A/N- Happy Thanksgiving guys, for those of you who celebrate it! Brace yourselves for my first non-MarkMaureen fic! I'm trying something new here, a new pairing and a new POV. You'll figure out pretty easily who it is once you start it, just take into consideration I've never wrote this POV before. This works well as a oneshot, but it also has a potential to be a longer fic, depends, among other stuff, on what you're gonna think about it.
I wanna thank Serendipity Kat for proofreading this and making sure it wasn't completely hopeless.
Disclaimer: The Rent characters are the eternal property of Jonathan Larson. The basic plot-line was much influenced by my short London adventure and my personal experience at the stage-door… and some things that had to be made up, for the sake of the story.
Dedicated to the amazing Idina Menzel- get well soon!
There's a Girl I Know
The evening was chilly, even though it was the middle of August. The streets were packed with people, which was not an unusual sight for the streets of London; especially not at that hour of last-minute shopping on the way home. Above all the bustle of the city stood the old building of the theater as it was towering into the falling darkness, Victorian-like and luminous, as people made their way towards it. A sign on the front stairs read Tonight: Full House! in round, scarlet letters. The show was running in the West End no more than a month now, and it was already a sensation. Most of the reviewers glorified it, and the audience couldn't get enough of it, most of it coming to see the show a second and a third time. Ticket sales soared, its rate higher than ever seen before in the history of the musical theater in London. In case it was not yet clear by its enormous success on Broadway several years before, it was about to become the next great hit in London as well, and everyone seemed to know that.
"Mom, Daddy, come on, we're gonna miss it!" the girl turned to her parents, urging them on.
"Emily, slow down, or we'll lose you," her mother threatened in a quite, no-nonsense tone. "And in that case you won't be able to see the show at all. Daddy has the tickets, remember?"
"Come on, Daddy!" Emily reached for her father's arm. He smiled, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, much to her mother's dismay. He didn't really care; it made him happy to see his older daughter in such a good mood. She was so excited she couldn't sit still the whole day. He knew she was looking forward to that evening ever since they got to London, a week or so earlier. They were lucky to get such great tickets, but he reasoned it was because he had to order them several months in advance.
He was in London for business. England was the next step in the process of expanding the Gray Corporation into the European markets. It allowed him those great once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, visiting places he never thought he'd get a chance to see, like Rome and Germany and Paris. This time they were able to make a family trip out of it; it was summer, so the girls were out of school, and they were old enough to be spending so much time away from home.
His marriage to Alison Gray hadn't taken the right turn towards the fairy-tale-like ending you learn about from cheesy novels or romantic movies. From their second year of marriage it was clear that they weren't going anywhere. They were just too different. And still, as awful as it sounded, it was convenient, for both sides. At first he was still contemplating divorce, or if he'd ever brew the courage to even suggest it, but it was out of the question when Alison got pregnant, and Emily was born.
He adored his older daughter. Although she looked like her mother, she was so much like him in so many ways. She was stubborn and opinionated; she loved classic music but hated opera. Several years ago she discovered the world of musical theater when her grandparents took her to see a show on Broadway. Ever since, while all her friends were drooling over this pop idol or another, Emily was listening non-stop to Broadway tunes, knowing the lyrics of each and every musical by heart. He knew how much she wanted to see this show, so he got them the best tickets he could find and said it was an early birthday gift for her. She was going to be 12 within a month. 12, for God's sake. It made him feel so damn old.
Nicolette was born when Emily was about 3, two months too early. She was tiny when they first let him see her, and the doctor made it clear that she might not even survive the night, but she did. He always found it hard to believe, how two girls that looked so much alike could be so different from one another. Nicolette was all-Alison, with her ballet lessons and porcelain doll collection. She was 9 years old, a perfect lady, and the sweetest little thing. Yeah. Both his girls meant the world to him. He would have done anything for them.
"Benny?"
He blinked, his unfocused gaze meeting Alison's sapphire-colored eyes. She gave him a weird look, but he just shrugged.
