had once been a bedchamber, but of course it was furnished in the same discreet opulence as the rest of the house. Because the evening was already chilly, a small fired burned in the rose marble fireplace, lending a subdued light to the otherwise darkened room.
The green light indicator for an outgoing call began to flash, and he immediately picked up the headphones and settled them over his ears even as the red recording light turned on.
“Meg?” came Christine’s voice. She sounded shaky and faint. Then a long pause. “Okay—I guess you’re out. Can you give me a call if you get this tonight? I don’t care how late it is.” Another pause. “Talk to you later.”
He sat, considering, not bothering to remove the headphones. That hadn’t sounded good at all. The audition hadn’t gone well, then. He couldn’t comprehend anyone not recognizing what a marvelous instrument she possessed, but perhaps Christine was one of those unfortunate performers who choked at auditions. It happened.
The outgoing call light began to flash again, and he sat up straighter, wondering if perhaps Christine were trying to reach Meg by another number. It was a male voice that answered, however, one which Erik immediately recognized and despised.
“Randall?” Again that frightening little hitch in her voice.
“Yeah—Christine?” Even as a disembodied voice heard through a set of headphones, there was no mistaking the sharpened concern in his tone. “What’s the matter?”
A muffled sound in return.
“Are you hurt? Christine!”
A ragged breath. Then, “No—I’m not hurt. I just—I needed to talk to someone.”
“What’s wrong?”
Almost unconsciously, Erik’s hands clenched into fists. How he longed to be the one Christine had called in her despair, the one she instinctively sought for comfort.
She took another one of those halting breaths. “Oh, God, Randall—that audition was just a fake. Someone set me up!”
“What do you mean, ‘set you up’?”
“I mean that I thought I had an audition and drove all the way down there, and then—then—” For the first time she broke down into weeping, not loudly, but little wrenching cries that were somehow more painful to listen to than outright sobs.
To do him credit, Randall did not try to cover up the sound of her pain by murmuring platitudes or telling her to hush. There was silence for a moment on the line, broken only by the agonized sound of Christine’s weeping, a horrible moment in which Erik waited, hardly daring to breathe until she spoke again.
Finally she said, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You’re upset. It’s okay.” A pause. “Do you want to tell me what happened next?”
“Oh, God, Randall, it was so humiliating ! I go to their offices—their offices , like a complete idiot! Who holds auditions in their offices?”
“Well,” he said reasonably, “you’d never auditioned for them before. How were you supposed to know?”
“No one holds auditions in their offices, Randall. A rehearsal hall, even the theater where the production is going to be held, which I should have known, if I’d stopped to think about the whole thing logically.”
“Well, we can argue about that later. What happened?”
“So I walk in and tell the receptionist I’m there for the auditions, and she gives me this look, like I don’t know what I’m talking about. So I show her the letter, and then—” Christine paused and took a breath. “Then she tells me that it had to be some kind of joke, that they’d cast The Rake’s Progress two weeks earlier!”
“Jesus.” Even Randall sounded shaken.
“Yeah. Exactly.”
Then Randall said, “Do you want me to come over?”
Erik tensed, waiting for her reply. If Randall went to comfort Christine, there was no telling how things might end up. Certainly their previous quarrel seemed to have been forgotten for the moment.
“No,” Christine said at length, and Erik closed his
The green light indicator for an outgoing call began to flash, and he immediately picked up the headphones and settled them over his ears even as the red recording light turned on.
“Meg?” came Christine’s voice. She sounded shaky and faint. Then a long pause. “Okay—I guess you’re out. Can you give me a call if you get this tonight? I don’t care how late it is.” Another pause. “Talk to you later.”
He sat, considering, not bothering to remove the headphones. That hadn’t sounded good at all. The audition hadn’t gone well, then. He couldn’t comprehend anyone not recognizing what a marvelous instrument she possessed, but perhaps Christine was one of those unfortunate performers who choked at auditions. It happened.
The outgoing call light began to flash again, and he sat up straighter, wondering if perhaps Christine were trying to reach Meg by another number. It was a male voice that answered, however, one which Erik immediately recognized and despised.
“Randall?” Again that frightening little hitch in her voice.
“Yeah—Christine?” Even as a disembodied voice heard through a set of headphones, there was no mistaking the sharpened concern in his tone. “What’s the matter?”
A muffled sound in return.
“Are you hurt? Christine!”
A ragged breath. Then, “No—I’m not hurt. I just—I needed to talk to someone.”
“What’s wrong?”
Almost unconsciously, Erik’s hands clenched into fists. How he longed to be the one Christine had called in her despair, the one she instinctively sought for comfort.
She took another one of those halting breaths. “Oh, God, Randall—that audition was just a fake. Someone set me up!”
“What do you mean, ‘set you up’?”
“I mean that I thought I had an audition and drove all the way down there, and then—then—” For the first time she broke down into weeping, not loudly, but little wrenching cries that were somehow more painful to listen to than outright sobs.
To do him credit, Randall did not try to cover up the sound of her pain by murmuring platitudes or telling her to hush. There was silence for a moment on the line, broken only by the agonized sound of Christine’s weeping, a horrible moment in which Erik waited, hardly daring to breathe until she spoke again.
Finally she said, “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You’re upset. It’s okay.” A pause. “Do you want to tell me what happened next?”
“Oh, God, Randall, it was so humiliating ! I go to their offices—their offices , like a complete idiot! Who holds auditions in their offices?”
“Well,” he said reasonably, “you’d never auditioned for them before. How were you supposed to know?”
“No one holds auditions in their offices, Randall. A rehearsal hall, even the theater where the production is going to be held, which I should have known, if I’d stopped to think about the whole thing logically.”
“Well, we can argue about that later. What happened?”
“So I walk in and tell the receptionist I’m there for the auditions, and she gives me this look, like I don’t know what I’m talking about. So I show her the letter, and then—” Christine paused and took a breath. “Then she tells me that it had to be some kind of joke, that they’d cast The Rake’s Progress two weeks earlier!”
“Jesus.” Even Randall sounded shaken.
“Yeah. Exactly.”
Then Randall said, “Do you want me to come over?”
Erik tensed, waiting for her reply. If Randall went to comfort Christine, there was no telling how things might end up. Certainly their previous quarrel seemed to have been forgotten for the moment.
“No,” Christine said at length, and Erik closed his
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