You`ll be fine. Big day and all that. I`ve never known you to crack under pressure."
"I`m that good at hiding it?" Trevor asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile.
"I bow to the master," Toby responded. "So, how are things going so far?"
Trevor took a deep breath. "I could lie to you and say horrible, but the truth of the matter is, this is one of the best days of my life." He crossed his arms and continued, "Shara and Olivia are back at the hotel, they`ll be coming later. My parents are driving up from Tasnicaport to catch the show and should be here in a few hours. I`m told we`re sold out. We`ve been rehearsing this thing like crazy, so everybody knows it by heart. We`re good to go."
"Knock on wood," Toby added, rapping the wall as he did so.
"Right," Trevor said with a wink, tapping the wall himself. "But, seriously, it looks like everything`s in place. Just a few last minute things to take care of and the waiting."
"I can help with that," Toby said, a twinkle in his eye. He suddenly produced a bottle of wine-- from where Trevor had no idea.
"Beware strange friends bearing gifts," he said with a smirk.
"I resent that," Toby shot back. "It`s not a gift. I`m charging you by the drop."
With a laugh, the two friends headed for Trevor`s "preparation room" (he hated the term "dressing room") to celebrate. And, of course, to wait.
The hours leading up to the show seemed to flash before Trevor`s eyes. The final rehearsals, the meetings, the costumer-- Shara and Olivia`s arrival, getting them situated-- a last meeting with the orchestra to make sure everything was perfect. Then, when the first members of the audience started to arrive, despite his excitement, Trevor felt like he wanted to throw up.
"You`ll be fine," Shara said, placing her hand atop his.
"What if they don`t like it?" he asked.
"They will," she reassured him with a smile. "No amount of jitters on your part will change that."
"Unless I blow it," he pointed out.
"Which you won`t."
"I hope you`re right," he breathed.
"Haven`t you learned by now?" She grinned. "I`m always right."
He couldn`t help but return her smile. "A fact which vexes me to no end." He kissed her forehead and rose. "Keep an eye out for my parents. They`re not that used to Egmont. I`m sure they`re going to cut it a little close." He gently stroked the cheek of his sleeping daughter as his wife nodded. "I`ve got to get back and finish getting ready. Be good."
"Olivia is always good," Shara pointed out, exasperatedly.
"Who said I was talking to her?" Trevor asked, then quickly moved out of his wife`s range. "Be good!" he repeated with a laugh.
He hadn`t gotten far before the director of Kuat Music Hall caught up with him. "I`ve just gotten a look at the sales projections, Mr. Willim. If things go well tonight, you could be looking at a long and healthy relationship with us."
"And if they don`t?" Trevor asked with a raised eyebrow.
The man-- a portly fellow named Frederick Caflown-- threw back his head and laughed. "Why, you`d never work anywhere ever again!"
Despite the man`s apparent joviality, Trevor got the impression that he was dead serious. "Don`t worry, Frederick," Trevor said after the man had settled down. "Everything will be just fine. Short of someone declaring war on Tasnica, I don`t see what can go wrong."
The director suddenly became very serious. "Don`t say that," he hissed. "It`s bad luck. That`s exactly what happened to Marquand Ulmecci."
"Who?" Trevor asked.
The man`s hands shook in front of Trevor as if he were trying to show him something. "You see my point?!" He wiped his sweating brow-- a receding hairline made that almost all of his head-- and took a deep breath. "Never joke about something like that," he said.
"Okay, okay, fine." He paused for a moment, then offered, "Okay, short of Kuat going bankrupt and being bought by Saeder-Krupp, nothing can go wrong."
A look of terror was frozen on Caflown`s face, as if he were only a few seconds away from having a stroke. Or he`d just found out Tasnica had gone to war, Trevor thought with a smirk. Too easily excitable, Caflown was. Leaving the director to his shock, Trevor quickly retreated. He had enough to deal with without adding Caflown`s constant (and always nervous) threats to the mix.