"I'm going to take Nicolette to the bathroom before the show starts. You two go ahead and find our seats."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay," he said, nodding. When she didn't leave, he looked at her questionably.
"I'll need our tickets," she reminded him, a hint of superiority audible in her voice.
"Oh, yeah, of course," he said kind of dumbly, reaching for his jacket's inner pocket. He handed her two tickets and watched her and Nicolette as they disappeared among the crowd in the theater's lobby. Then he looked at Emily, whose eyes were shinning with anticipation, and offered her his arm. She giggled, and took it, and they made their way into the theater.
"You're gonna love Jessie, Daddy!" she said excitedly. "She's just so amazing! And she has the most incredible voice!" she said, waving her program this way and that. When did she even get a program? He figured Alison must have bought it for her while he was daydreaming.
"Jessie?" he asked in slight confusion, finding it extremely hard to follow his daughter's quick chatter.
She stopped at once, and gave him a resentful look. "Daddy!"
Oh shit, he cursed silently, feeling extremely guilty all of a sudden. Jessie. As in Jessie Monroe. Of course, he knew that. That was the reason for his daughter to want to see this show in the first place. This Jessie was Emily's current Broadway idol. All he could remember was that she was an American actress who made her Broadway debut on the same production when it started on Broadway, left it after a while and now came over to London to recreate the leading role. Usually he listened more attentively to his daughter's stories about this star or that, but lately work took most of his time, and distracted him from everything that really mattered.
He gave Emily a teasing look. "Oh, that Jessie. Nah, I bet she's not much of a singer anyway."
"If this is what you think, what are we doing on the front row?" asked Emily as they took their seats. Excellent seats those were, he noted to himself in sheer satisfaction; right in the middle of the second line.
"Well, it's your birthday present. I got 'em for you," he smiled. She returned his smile, and he knew it meant he was off the hook, at least for now.
He took off his coat and opened the buttons of his jacket to get more comfortable. Then he turned to look around him. The theater was enormous, even bigger on the inside. It was old-looking and beautifully designed, like theater houses must have looked like in the Victorian age. It seemed like the sign on the stairs was right. By the looks of it, there wasn't going to be a single empty seat in there tonight. Even the balconies looked packed.
"Look at her, Daddy, isn't she gorgeous?" exclaimed Emily.
He turned his attention back to his daughter, and found her completely taken by the program in her hand. She was looking dreamily at a photo, of that Jessie it seemed; only… it kind of looked like…
He shifted slightly in his seat, feeling his gaze involuntarily drawn to the photo. It couldn't be her… could it? The name under the photo read Jessie Monroe, but the face that looked back at him from the program's page, although gorgeous indeed, was incredibly familiar.
"Can I see that for a moment, Em?"
"Sure," the girl replied, handing him the program.
He took it slowly, carefully observing it. It was one of those professional black and white photos that always made people appear more glamorous that usual, and nonetheless, it left very little room for doubt. It had to be her. She had the exact same eyes; or at least, that same sparkle in her eyes. It's been 14 years since they all went their separate ways, he suddenly realized. The last time he met her was… 10 years ago. Only that time, her eyes were shinning with tears.
He looked at the photo more closely. She was still beautiful; even more so. If there was only one way to define perfection, that was probably it. Her face looked almost sculptured, flawless. Her hair looked different, straight, not as curly as before, but it looked right on her. Everything always looked right on her, he remembered, holding back a chuckle. The Drama Queen of Avenue A. He should have seen this coming. He should have known she'd make it into Broadway eventually. If she couldn't make it, no one could.
His gaze wandered towards the unfamiliar name. He wondered why she changed it, then figured it was probably her stage-name. Still, it was a bit unlike her to hide behind a false identity, behind a name that was not her own. He guessed she had her reasons. One thing was clear to him though; she could change her name and her hair, but she couldn't change her eyes. And there was something in them, something beyond that familiar sparkle, that bothered him. She didn't look like her expected her to look, once she touched her dreamt-of glory. Beyond that beautiful, teasing smile, Maureen Johnson, now known to the world as Jessie Monroe, looked rather sad.
