Never Let Them Define You

PUTTING ON THE PRESSURE

She looks out the window and sees the sun hanging near the top of the frame, then covers her eyes, and yawns.

"Still tired after all that coffee?"

She looks at Marco laying beside her on the couch, his body looks as glorious and muscular as ever, and he drinks from a glass of water.

"I'd rather have unlimited energy than be healthy." She brushes her hair over one side of her head and stands up, then walks to the mirror, and stares at the reflection of her magnificent body as she sways back and forth while running her fingers through her hair.

"So glorious...some men would kill to see you like this."

She wants to laugh but it doesn't feel right, she pulls back her hair and shakes it so it falls over her shoulders. "Would you?" She looks at him through the mirror.

"Do I have to?" He takes a deep breath. "If I killed someone, then I wouldn't be the man for you."

"How do you know I don't want a murderer?"

He laughs. "I just have a feeling." He looks at the notepad. "Come here."

She walks gently up to the couch and sits back down, resting on his side and running her fingers through his dark, brown, curly hair.

"What is this crazy writing?"

She sees that the Big One paper is still open. "Um, just some ideas I was jotting down...very contemporary stuff, you know; cutting edge."

"Sing in baritone?"

"Uh...yeah, well, it hasn't been done the way I would do it.

He smiles. "Oh, of course not; how would you?"

She looks up at the ceiling. "Still working that out."

"Well, not doing it is one way to do it, but I think that's already been done."

She looks at him. "I never said I wasn't going to do it."

"Working it out?"

"I am, why did you say it like that?"

He rolls his eyes. "You always say you're 'working it out' when it's an idea that doesn't interest you; what is this really for?"

"Are you trying to read my mind?"

"Is it working?"

"Not quite, but you're onto something." She grabs the pad. "This is a plan."

"To sing in baritone?"

"There's other stuff on here, but that's not the point...I've told you about all the pressure from my supervisors to make the 'Big One' and they ask me about it all the time. Nathaniel is the worst, he asks me every single time he sees me, 'how's the Big One coming?' Sometimes I pretend I don't know what he's talking about, but they want me to do it soon, or else I think they're going to drop me. Right now, I'm riding on the fact that I'm the star they see the most potential in, but that's only going to work for so long; I'm devising a scheme to stay respected in the world of performance while being dropped from the company and never being able to become a star."

"Wow." he scratches his head, then gestures for her to give him the pad, and looks at it again. "How in the world do you plan on doing this? They'll tarnish your reputation if you sabotage them."

"I make a show for the critics, not the fans, and I do it so brilliantly that they'll never stop talking about it. The audience, though? They'll hate it; I'll make sure that no matter how much critical praise I get, no one in America's ever going to want to pay to see me on a stage again!"

"And then you starve."

"Okay, well, I haven't worked it all out yet, but-" Suddenly, a knock on the door, and her head swings and eyes squint. If that's Josephine... "I'll get that."

"Hi, Cassandra, it's been so long!" she chuckles.

"A few hours isn't long enough."

"Wow...okay, well, here's another memo-" A thud catches her ear. "Is there someone in there?"

"Oh, no, just my, uh, cat."

"I didn't know you had a cat."

"Yeah, well, I got it recently."

"During the blizzard?"

"No, God, no," she laughs, then raises her voice and speaks into the room, "it just wasn't so loud the other times you came here."

"You talk to your cat?"

"Um, yeah, well, we're very close."

"Okay, you got that memo, I'm gonna leave, and goodbye." She speedwalks away as she clutches her bag.

"Is that fear I smell?" she whispers, then smiles, and slams the door.

"What was that?"

"Another memo." She holds it up weakly and lets her arm go limp again.

"Let's read it."

"I'm sure it's nothing important." She sits down with him, then lays her head on his shoulder and holds his hand, and gives him the paper. "You read it, I'm tired."

"How? Never mind, I'd be happy to." He holds it up. "Dear employee Cassandra Nova," he looks at her, "you're in trouble." He laughs and clears his throat. "It is our unfortunate duty to notify you of your upcoming terminati-"

"What?" she shouts, "Dammit, I was so close!"

"Wait, wait, calm down, love, there's more; they say, 'you have not been sufficiently productive in the eyes of the company and, if this behavior continues, we will have no choice but to let you go. On the condition that you complete the major assignment that's been discussed, then your future will be preserved and you will keep your role in the company. Salutations, David Mills.' What assignment?"

She points at the notepad. "The Big One."

"Oh...so this is why you've been so stressed; did you know this was coming?"

"Well, I did say I thought they might drop me." She sighs and lays her head on his shoulder. "What do I do? I'm fresh out of ideas."

"You will do what you do best, my love."

"And what is that?"

"You will win."