Roughly an hour later-- twenty minutes to showtime-- he peeked out at the audience, which was now quite full. He noticed Shara`s parents had arrived and were sitting next to her and Olivia. His father-in-law appeared to be holding a deep conversation with Toby, who sat to his right. On Shara and Olivia`s other side, however, the two seats reserved for his parents were empty.
"Nineteen minutes to curtain, Trevor," someone behind him said.
"Yeah," Trevor said, nodding absent-mindedly. "Hey, listen, would you mind sending someone outside to see if there`s an old couple trying to find their way in here? My parents haven`t really been in Egmont before, and..."
"Don`t worry, I`m sure they`re fine. Listen, you need to get those last touches done. You`re going to be on!"
"But" Trevor protested.
"I`ll get somebody on it," the person promised. "Come on, you know Caflown will have your head if something goes wrong! Get going!"
Reluctantly, he yielded and returned to his preparations. A few moment`s later, somebody stuck their head inside his door. "Trevor, phone call for you down the hall. Sounded pretty urgent."
"Thanks," he replied. He dropped what he`d been fiddling with and hurried down the hall. "Hello?" he asked when he picked up the receiver.
"Oh, thank Rainere, Trevor," the voice on the other end said.
"Mom?" Trevor asked. "What`s going on? Where are you?"
"Tasnicaport," she answered.
"What?!" Trevor exclaimed. "Mom, you two should be in Egmont by now. I go on in a few minutes. I can`t--"
"I don`t think we`ll be able to make it tonight, sweetheart," his mother interrupted.
"What?" Trevor was certainly confused now. "But, why--" Then, suddenly, the panicked sound of his mother`s voice registered with him. "Mom, what happened? Is something wrong? Did something happen?"
His mother paused-- he thought he heard a sniffle-- then she replied, "Your father collapsed, dear. We`re at the hospital. The doctors aren`t sure, but they think it`s his heart. I don`t think he`d have wanted me to call you, but I had to let you know why we wouldn`t be there tonight and that we want you to knock everyone`s socks off."
"Knock their..." Trevor repeated. "Mom, I can`t go on now. I`ve got to get back to Tasnicaport to be with you two."
"No," his mother replied, her tone strong enough to rival seraphim plastic. "The last thing your father wants you to do is give up your show because of him. He`d never be able to live with himself if you did that, Trevor."
"But"
"No `but`. You go through with your show and you knock `em dead, sweetheart. Your father and I will see it eventually."
"Mom..." Trevor said.
"I`ve got to go now, honey. The doctors are here. Take care! Do your best! We love you!"
"I love you, too, Mom..." Trevor replied. Then, the other line hung up. In shock, Trevor stared at the phone. How could she expect him to go on now, to...
He glanced down the hall and caught a glimpse of the corner of the audience. The show must go on...
He shook his head. He didn`t know if anyone who went on with the show while their family needed them could be called human. He certainly knew they couldn`t be called a Willim.
He hung up the phone and raced back to his dressing room, grabbing his coat. "Hey, hey, hey..." Caflown`s voice called out. "Where do you think you`re going, Willim?"
Trevor silently groaned, then answered, "I`m afraid something`s come up, Frederick. An emergency. We`ll have to postpone the show."
Caflown`s eyes shot wide and he began floundering about as if he were choking on something. Maybe he was. Trevor didn`t have the time to care.
"Do you have any idea what you`re suggesting?" Caflown demanded. "This sort of thing is not done, Willim! We`ll lose thousands! Tens of thousands! We won`t forget this. Do you hear me? You leave here and Kuat will see to it you never work again!"
"Yes, foolish to think Kuat would put family first," Trevor called back over his shoulder. He`d regret this, he knew that. But, he also knew he`d have regretted going on with the show even more. He hopped down the steps on the stage and went over to where Shara and the others were sitting. He had to let them know what was going on.
Naturally, Shara wanted to go with him. He shook his head, though, and told her to stay with Olivia. There was no reason to disturb their daughter. She should stay here with both her mother and her grandparents.