Alison and Nicolette soon found them, but he hardly noticed. He sat there, now as impatient as his daughter, waiting for the curtain to rise. He wanted to ask Emily about this Jessie, or at least take another look at the program, but he didn't dare doing any of the two when Alison was around. Even though the two girls were sitting between them, he knew better than questioning his daughter about another woman, no matter what his motives were. Several years before, Alison had this sort of a… breakdown. It was when they tried to have another baby, but she just couldn't get pregnant. He knew she was already somewhat disappointed that their firstborn wasn't a boy. Of course, she never said it, but it was always evident by the way she looked at Emily and such, and now it made her frustration even stronger. It was a horrible time; they both were extremely tensed, and screamed at one another in any given opportunity. This was when Alison started to get somewhat paranoid. She suspected he was having an affair with his secretary (which of course he wasn't) and demanded her father would fire her. No matter how he felt about Alison, or their failing marriage, or how many opportunities he got along the way, he never cheated on her, not once. He wouldn't take that risk. And even after that incident was settled, Alison still remained suspicious, till this day.
The lights above his head dimmed, and the theater was taken by darkness. The audience roared. He had never heard anything like that before. He knew whom it was aimed for. He could hardly believe it. She couldn't be that good, he thought. On the other hand, all those people seemed to think otherwise. And it wasn't just teenagers and girls his daughter's age that were screaming their lungs out. He saw several older people that did, too, people his age, most of them men. He smiled to himself, wondering what was this feeling of over-protectiveness that washed over him for a moment, but then the smile slowly faded when he remembered that thing in her eyes, that hint of sadness in the sparkle, which he still couldn't solve.
The audience's roars quieted into a soft rustle, and then the orchestra boomed its first notes into the Overture. He leaned back in his seat and brought his attention to the stage, slowly revealing as the velvet curtain rose.
She was alone onstage. A single spotlight followed her as she slowly moved across the stage, singing a soft ballade. Her skirts rustled with each step she took, and he found himself staring at her, transfixed. The entire audience seemed to be mesmerized by her singing, her slow movements, her radiant beauty, even in that soft light. So far, she had given an incredible performance. Way beyond his expectations. The actors had to have a short pause after each number, until the loud applause ceased. By the look on their faces, they were used to it by now. She just stood there each time, the tiniest smile curling on her lips, as she took in those well-deserved applause. After two or three numbers, he found himself joining the cheering audience, clapping as hard as he could, as if she'd be able to distinguish his clapping from all the rest.
But now it seemed as if her singing had cast a spell upon the theater. No one moved, no one whispered; they just sat there, as if hypnotized by the sound of her voice, soft and bewitching. She always knew how to get people under her spell, he thought. Memories rushed back in, things he hadn't thought of for years were suddenly coming back to him. Names and places and incidents… Was it really so long ago?
Time flies, time dies…
It all started to fall apart when Mimi died. She was the first to go, after April and Angel. She was always so fragile, it was clear that it was only a matter of time. He came to her funeral in spite of Alison's obvious resentment. It's been a while since he had last seen his friends, and he wasn't sure what to expect. Ever since his marriage, he became 'the bad guy', the bastard who married his boss' daughter, and whose sole purpose in life was to make their own lives miserable by collecting a rent they couldn't afford. Showing up in Mimi's funeral felt as if he was invading their small family. There were four of them now. Mark and Roger, Collins and Maureen. He had no idea where Joanne was; later he was told she wasn't around for quite some time now. It was just like he remembered it, the nuclear family that he was once a part of. It hurt to know he'd never be a part of that family again.
They lost Roger next. That was a hard blow, learning about Roger's death. Collins called to tell him. His throat choking with tears, he managed to ask Collins some questions about the funeral arrangements. He cried when they ended their conversation.
