| Subject: Chapter 281 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 281) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, April 04, 07:42:59am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark continued (273>)" on Monday, March 05, 07:03:06am
He was sitting on his bunk now, was trying to keep this goal in mind--but it was a little difficult, at the moment; it didn't even matter to him how selfish it was. Everyone around him was reading letters from home, was sighing or laughing over all the little details. All he could do was watch--and wish like hell that he had one from his lover, too.
Such a wish alone wouldn't aid him, his current focus on not seeming too jealous a bit difficult to maintain. He watched, as Eric read through a, previously ignored, letter which had arrived yesterday--the whole unit too distracted then to think of anything else after it. The boy seemed to have that bright, desperate sort of look, the one which he usually wore when he was talking about his fantasies of Nikita--thankfully, never in any great detail. Had Michael heard those, he was certain that his attempts to keep these men as friends would have faltered significantly. There was no use in thinking into it, if he wanted to stay sane.
He was just reminding himself of this fact, as the man surprised him by approaching. His look alone made the actor miss Sikes's presence; he was probably the only other, marginally sane, one here. "Hey, Michael, have you seen this?" The man held out what looked to be a newspaper clipping, his grin growing further. "My mom sent it to me. Take a look."
The actor did, even if he feared greatly what he might find. If Elkins were showing it to him, it was likely to be either about Nikita or himself. And talk about the two of them wasn't always a good thing.
He gave the man a smile, however, tried to remember his recent intentions. But his heart nearly stopped, as he saw that he was holding a portion of one of Hedda's columns; it was about his beloved. That fact alone nearly made him go mad.
This was exactly what he had feared, a thousand terrors of gossip about his wife and that idiot Shears running riot through his mind. The fact that Eric found it amusing didn't help to settle him. The other man found pleasure in many things Michael had no desire to contemplate at all.
It took a lot of willpower to focus on the column. Still, when he did, it read:
News, my dear readers! Although nothing too scandalous this time, it will bring a smile to your lips, especially after that last, dreadful story. I'm sure you'll all be happy to know the details.
I had the privilege the other day of being invited over to the house of the lovely Mr. and Mrs. Samuelle. And do you know why? Well, it seems, even with her husband so sadly away, Kitty is preparing for the arrival of their child in style. Our dear girl won't be letting any of us down.
I had the pleasure not only of spending some time with the lovely star but also of being given a tour of the nursery. And it was absolutely *splendid*. She's decorated it in a combination of baby blue and sunshine yellow--a little like a wonderful summer sky. The basinet alone is a joy to behold, trimmed as it is in a combination of these tones--the fabric, I understand, designed as a favor by our dear Kate Volker (nee Quinn, as I'm certain you remember. Her new dress designs really are all the rage for many a fashionable lady about town). Now, Kate, might we not be treated to one of your designs for a little one of your own soon? I'm sure your many skills could be easily applied to a line of baby clothes.
I do apologize, dear readers. I'm digressing. Anyway, the Samuelles' nursery is just too *sweet*, and our dear mother-to-be is looking absolutely radiant. Come home soon, Michael. You really should see the work she's done.
Now, most of my reason for mentioning this tidbit is to tell you some exciting news. Kitty has graciously allowed me to take some photos of her work, which will be part of the "Hollywood Homes With Hedda" feature I mentioned, soon to be published in that certain magazine. I suppose the only real gossip to pass along about the pretty star and her work is that the room isn't *quite* finished yet. Why, you might ask? Well, apparently, especially with all the lag time caused by her husband's distant training, the darling pair couldn't agree on a color scheme. Still, it's all well in hand now. Be sure to check out that feature to see more!
Michael had to repress a shudder, as he read the column--but, even in his horror, he had to admit that it wasn't half so bad as he had feared. There was no mention of Shears, nothing which hinted at any particular scandal. Even her, slightly catty, calls for him to return weren't half so rumor-filled as she could easily have made them. It was a bit of a relief. And yet . . .
The column set off a thousand thoughts, all of them spinning together at once. Primary among them was a shock of discovery. Never once had he thought about a nursery, such a necessary change evading him completely. Never once had he discussed it with his wife; he felt the pain of this omission singe through him. He really was taking this miraculous child of theirs for granted; he just managed not to close his eyes, forever keeping up appearances. He only hoped that his sweet Nikita could forgive him, in time.
The pain of this truth was immense, its significance far-reaching--but he couldn't focus on all of it now. Instead, his thoughts turned. He had to wonder whether she had finally come to realize their oversight on her own or whether some cautious friend had mentioned it to her. Whichever it was, it had certainly been well-timed. Hedda's visits--whatever she might have said--were never at the invitation of her prey.
It was this latter truth which worried him now--the possibilities circling. Why had Hedda really been there? Was she simply checking up on his wife? Or was there some story she had been given, some rumor she had wished to catch in progress? Given that she had clearly had a photographer with her, probably the latter; he had to shudder softly. But what that meant only worried him that much more.