With a kiss goodbye to his wife and a pat on the back from Toby and his father-in-law, Trevor hurried to their car. He tried not to look at the "Kuat Music Hall is proud to present Trevor Willim`s Shining Star" on his way out.
It had started raining, he noticed immediately. There was something almost theatrical about that. In movies or plays, it was always raining in the dramatic moments. In real life, bad news could be delivered on sunny days as well as rainy. In a sense, this day had been both. From sunny to rainy, in a perfect parallel of Trevor`s own life. In the morning he`d had everything, now he stood to lose two important aspects of his life at once.
He started the car, ignoring the radio. The last thing he wanted to do right now was listen to music. He hoped his father was okay. He didn`t think he`d be able to do the show if his father wasn`t there. If...
No. Don`t think that way. Don`t think about it.
He sped down the streets, ignoring the speed limits when he could, intent on making it to Tasnicaport. If his father... (Don`t think about it.) ... if his father died... (Don`t think that way.) ... he wanted to at least be able to say "goodbye". (Don`t think.)
The rain became harder. The wind was strong enough to make the trees bend.
He`d never thanked his father, he realized. Always shuttling him to his lessons, canceling... he chuckled as he remembered the few they went on... canceling their fishing trips so that he could participate in recitals. Always making sure he had the right equipment.
Trevor pushed down on the accelerator even more. He had to get to Tasnicaport.
Lightning flashed, followed a few seconds later by a thunderclap. The drops hitting his windshield seemed almost an inch wide, but that had to be his imagination. As the road entered a relatively clear stretch, Trevor suddenly became very conscious of the winds as they fought to push his car off the road. He had to steer into them just to keep straight. He would not let the wind keep him from getting to see his father.
More lightning and more thunder.
Yes, this was almost theatrical. He could almost see this playing out in a bad movie, could almost see the tragedy written all over it. This was not a movie, though. This was real life.
As his car sped down the road, suddenly the wind picked up even more. As Trevor fought to compensate for it, ahead a small tree finally succumbed to nature`s assault and snapped in two. The lower half now stood short enough to be largely unaffected by the mighty wind, while the top half spun around, buffeted by the gale.
Trevor barely had time to see the tree as it flew through the air and right through his windshield.
He died instantly.
* * *
"Ah, Olivia! Come here, come sit on my lap."
The girl smiled as he patted his knees, and replied, "I think I`m a little too big for that now, Grandpa."
"Nonesense," James Willim scoffed. "You`re never too big to sit on your old grandfather`s lap."
Olivia nevertheless took a seat opposite her grandfather, smoothing her skirt as she sat down. Her grandfather sighed regretfully, but offered her a grin. "What brings you to this old man today?"
"I just thought I`d visit you," she answered, truthfully. She may have had another reason for coming, but she could get to that in a moment. "How have you been?"
He gave a non-committal shrug and patted his wheelchair. "About as well as one can be in one of these blasted things." He leveled a stern gaze her way. "But, I don`t think you came all this way to talk about that. Nor is it what I want to talk about. Have you kept up with your music?"
"I`m more of a dancer than a musician, Grandpa," she corrected him. He often failed to see the distinction, probably because her father had been both, but she felt she had to point it out each time. She didn`t need to have even more expectations heaped upon her.
"Of course, of course," the elder Willim nodded. "Your father," he said, "your father was an excellent dancer. He`d be proud."
Olivia smiled. This wouldn`t be easy with him reminiscing about her father. She plowed ahead, though. "My school was invited to participate in a `talent on display` event, Grandpa. At a real theater."
The smile he offered was warm and congratulatory. "That`s wonderful, Olivia."
She began playing with her fingernails. Before she could speak again, however, her grandfather continued. "I remember your father`s first recital. Clear as day. He was nine, I think." The corners of his smile started to tug down, but he refused to let it vanish completely. "He was so short behind that stand. So short." He sighed. "I wish he`d lived to do his show."