Roger's funeral was even more horrible than Mimi's. It was a tragedy, and he couldn't let it out of his mind for quite some time afterwards. Mark was completely broken. He burst into tears when he was reading a short eulogy for his best friend. Maureen shot off her seat towards him when he did. Collins did the same, but he stayed back as if to let Maureen handle it. His vision blurred with tears, he watched them as they stood for one another. Maureen held Mark tightly, rubbing his back, telling him something he couldn't hear from that distance. He remembered wondering if there was something he didn't know, if they were back together or something, but then he thought it was probably not the case. Her motions seemed almost maternal, which was again something he never expected from her. That image of the two of them, crying over their dead friend, remained alive and burning in his mind for a long time afterwards.
Emily was two years old when he got that last phone call. It's been a while since he got one of those calls. He dreaded them, yet he knew to expect them. It never got easier. Collins was the last one. He died peacefully, Mark said when he called. He wasn't in pain like the rest of them were. The phone was as heavy as steal when he put it down, he remembered. Mind empty, and heart filled with grief, he went straight to his room to make sure he had a clean suit for the funeral.
Mark and Maureen were there when he entered the church. They sat close together, the last members of the family. Mark's then-girlfriend Grace was also there, but she was standing at some distance from the two of them, as if to allow them some privacy to mourn the loss of their friend. The last one.
He remembered feeling a bit awkward to step in. He didn't feel as if he belonged there. He wasn't a part of the family for a long time now. Damn, he didn't even know Mark was finally seeing someone! He felt so bad that the only times they actually managed to get together were in their friends' funerals.
Mark was holding Maureen when he entered. It was that same heart-breaking image that haunted him for years since Roger's death, only now it was the opposite scenario. He just stood there and watched them, the two ex-lovers. Maureen was crying. Something within him broke when he watched her cry. He knew how close she and Collins were. Mark was stroking her hair, comforting her the best he could. He remembered thinking what a sweet picture they made as they sat there together. And then an involuntary shiver ran through him, when he realized he'd been there before. Way before Roger, or Mimi, or Angel. This image they made was amazingly similar to another one he had witnessed before; on that far away day when they buried April.
As if feeling his presence, Maureen raised her head from Mark's shoulder. Their gazes locked, and he did the slightest nod with his head. He watched her as she whispered something in Mark's ear and got up. Mark did too, and their eyes met for a moment, but it seemed to be enough. He always managed to communicate with Mark that way, without a single word to pass between them. Mark then joined Grace in one of the front rows. Before he knew it, Maureen was walking towards him. This took him by surprise. Although they both matured to some extent through the years, he wasn't expecting from her to come over to him. She said nothing when she approached him. She just wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug.
For a slight second, he was paralyzed, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around her, hugging her back. It was strange to see that side of her. Maureen rarely cried. Nor did she display her emotions for the world to see. She detested weakness and vulnerability. She defied them. He assumed Collins' death put an end to all that.
He had never seen her ever since.
He kept in touch with Mark for a little while. He even was there when he finally married Grace. Maureen wasn't there. When he asked Mark about it, he said something about a show on off-Broadway she managed to get herself into. He didn't look offended of her not being at his wedding. According to his understanding, Mark and Maureen remained good friends till the end.
He lost contact with Mark eventually. They called each other on occasions, like birthdays and anniversaries, and always before Christmas, and they told each other briefly about their lives now, but it wasn't as before, when they were roommates at Brown. They led their separate lives now. Mark was a father now, too, he knew. The twins, Daphne and Danielle, were almost 6 years old. He saw them only once, when they were very small. Very seldom did Mark mention Maureen in their conversations. She was doing well on off-Broadway, he used to say at the beginning. It was only a matter of time before she'd get the real thing.
She finally got it.
He looked around him again, somewhat disoriented. It felt as if hours passed; it always felt like that when he let himself sink into memories that way, but in fact she was still singing that ballade up there on the stage. He knew he'd have to look for that song later in one of his daughter's CD's. He glanced at Alison, above the girls' head. She only met Maureen twice, but that was a long time ago. If she recognized her, she didn't show any inclination of it.
