The Meanings of Lost

Chapter 4

Diana:

My colleagues at the museum can tell something is up. Usually, the old folk are oblivious to my seamless lies. Either they are getting sharper or I'm losing it.

Bruce has called me a dozen times since I phoned him on Friday. It is so easy to avoid a call. I let the phone go to voice mail, noise drowning out my office in the basement.

"Miss Prince?" a young employee asks, conning down the stairs. She has small-framed glasses and sandy blonde hair.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Hatcher wants you in his office," she replied meekly, turning her head down and away from me. She leaves the room, leaving it up to me when I go.

There's no point in waiting, for my boss will get what he wants and it's better he gets it sooner instead of later.

I walk up the stairs and through the employees' only areas and up the level of his office.

"Diana!" he exclaims, turning his chair so that he is facing me when I enter. Mr. Hatcher is in his mid-thirties, plump, but not fat. "You need some time off," he says.

No, I panic. No time off, I want to beg, but I keep my form.

"I want to send you to America to pick up an artifact," he states. "Of course I'm giving you extra time off to enjoy the splendours abroad." I calm myself slightly. I can work with this. Not the end of the world. I need to get away from this.

"A mister Bruce Wayne, I believe you've heard the name before, has offered us a beautiful piece of Aztec work for a limited display. He was very insistent that someone come pick it up and that the someone is to be you, Miss Prince." Bruce you sly man. You very sly man.

"Alright," I begrudgingly agree. Mr. Hatcher quickly calls for his efficient secretaries. They come and fill me in on all the details. My flight leaves tomorrow, roughly two weeks before I have to pick up the piece. There are two tickets for the flight back. I assume Batman will be coming to Britain again. Then he gives me the rest of the day off.

I exit his office more frazzled than when I had entered. Why did the gods hate me so much? Can't they just let me live my life? I suppose this might be punishment for killing one of their own, but they wouldn't have told the Amazons to kill Ares if they wanted him alive. They must be laughing their heads off right now.

~~~~~

So I'm in America. It isn't very impressive. The airport is not different than any of the others that I've been to. I take a generic yellow taxi to my hotel. Once inside, I flip on the television to a BBC channel. The announcer is unfamiliar, with burgundy hair and sharp lipstick.

She talks about a holiday parade and what toys to buy children, which new books are making the bestseller's lists. She talks about me and my recent rescues. I close my eyes and say a swift prayer to the gods, asking that they keep London safe while I cannot.

"And now onto Johnny," she says, "who is at the Apollo Victoria Theater, just across from the trains. He brings some exciting news."

The image flips to a middle-aged man decked out in winter attire. He stares at the screen for a few seconds before opening his mouth to speak. "Well Melinda, the producers of The Nutcracker announced this morning that they would be reviling the identity of Clara today. We are here covering the story exclusively with an interview with the young star. When we come back from the break, I'll be standing here with the face of Clara in this year's ballet." The BBC logo flashes on the screen before a sign for Toys R Us pops up with a child and her mom shopping. Did they just change the show? I'm in America, I remind myself, they have advertisements between shows.  Advertisements aren't on British television the same way they are in American.

The fabric on the couch's arm starts to stretch and I can pick up threads breaking under my grip. Stupid me for putting on British news. I should have watched some American station. 

It won't be her, I tell myself when I cannot bring myself to change the channel. She probably doesn't stand much of a chance. It could be anyone, like the McCafferty girl. Or the one she was talking to in the change room, Jocelyn. It's not going to be her.

Finally, after I visited Walmart and watched an add from "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" and every other Christmas thing I could think of, Johnny reappeared on the screen.

"Welcome back ladies and gentlemen!" he exclaims, an excellent actor. "Here with me now is the face of Clara for this year's annual Nutcracker ballet at Apollo Victoria. At ten years old this her first time dancing lead in a large production. Here is Ambrosine Rosefsky!" The camera zooms down to her smiling face. She has the same stupid grin Steve did. The camera draws out, so now I can see both Johnny and Ambrosine standing side by side. Ambrosine wears her black leotard and pink tights. She had fluffy white earmuffs on that match her fluffy white leg warmers. Her red ballet points stick out like a sore thumb and are clearly worn to the bone.

"So Ambrosine," Johnny began, "where do you train?"

"I have a scholarship to the Spirit Young Dance Company," she replies, the picture of young innocence, "I go three to four times a week."

"Do you think that their online publicity has helped you in your path here?"

"Of course it has!" She sounds rehearsed. "Their aid is invaluable when it comes to achieving your dreams."

"We're running a bit short on time," he says. 

Bullocks, I think, they're barely into the interview. I guess they have better news. "Do you have any goals for the future?" the announcer asks.

She thinks for a second. "I'd love to work with The Royal Ballet one day and be a prima ballerina assoluta. Although honestly, I'd ditch the former if it meant achieving the latter." Johnny chuckles and wishes her a good night. She waves at the camera and I turn off the telly. Enough for today. I walk over to the bed and lie down, determined to catch up with the time change.

~~~~~

Hey readers, thanks so much for the support! Please continue to read and vote and share, and if you are using the app, you can quote! I promise the plot will be picking up very soon, I'm just trying to get a basis for the stuff that to happen next. 

~Beneath_the_Willows