Olivia was silent. She wished it, too-- she didn`t see how she couldn`t, growing up hearing all the stories about her father-- but, she`d only been a baby when he`d died. She had no memory of the man beyond a few blurry half-recollections and pictures around the house.
Her grandfather hit his wheelchair, as if to snap himself back into a good mood. "He`d be proud, Olivia. He`d be proud. I`m proud."
She smiled at him again, then summoned up her courage. "I`d like you to come, Grandpa. I`d like you to come see it."
"It would take an entire fleet of Esperians to keep me away!" he laughed.
"It`s... it`s in Egmont," she continued. "At the Kuat Music Hall." She nearly blurted that last part out.
Her grandfather grew silent. He didn`t move for the longest time, then suddenly he wheeled his chair over to a nearby table and withdrew a small book from a drawer. He wheeled back over to her. "Kuat must not know you`re a part of the class," he said. "They were furious with your father for leaving. Furious with me for surviving my heart attack and hurting their PR blitz at the time." He frowned. "It seemed that they were out to make sure no Willim ever worked again."
Olivia simply nodded. She knew all of this, but, she was curious to learn where her grandfather was going with it and what that book was.
"The only thing I can remember wanting in life, Olivia, was for your father`s dreams to come true. Did I ever tell you that?" When she shook her head, he continued. "Well, that`s what I wanted. Because I couldn`t remember what it was I had wanted. I couldn`t even remember if I had ever wanted something... the funniest thing. I did everything I could to make sure he got his dream. Extra jobs, canceled trips, music teachers, no father/son days." His eyes began to tear. "It wasn`t what I wanted, but it was what he wanted. That`s why I did it. And when he told me about his show at Kuat... `Finally`, I thought. I couldn`t have been happier. It had worked. I`d given my son his dream."
Olivia couldn`t remember a single time her grandfather had opened up to her this much. She didn`t know what to think.
"Everything was perfect. Then, I had to go and have that heart attack, he had to leave his show and..." A tear slid down his cheek and Olivia found her eyes watering, too. "...and then I lost my boy. I`d had his dream dangled in front of his face, and then I-- I`d taken it away." He sighed. "And I find now that, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn`t. I`d have made him go on those fishing trips with me, even if he hated me for it. I`d have only kept the one job so I`d be home to spend time with him, even if I couldn`t afford all the fancy things. I`d have had more of my son to hold on to." He sniffled. "I`d blame Kuat if I could, but... it was my fault." He held up the book now. "They, though-- they kept his show from even going on without him. Nobody heard it. They wouldn`t let it stand as a memorial to him. Not even beyond the grave... I hate them, Olivia. I hate them."
She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn`t. They sat in silence, instead, Olivia looking at her folded hands and her grandfather looking at that book. Finally, she managed to say, "I understand. I`m sorry I..."
She suddenly found his hands engulfing hers and that warm smile was back in place. "I hate them, Olivia," he repeated. "But, not half as much as I love you." He flung a hand in the air and proclaimed boldly, " `An entire fleet of Esperians,` I said! No less!" There was a twinkle in his eyes-- maybe residue from his tears, but a twinkle nonetheless. "Kuat? Kuat doesn`t come close. Let them try to keep me out!"
Olivia flung her arms around her grandfather in a hug, her happiness giving way to tears of her own. He patted her back. "Shhh," he said. "No need for tears."
When they`d separated, he handed her the book. "This was your father`s," he explained. "He scribbled down most of his ideas in here. Even a few that didn`t relate to his music. It`s the most complete record of his show I know of. I`m sure he`d want you to have it."
Olivia looked at the book, not sure of what to say. "Grandpa..."
He patted her shoulder. "I`ll be there, Olivia. I`ll be there."
For the next few days, as her school`s performance neared, Olivia read her father`s... she wasn`t sure what to call it exactly. It was exactly as her grandfather had described-- a place where he`d scribbled down things, ideas, thoughts. Not enough to be a journal, but, too much to be a mere notebook. She smiled at the places he`d written down things about her mother, gotten teary-eyed at the places he`d written down things about her.