She was always a mystery to him. He always found himself questioning when he was around her. When she first moved in with them, she always remained indifferent to his flirting, and he was always wondering what he was doing wrong. Later on when she and Mark got together, he couldn't believe that such an unlikely couple even came to be. When she left Mark for Joanne… well, that was an obvious one, wasn't it?... And then there was this awful time when they started losing their friends one by one, and with it, she seemed to lose the ability to hold back, until she completely lost it on Collins' funeral.
That was the final question, the final inquiry. That was the last he ever saw of her.
Until her face looked back at him from a theater program one August night, 11-hours-flight from home.
He could feel the questions rising again, all new, yet their essence old and familiar. Was she married by now? Did she have any kids? Did Mark know about her phenomenal success, about this remarkable talent of hers? He definitely never realized she possessed such talent. Sure, she was always bragging about how she'd get into Broadway someday, but he never took her too seriously. She was Maureen; showing off was almost second nature to her.
Why Jessie Monroe? Why did she even feel compelled to change her name? Was she happy, at least? She looked happy, up there at the limelight, but it just didn't seem complete.
The orchestra played the final note. The stage lights went out at once. For a couple of minutes, you could hear nothing but the audience's applause. Then after a moment, the music resumed and the stage lights were back on for the curtain call.
People rose from their seats when she took her bow. She had a brilliant smile on now, he noticed. Her expression was a mixture of relief and satisfaction, that sort of expression actors always had at the end of an exhausting performance. On his left, Emily was cheering so loudly, he was sure she'd lose her voice by tomorrow. Turning his attention back to Maureen onstage, she did a little wave with her hand, and bowed again. The rest of the cast joined her for a final bow, and the lights went off.
"That was incredible!" Emily exclaimed once the main lights turned back on. "Wasn't it, Daddy?"
"Yeah, it was amazing," he agreed, reaching for his coat.
"Make sure your coats are with you, girls," Alison instructed, somewhat indifferent to her daughter's enthusiasm.
"Can we go to the stage door, Mom?"
Alison looked at her strangely. "The stage door? What for?" she asked as they started to make their way out of the theater.
"I want Jessie to sign my program."
"Oh, Emily, don't be ridiculous! I'm sure she has more important things to do after a show than sign people's programs."
"She does too! It's tradition! Can we please stay?"
"No, we can't. Your sister should be in bed by now," said Alison, in that tone that indicated that it was her final answer. Nicolette did look somewhat sleepy, he noticed. She enjoyed the show, she said so during the intermission, but it was really kind of late for her.
And yet… the disappointment on Emily's face was heart-wrenching. Well, he could save the day, couldn't he? Alison would be pissed if he'd try to contradict her, but he kind of wanted to say hi to his old friend. Not that Alison needed to know anything about that part. "Why don't you take Nicolette back to the hotel and Em and I will stay here for a while?"
"Daddy, really?" asked Emily, her eyes wide with expectation.
He smiled. "Sure."
Alison shook her head, obviously displeased. "Benny, this is ridiculous. It's cold, it might rain, and frankly, this is really pointless-"
"Look, we won't stay long," he cut her off, yet he tried to do it as politely as possible. "We'll get Em that autograph and we'll leave. Go, we'll meet you at the hotel later."
They separated at the street. The stage door was fairly close to the exit they went through. It looked like Emily was right. It did look like some sort of tradition at the theater world. A fence was pulled for people to stand behind, making a path for the actors to go through it, uninterrupted.
"You're the best, Daddy," Emily whispered to him once they found a place along the fence. Apparently, they weren't the only people wishing to see the leading actress leaves the theater. There were dozens of people there, some of them parents who came with their kids, like him. He figured that it must have been even more crowded during weekends. He snuggled into his coat and made sure Emily's coat was properly buttoned-up as well. It was kind of cold. But he wouldn't let the weather spoil this. No way.
"When I'll be older, I wanna be just like her," Emily's dreamy voice invaded his thoughts.
God help him if she would become like the Maureen he knew, he thought.
"What?" He blinked, and found Emily looking at him questionably. "Why are you smiling?" she inquired.