It was only too easy to imagine what the gossip maven had been told, the fear of it tearing at him. He could nearly hear Madeline's tale of supposed passion between Shears and his wife. It was a ridiculous thought, at least as far as Nikita was concerned--whatever Michael's fears about losing his wife's love, he wasn't fool enough to think that she would drift toward Andrew--but that wouldn't stop the rumors. He had known, and feared, that outcome from the start.
He hated this truth, could feel himself burning with it--but he suspected that something along these lines had drawn the columnist to his home. Still, the source wouldn't have been Madeline herself, not openly. Both the tutor and the columnist had more than enough lackeys to do their work for them. It wouldn't have taken much to make Hedda act.
He was grateful, the more he thought about it--his gaze wandering back to the newspaper. It could have been so much worse; the look narrowed. But the fact that it wasn't was suspicious all on its own. Just what sort of deal had his wife had to make in order to protect them both?
He had no answers to this terror now, wasn't certain exactly what she had subjected herself to. What with the constant threats by both Madeline and Jones, it really was too much. His poor wife was pregnant, for heaven's sake. Couldn't they all just leave her alone, if only for awhile?
His heart began to ache all the more with these thoughts, wishing desperately that he was with her again. Still, he tried to calm himself; it hadn't been half so bad as he had feared, this time. In fact, the one who had come out of it the worst was probably Kate. But even that attack wasn't as barbed as it could have been.
The other woman's peril did worry him a little, but he had to shake it off a moment later. Helmut would look after her. He had more than enough fears over his own wife.
He looked back to Eric finally--his thoughts a rapid flash of horror. The man was grinning in that disturbingly animated way--the one which had long ago settled Michael's determination to never let the man near his wife. "Isn't it great?" he was gushing. Those over-bright eyes met the actor's. "Did you help pick the colors, too? Are you hoping for a boy?"
The older man managed a smile--but it was damn difficult to keep up. For all the recruit's childlike excitement, there was just something disturbing about Elkins' glee. A grown man, however much of a fan he was, should *not* be getting giddy about nursery colors; he forced the smile to continue. Even his friends with decidedly less-traditional masculine traits would never have considered it.
The reaction was all wrapped up in Eric's fanaticism over Nikita, in that disturbing way in which he seemed to have claimed her. But Michael supposed that the man wasn't alone in such a response. Being a star meant constantly inviting others to think they were a necessary part of your life. It was probably the most disturbing part of the job.
It was this he had done daily, before he came here, imprinting on film a dream for all lesser mortals to embrace; the coverage in the fan magazines, the images the studio spread, didn't help, either. That these fans then came to think that they knew him--literally, sometimes--was probably no surprise; his gaze went deep, the shudder unnoticeable. But coming face-to-face with such an oddity made the sensation no better at all.
Michael wasn't exactly in a position to understand such idolization, of course, never having experienced such a reaction himself. In his earliest days, he had been too focused on his own rage, on his need for survival. Then, in New York, he had mingled off-and-on with many of the stage's best. He--unlike his wife--had never spent hours in a movie theatre, sometimes watching the same film over and over again, simply *praying* for an escape from life. Once he had made a path away from his youth, he had always been the idolized, rather than the idolizing. It was impossible, then, for him to ever fully understand the way any of his fans might feel.
Still, this truth hadn't changed him much; he had always been polite to these worshipers, had never practiced rudeness--seeing no point in it. But even the approach of the shyest of his fans had always seemed a little odd to him. Never having distantly admired someone--never having found anyone who might be entirely untouchable--he couldn't comprehend such worship. Nikita herself was the one person he had admired the most. But he had been fortunate enough to be able to hold her from a very early stage.
These truths were long-established, were highly unlikely to change by this stage of his life. And, if he couldn't comprehend the motives of even these, more innocent fans, he would never understand a man such as Elkins. To live your life entirely in fantasy, in thoughts of someone you had never met--and probably never would--was beyond him. Eric's rather dangerous obsession, then, was several hundred thousand leagues beyond his ken.
He still smiled, as he answered the man, though--quite well-practiced by now. His comrade was currently no danger to Michael, and he hoped that--by continuing such outer kindness while keeping up a constant, internal caution--he could keep it that way. Besides, such compromises were necessary. As the terrors of yesterday had taught him, he needed all the friends he could get.
The meaningless conversation moved slowly into the night, therefore--Michael remembering this one truth. He didn't care how callous his thoughts were, his determination to survive quite set; he would look after his comrades, as well, if he could. Still, the cultivation of his friendships with Eric and the others was mostly a necessity. Someday, they might well prove the difference between dying and returning to his wife; the smile went on. That was all it took to keep him very focused now.
Extra note: I'm probably getting the whole tone of Hedda's column wrong yet again. Sorry. And I don't mean to suggest that the article she mentioned actually existed. It's just another device for this story.
[End of Part 281]
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