As she read the various notes he`d written about ideas, dance numbers, songs, musical scores-- for perhaps the first time she realized how talented her father had been. Extremely talented. And he`d died without the world ever knowing it. It wasn`t fair.
She and her dance-mates were ushered into a small practice room when they arrived at the Kuat Music Hall. They were set to go on after a group from Centwerp, but, before one from Contac.
"Now, you all stay here until you`re called for," said the fat man who had led them here. He had no hair and far too many chins than were necessary. He also looked old enough to be forced into retirement. She couldn`t figure out why he hadn`t been. "No funny business," the man continued. "You stick to the script, so to speak, and do as you`re told. You don`t want to end up the next Marquand Ulmecci or Trevor Willim!"
"Who?" one of her classmates asked.
"Exactly!" the fat man replied, jabbing a finger at the young man.
Olivia felt her hand tightening into a fist, but she kept herself from saying anything. She wouldn`t give the toad the satisfaction. Once he`d left, everyone dispersed into their little groups, running through stretching exercises, going over their dance, or just chatting.
"What do you have there, Olivia?" her friend Trina asked, taking a seat next to her.
"It was my dad`s," Olivia explained. "Some stuff he wrote. I`ve been reading it." She hastily shoved it back into her bag. She didn`t want to risk anyone seeing his name on there. She wasn`t embarrassed-- that fat man was a troll-- but, she didn`t think she could take any sort of teasing today.
She and Trina talked to pass the time, talked about the dance number, about this being their big break, about how they hoped girls they didn`t like fell flat on their faces or threw up. They made fun of the man that had brought them in here. They talked about anything they could think of.
Finally, someone came back and told them they were on next. Obediently, everyone fell into a line behind her and followed her out behind the stage. "Okay, okay," somebody next to the fat man was saying. "They`ll be finishing up here in just a few minutes. Now, just like you rehearsed, boys and girls."
"No funny business!" the fat man repeated.
Olivia waited patiently. She heard the audience erupt into applause as the curtains swung closed. That was their cue. She and the others hurried out onto the stage, taking the starting positions. The last of them had only just settled into place when the curtains parted again, revealing them to the audience and vice versa.
Slowly, the pit orchestra began to play their piece and one by one the dancers on stage began to move, following their assigned dance course. Mechanically, Olivia did the same. For some reason, this was different than all the other times she`d danced. She usually let the music carry her, let it guide her from move to move. Whether it was the audience, the people backstage, or the fat man who insulted her father, this time was different. She moved from memory. She didn`t feel anything.
When she came to a pause, she scanned the crowd, locating her grandfather, her mother, and the rest of her family. She could see his smile even from there, excitedly pointing her out to the people around him, her mother doing the exact same thing. She gave a small smile. She was on again and she ran out into the stage, stopping to twirl in the center as someone on the other end did the same right next to her, before they switched places.
The fat man was standing off-stage, watching them all. He had a smile on his face. For some reason, that turned her stomach. She couldn`t stand the thought of him being happy. He`d insulted her father. She wondered if he`d actually known her father.
She looked out and saw her grandfather again. So happy. So joyful, in spite of what this place meant for him. He should have been able to see her father up here. Her father should have had the opportunity to be here. Her father`s work should have been performed here, so that everyone could see it and remember him.
Her father should not have been reduced to a cautionary tale told by a worm of a man.
As she saw the fat man smiling once more, she couldn`t take it anymore. Something inside her snapped. Taking a deep breath, she danced out into the center of the stage, to the complete puzzlement of everyone around her. Even the orchestra went silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the fat man grabbing his shoulder as those around him fanned him with clipboards and pieces of paper.
What possessed her she didn`t know, but she found herself singing as loud as she could one of the songs her father had written in his book. She hadn`t even been conscious of the fact that she`d memorized the song until the words poured out, but once she`d started she couldn`t stop: singing and dancing at the same time, in a voice as clear as crystal.