"Oh, I was just… no reason, really." And then he realized he was in trouble. He had to tell Emily he knew Maureen from before, otherwise things would be awkward when they'd meet. But how would he do that? "Emily, there's something I think you should know," he started slowly, making sure no one was listening. He didn't want to make it public. It was his past.
"What, Daddy?"
"There's something you should know, about Jessie."
"What?"
Where should he start? How should he start? "First of all, Jessie is not her real name."
But Emily didn't look so shocked to hear that. "I know."
"You… you do?"
"Of course! Everyone knows that! Every real fan, I mean. Her real name's Maureen something."
"Johnson," he said automatically. That earned him a weird look from his daughter.
"How did you know Jessie wasn't her real name, Daddy?"
"Because… I used to know her," he said softly.
"You… what?" Emily looked at him wide-eyed.
"It was way before you were born, when I was living in the East Village. We were roommates for a while."
"Why didn't you say anything before?"
"Because she had changed. She had changed a lot. I just wasn't sure it was her until I saw her onstage."
"Does that mean Mom knows her too?"
"No," he said quickly. Too quickly, judging according to Emily's expression. "No, that was before I met your mom. They only met once or twice, so I don't think your mom could recognize her."
Emily nodded. She was a smart girl. He knew that it would be unnecessary to tell her to keep this new information to herself.
They both raised their heads as loud clamor rose from the small crowd that gathered by the stage door. Cameras went up at once, flashing bright, blinding light.
"Oh my God, Daddy, look! It's her!" called Emily, leaning forward against the fence to get a better view.
There she was, indeed. She left the theater accompanied by one of her co-stars and her very own bodyguard, an old-looking man, who remained at a fair distance behind her, discreetly watching her. He found himself staring at her, just as he did before. How could anyone not stare at her? She projected serenity and cleanliness. She wasn't wearing any makeup, except for some lip-gloss that made her lips glitter whenever it came in direct contact with the light from the streetlamps. She was wearing jeans and a lavender-colored sweater, a black scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Her hair, straight like in the photo, was loose and streaming down her shoulders, longer than he remembered.
She seemed almost awe-stricken by all the attention, which he found weird because hr expected her to get used to it by now. Besides, the Maureen he knew was never unconfident. She smiled a bit shyly as she moved along the fence, her movements as graceful as a ballet dancer. She didn't skip any program that was handed over to her. She signed them all, she even stopped from time to time to talk with those who asked her something, to smile as someone took a picture of her. Before he knew it, she was in front of them, signing Emily's program. She didn't look up when she did, looking extremely occupied. Even the movement of her hand upon the paper was hypnotizing. He almost felt bad to break the spell.
"Miss Monroe," he said, softer than he intended.
She raised her head by instinct at the sound of her name. He could see it took her a moment, but then, soon enough, her eyes were shining with recognition. Her jaw dropped. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. It was so fierce and sudden, he almost lost his balance. For a moment he didn't hug her back, fearing her bodyguard would shoot him or something. She smelt of soap, and its scent tickled his nostrils, washing over him, making him a bit dizzy. He felt this involuntary weakness in his knees as he slowly wrapped his arms around her. He hoped no one has noticed.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, slowly pulling away from their hug.
"I'm here on business, basically."
"Of course," she said, grinning mischievously. His eyes automatically settled on her full lips. The lip-gloss gave them a slight pinkish shade, making them look delicious, and even more dangerously, amazingly kissable.
God, he hoped he didn't have a stupid grin all over his face. He felt like a teenager, drooling over the prettiest girl in class. He needed some sort of distraction, and fast. "This is my daughter Emily, by the way," he said, nodding towards Emily, who had that shocked expression on her face, as if she wasn't expecting her dad to have such a friendly conversation with a person like Jessie Monroe.
"Lucky girl, she looks nothing like you," Maureen said teasingly as she moved her gaze from him to Emily. "Nice to meet you, Emily."
"You're amazing, Jessie," Emily replied, her voice almost a whisper. Slight blush rose in her cheeks.
