Tuesday April 29, 1986
Hudson View Condominiums- Suite 713- Living Room
Manhattan Borough, New York City
5:17 PM Local Time
Somehow I will impress them
I will be firm but kind
And all these children- heaven bless them
They will look up to me and mind me
With each step I’m more certain
That everything will turn out fine
I have confidence the world can all be mine
They’ll have to agree I have confidence me!
To the casual observer, the scene unfolding in the living room would have been nothing short of adorable. The small red-haired girl, one month shy of her fifth birthday, leaping and twirling around the room in rhythm to Julie Andrews’ singing “I have Confidence” on a nearby record player. To Augustus Briese however it was an excruciating thing. A wobble there a mis-step there. He gritted his teeth, and forced himself to watching his daughter finishing the song, instead of running over and yanking the record player’s cord straight from the wall.
The song mercifully ended with a final twirl and a pose, as Wendy gave a beaming smile, waving her arms just slightly to keep her balance. Gus’ gritted his teeth further at the sound of applause, coming from the idiotic con artist to his left. He gave the man, a quick, dark glance, before turning back to his daughter.
“What did you think, Daddy?” Wendy asked, still excited and not noticing her father’s dark mood.
Gus remained silent for sometime, chewing on his lip. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t to Wendy, but rather to the other man in the room. “Mister Trottier. I was under the impression that I was hiring the best dance coach available in all of New York City. Was I misled?”
Wendy’s face fell at her father’s words and tone, but Gus didn’t see it, having finally turned his full attention to the other man. The Frenchman, not a large man to begin with, seemed to shrink under his piercing emerald eyes. Still, there was an aire of defiance about the man as he replied. “I’m sorry, monsignor. Was there something about the dance that you found distasteful?”
Gus burst out laughing in incredulation. “You call that dancing? That was a three-and a half minute epileptic seisure I saw! I did not pay you GOOD money to teach my daughter to spasm and convulse to music! Where’s the grace, where’s the flow?”
Wendy’s head drooped, suddenly ashamed, but her hurt-feeling were unnoticed by either adult. Monsieur Trottier scoffed, and shook his head, obviously finding his client unreasonable.
“Signor, we’ve only been practicing the dance for a couple days, and the steps are very complicated for a girl so young to be able to grasp...”
“So you’re saying my daughter isn’t up to the task? That girl is a PRODIGY!” Gus snarled, pointing Wendy, who’s head remained drooped.
“Au contraire, Signor, with time, your daughter will be more than up to the task. The girl has a natural talent to her, especially for her age. But you cannot expect a four-year old to nail that routine perfectly after only working on it for three...”
“Those who employ me expect perfection in all that I do.” Gus interrupted. “As will those that eventually employ her. Therefore, I expect no less than perfection in those that I employ, especially those who are to prepare Wendy to follow in my footsteps! You have fallen short of those expectations. You haven’t taught my daughter to dance, you’ve taught her mediocrity, and how to make excuses for it! I should...”
Gus was cut off by the ringing of the phone. He paused, swearing under his breath, before turning back to the dance instructor. “Excuse me. I believe you know where the exit is, and I fully expect you gone by the time I return. I will mail you your pay, ill-earned though it was, tomorrow.”
Leaving the incredulous instructor behind, Gus rose from his chair, and quickly walked to his study, shutting the door behind him, and picking up the phone. “Briese residence, Gus speaking,” he intoned into the receiver.
“Gus?” The voice wasn’t especially loud, but it did sound like the speaker was trying to shout over a din. The voice was female, accented, and all too recognizable.”
“Ivana?!” Gus exclaimed, too loudly, although he was thankful that his wife was at her performances tonight. “How did you get this number?! And how dare you call me here, where I could...”
Ivana wasn’t listening. “Gus, please! It’s... it’s Yuri. He’s sick.”
Despite himself, Gus paused, forcing himself to calm down. Ivana sounded almost hysterical, on the verge of tears. “You’re calling me because he’s sick?” Gus finally replied, coldly, although no longer frantic and angry.
“There was an accident, Gus. At the nearby power plant. Ch-”
“Yeah, Chernobyl. It’s been all over the goddamned news. What of it?”
“They’ve evacuated everyone, Gus. The whole city. They say they’ll let us back in a few days once everything settles down but... I don’t think we’re ever going to go back. But they were screening us and they... they picked up drastically high amounts of material on Yuri.”
Gus was stunned. Ivana had begun to cry over the phone. “I don’t know how it got there, either! He’s been near me the whole time, and I’m fine. And everyone we lived with is fine, but he... they said it’s fatal.”
Ivana broke into sobs again, and even Gus on the line was forced to take a deep breath. “How much time does he have?”
“I don’t know.” Ivana sobbed. “Maybe a week. They’re being really vague.”
Gus chewed his upper lip. “Please, keep me updated. But do NOT call here again. It’s too risky. You have the number for my attorney, and he will make sure I get the news. I’ll... keep payments going for a while longer to help you get through.. this...”
“It’s not about the money, Gus,” Ivana replied, anger seeping into her voice. “I just thought you should know what’s happened... to your so-”
“I appreciate it,” Gus said, cutting her off before the word he simply did not want to hear was spoken. “I need to hang up now, Ivana. These international calls cost a fortune. But... I’m sorry for your loss.”
He didn’t even wait for a reply, setting the phone down on the receiver, and taking a deep breath. Part of him was telling him that he should be devastated by this. To lose a son, and in such horrible fashion...
But he wasn’t devastated. He had never known the boy, barely even known his mother. Yuri had amounted to little more than a bill that had to be paid, one in secrecy to keep Gayle from finding out. And while part of him felt bad for Ivana, another part of him knew that was how the world worked. Misfortunes happened. Yuri wasn’t the first child to die in a catastrophe. He’d likley not be the last.
Besides, he had a child of his own to care for anyways.
“Daddy?”
Speaking of the angel, he heard Wendy’s voice filtering through the door. With one last look at the phone receiver, he turned away, grabbed the handle, and opened the door. Wendy stood looking up at him, her striking emerald eyes not blinking.
“Are you mad at me?”
Gus snorted, and managed a small smile, shaking his head. “No, hon. I’m not.”
Wendy didn’t seem too convinced. “I’m sorry I was a bad dancer.”
Gus knelt down, and embraced his daughter. “It wasn’t your fault, Wendy. The man was an idiot, and a criminal phony for stating he could do what he couldn’t. We’ll find someone else, and they’ll teach you. And you’ll work extra hard for me, right?”
“Of course!” Wendy replied, beaming.
“Good.” Gus forced a smile. “Never forget who you are, Wendy. And never forget what you’re destined for. You’re going to be the greatest actress to ever grace the stage, and I’m not going to let anyone... ANYONE keep that right from you.”
Wendy grinned at the promise, and lunged forward, hugging her father again. “I know, Daddy! And I love you.”
“And I love you, too,” Gus replied, even as he stood up, and retreated back into his study, closing the door so that he could be alone with his thoughts.
Wendy watched the door close, disappointed that her father had left her alone. But the promises of her greatness and the excitement that she knew her father would be good to his word prevented her from being kept down for long at all, and with a happy skip, she ran to her bedroom to find her favorite coloring book.
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