Finished, she fell to one knee, gasping for breath and completely unsure of what had come over her. She was happy, though. At long last, Trevor Willim had been heard in Kuat Music Hall.
Suddenly, the audience erupted into a mighty roar of applause, whistles mixing in with the sound of clapping. She looked up and saw her grandfather, his face tear-stricken, but applauding more loudly than anyone else in the theater. She knew that, somehow.
She smiled at him. "There`s your dream, Grandpa," she whispered. She rose and curtsied, before retreating back to her classmates-- no doubt thinking she was selfishly trying to steal attention away from them. They`d be angry with her-- and rightfully so-- but, it didn`t matter to her. If she didn`t put family over the show, she couldn`t call herself a Willim.
As she remembered her grandfather`s smile, she knew that she, most definitely, could.
The girl smiled as he patted his knees, and replied, "I think I`m a little too big for that now, Grandpa."
"Nonesense," James Willim scoffed. "You`re never too big to sit on your old grandfather`s lap."
Olivia nevertheless took a seat opposite her grandfather, smoothing her skirt as she sat down. Her grandfather sighed regretfully, but offered her a grin. "What brings you to this old man today?"
"I just thought I`d visit you," she answered, truthfully. She may have had another reason for coming, but she could get to that in a moment. "How have you been?"
He gave a non-committal shrug and patted his wheelchair. "About as well as one can be in one of these blasted things." He leveled a stern gaze her way. "But, I don`t think you came all this way to talk about that. Nor is it what I want to talk about. Have you kept up with your music?"
"I`m more of a dancer than a musician, Grandpa," she corrected him. He often failed to see the distinction, probably because her father had been both, but she felt she had to point it out each time. She didn`t need to have even more expectations heaped upon her.
"Of course, of course," the elder Willim nodded. "Your father," he said, "your father was an excellent dancer. He`d be proud."
Olivia smiled. This wouldn`t be easy with him reminiscing about her father. She plowed ahead, though. "My school was invited to participate in a `talent on display` event, Grandpa. At a real theater."
The smile he offered was warm and congratulatory. "That`s wonderful, Olivia."
She began playing with her fingernails. Before she could speak again, however, her grandfather continued. "I remember your father`s first recital. Clear as day. He was nine, I think." The corners of his smile started to tug down, but he refused to let it vanish completely. "He was so short behind that stand. So short." He sighed. "I wish he`d lived to do his show."
Olivia was silent. She wished it, too-- she didn`t see how she couldn`t, growing up hearing all the stories about her father-- but, she`d only been a baby when he`d died. She had no memory of the man beyond a few blurry half-recollections and pictures around the house.
Her grandfather hit his wheelchair, as if to snap himself back into a good mood. "He`d be proud, Olivia. He`d be proud. I`m proud."
She smiled at him again, then summoned up her courage. "I`d like you to come, Grandpa. I`d like you to come see it."
"It would take an entire fleet of Esperians to keep me away!" he laughed.
"It`s... it`s in Egmont," she continued. "At the Kuat Music Hall." She nearly blurted that last part out.
Her grandfather grew silent. He didn`t move for the longest time, then suddenly he wheeled his chair over to a nearby table and withdrew a small book from a drawer. He wheeled back over to her. "Kuat must not know you`re a part of the class," he said. "They were furious with your father for leaving. Furious with me for surviving my heart attack and hurting their PR blitz at the time." He frowned. "It seemed that they were out to make sure no Willim ever worked again."
Olivia simply nodded. She knew all of this, but, she was curious to learn where her grandfather was going with it and what that book was.
"The only thing I can remember wanting in life, Olivia, was for your father`s dreams to come true. Did I ever tell you that?" When she shook her head, he continued. "Well, that`s what I wanted. Because I couldn`t remember what it was I had wanted. I couldn`t even remember if I had ever wanted something... the funniest thing. I did everything I could to make sure he got his dream. Extra jobs, canceled trips, music teachers, no father/son days." His eyes began to tear. "It wasn`t what I wanted, but it was what he wanted. That`s why I did it. And when he told me about his show at Kuat... `Finally`, I thought. I couldn`t have been happier. It had worked. I`d given my son his dream."