"Thank you, honey, I'm doing my best."
Maureen's co-star, the one who left the theater with her, approached her suddenly. He was great onstage, he remembered, taking a moment to observe the guy. He was a handsome and smartly dressed. He looked approximately her age, give or take a year. "Jess, you coming?" he asked lowly, close to her ear. There was something very intimate in that small, almost unnoticeable gesture. He wondered why it bothered him.
Maureen nodded, then looked at him apologetically. "I gotta go. It's really good to see you again, Benny."
"It's great to see you too," he replied, trying to think of a way to make her stay a bit longer. He didn't want her to go. "Hey, did you hear anything from Mark lately?"
She smiled fondly. "He was supposed to come here to see me, but I'm not sure when he'll find the time. He's working his ass off," she said quickly, then remembered Emily was standing next to them and flashed him an apologetic smile.
"Aren't we all?"
"Yeah, I guess it's true." She looked contemplated for a slight moment, as if lost in memory. Then she said, "If you have a business card or something I could give you a call someday…" her voice trailed off, and she smiled sadly. "You know, for old times' sake."
He should have thought about that one himself, he scorned himself, reaching for his pocket. He handed her one card, and she took it with a smile and put it in her purse.
"I really gotta go," she said again, a bit sorrowfully.
He nodded. "Take care. It was an amazing show."
"I'm glad you liked it. It was great to meet you, Emily."
"You too," said Emily, smiling shyly.
Their eyes met. Yeah, that sparkle was still there, still undecipherable. Maybe if he'd try hard enough…
As if she somehow sensed what he was trying to do, she broke their gaze. "I'll call you," she promised, and turned her attention to the rest of her fans in line.
He lingered for a moment longer, watching her as she moved farther and farther, until she eventually vanished at the end of the line. He saw her bodyguard approaching her, leading her towards a silver car that waited close by. The handsome actor was waiting for her inside. Her bodyguard ushered her inside, and right before she entered the car, she turned to face her fans again. She smiled, an honest, brilliant, beautiful smile, and raised her arm in a small wave of gratitude. Then she walked into the car, which soon afterwards took off, the flashes from the cameras leading its way into the London traffic.
He stood there, watching the car as it vanished into the night. He knew that her last smile was about to keep him awake at night. He always had this weakness to her smile, only he buried it so deep he hardly remembered it, until he saw her smile again.
"Ready to go back to the hotel, Em?" he asked, mostly to get rid of those thoughts that ran through his head, unleashed and dangerous. He offered her his arm.
Emily nodded, and took it. "Sure."
But there was something that was still kind of bugging him. "So this guy, this actor. Are they romantically involved or something?" he asked, hoping to sound indifferent. From some reason, it made Emily laugh. "Why is that funny?"
"It's not funny, it's just weird. Dads are not supposed to ask that."
"Why not?"
"Because!"
He gave her a look. Why did she have to make it difficult? He just wanted to know! "Well, are they or aren't they?" he persisted.
"Well, it's not official, but they were seen together in many parties and such. I think they are," said Emily smiling, sounding so much older than her 12 years of age.
It felt as if someone had just punched him square on his stomach, which was kind of ridiculous… wasn't it? After all, what was it that he expected to hear? They did display great chemistry onstage. That had to be the reason. It happened all the time in show-business. Why would their case be different?
They walked the rest of the way in silence. The suite was dark when they walked in. He took off his coat and was about to walk into the main bedroom, when Emily's next question hit him, catching him completely off-guard.
"Were you her boyfriend, Daddy? Before you met Mom? Is that where you knew her from?"
He was speechless for a moment, although the answer was simple. No, he wasn't her boyfriend. Mark was the lucky one, then Joanne. Then it was too late. He was almost ashamed at the pain this thought still caused him. It was practically ancient history, he shouldn't even be pondering over it by now!
He shook his head, as if this slight movement had the power to send the thought away. "No, I wasn't her boyfriend. She was just… a girl I knew."
He didn't say anything further, but Emily nodded, her expression serious and confidential.
He knew she understood.