Olivia couldn`t remember a single time her grandfather had opened up to her this much. She didn`t know what to think.
"Everything was perfect. Then, I had to go and have that heart attack, he had to leave his show and..." A tear slid down his cheek and Olivia found her eyes watering, too. "...and then I lost my boy. I`d had his dream dangled in front of his face, and then I-- I`d taken it away." He sighed. "And I find now that, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn`t. I`d have made him go on those fishing trips with me, even if he hated me for it. I`d have only kept the one job so I`d be home to spend time with him, even if I couldn`t afford all the fancy things. I`d have had more of my son to hold on to." He sniffled. "I`d blame Kuat if I could, but... it was my fault." He held up the book now. "They, though-- they kept his show from even going on without him. Nobody heard it. They wouldn`t let it stand as a memorial to him. Not even beyond the grave... I hate them, Olivia. I hate them."
She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn`t. They sat in silence, instead, Olivia looking at her folded hands and her grandfather looking at that book. Finally, she managed to say, "I understand. I`m sorry I..."
She suddenly found his hands engulfing hers and that warm smile was back in place. "I hate them, Olivia," he repeated. "But, not half as much as I love you." He flung a hand in the air and proclaimed boldly, " `An entire fleet of Esperians,` I said! No less!" There was a twinkle in his eyes-- maybe residue from his tears, but a twinkle nonetheless. "Kuat? Kuat doesn`t come close. Let them try to keep me out!"
Olivia flung her arms around her grandfather in a hug, her happiness giving way to tears of her own. He patted her back. "Shhh," he said. "No need for tears."
When they`d separated, he handed her the book. "This was your father`s," he explained. "He scribbled down most of his ideas in here. Even a few that didn`t relate to his music. It`s the most complete record of his show I know of. I`m sure he`d want you to have it."
Olivia looked at the book, not sure of what to say. "Grandpa..."
He patted her shoulder. "I`ll be there, Olivia. I`ll be there."
For the next few days, as her school`s performance neared, Olivia read her father`s... she wasn`t sure what to call it exactly. It was exactly as her grandfather had described-- a place where he`d scribbled down things, ideas, thoughts. Not enough to be a journal, but, too much to be a mere notebook. She smiled at the places he`d written down things about her mother, gotten teary-eyed at the places he`d written down things about her.
As she read the various notes he`d written about ideas, dance numbers, songs, musical scores-- for perhaps the first time she realized how talented her father had been. Extremely talented. And he`d died without the world ever knowing it. It wasn`t fair.
She and her dance-mates were ushered into a small practice room when they arrived at the Kuat Music Hall. They were set to go on after a group from Centwerp, but, before one from Contac.
"Now, you all stay here until you`re called for," said the fat man who had led them here. He had no hair and far too many chins than were necessary. He also looked old enough to be forced into retirement. She couldn`t figure out why he hadn`t been. "No funny business," the man continued. "You stick to the script, so to speak, and do as you`re told. You don`t want to end up the next Marquand Ulmecci or Trevor Willim!"
"Who?" one of her classmates asked.
"Exactly!" the fat man replied, jabbing a finger at the young man.
Olivia felt her hand tightening into a fist, but she kept herself from saying anything. She wouldn`t give the toad the satisfaction. Once he`d left, everyone dispersed into their little groups, running through stretching exercises, going over their dance, or just chatting.
"What do you have there, Olivia?" her friend Trina asked, taking a seat next to her.
"It was my dad`s," Olivia explained. "Some stuff he wrote. I`ve been reading it." She hastily shoved it back into her bag. She didn`t want to risk anyone seeing his name on there. She wasn`t embarrassed-- that fat man was a troll-- but, she didn`t think she could take any sort of teasing today.
She and Trina talked to pass the time, talked about the dance number, about this being their big break, about how they hoped girls they didn`t like fell flat on their faces or threw up. They made fun of the man that had brought them in here. They talked about anything they could think of.
Finally, someone came back and told them they were on next. Obediently, everyone fell into a line behind her and followed her out behind the stage. "Okay, okay," somebody next to the fat man was saying. "They`ll be finishing up here in just a few minutes. Now, just like you rehearsed, boys and girls."
"No funny business!" the fat man repeated.
Olivia waited patiently. She heard the audience erupt into applause as the curtains swung closed. That was their cue. She and the others hurried out onto the stage, taking the starting positions. The last of them had only just settled into place when the curtains parted again, revealing them to the audience and vice versa.
Slowly, the pit orchestra began to play their piece and one by one the dancers on stage began to move, following their assigned dance course. Mechanically, Olivia did the same. For some reason, this was different than all the other times she`d danced. She usually let the music carry her, let it guide her from move to move. Whether it was the audience, the people backstage, or the fat man who insulted her father, this time was different. She moved from memory. She didn`t feel anything.
When she came to a pause, she scanned the crowd, locating her grandfather, her mother, and the rest of her family. She could see his smile even from there, excitedly pointing her out to the people around him, her mother doing the exact same thing. She gave a small smile. She was on again and she ran out into the stage, stopping to twirl in the center as someone on the other end did the same right next to her, before they switched places.
The fat man was standing off-stage, watching them all. He had a smile on his face. For some reason, that turned her stomach. She couldn`t stand the thought of him being happy. He`d insulted her father. She wondered if he`d actually known her father.
She looked out and saw her grandfather again. So happy. So joyful, in spite of what this place meant for him. He should have been able to see her father up here. Her father should have had the opportunity to be here. Her father`s work should have been performed here, so that everyone could see it and remember him.
Her father should not have been reduced to a cautionary tale told by a worm of a man.
As she saw the fat man smiling once more, she couldn`t take it anymore. Something inside her snapped. Taking a deep breath, she danced out into the center of the stage, to the complete puzzlement of everyone around her. Even the orchestra went silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the fat man grabbing his shoulder as those around him fanned him with clipboards and pieces of paper.
What possessed her she didn`t know, but she found herself singing as loud as she could one of the songs her father had written in his book. She hadn`t even been conscious of the fact that she`d memorized the song until the words poured out, but once she`d started she couldn`t stop: singing and dancing at the same time, in a voice as clear as crystal.
Beneath the night`s starry gaze,
When the world is fast asleep,
I try to peer through the haze,
Into the recesses, dark and deep.
There in reflection is revealed to me,
Secrets long kept, stories untold,
Of how our world came to be,
Won for us by warriors bold.
My father`s father and my mother`s mother,
Fighting together so that they might build,
A nation where we could love one another,
Living together as the ground is tilled.
From the ashes of old comes the fires of new,
Building a place of might and of strength,
We rise with the sight of the early morn`s dew,
And will march till the end of any great length.
Beneath the night`s starry gaze,
When the world is fast asleep,
I try to peer through the haze,
Into the recesses, dark and deep.
And there I find, revealed to me,
The secrets long kept, the stories untold,
And I yearn that I might one day be,
Counted among those brave and those bold...
Beneath the night`s starry gaze.
Finished, she fell to one knee, gasping for breath and completely unsure of what had come over her. She was happy, though. At long last, Trevor Willim had been heard in Kuat Music Hall.
Suddenly, the audience erupted into a mighty roar of applause, whistles mixing in with the sound of clapping. She looked up and saw her grandfather, his face tear-stricken, but applauding more loudly than anyone else in the theater. She knew that, somehow.
She smiled at him. "There`s your dream, Grandpa," she whispered. She rose and curtsied, before retreating back to her classmates-- no doubt thinking she was selfishly trying to steal attention away from them. They`d be angry with her-- and rightfully so-- but, it didn`t matter to her. If she didn`t put family over the show, she couldn`t call herself a Willim.
As she remembered her grandfather`s smile, she knew that she, most definitely, could.