All for Fame

A strand of hair wriggled itself from under Maxine's beanie. She snapped after it by reflex, only to be pushed back by bone-chilling fear. Of course, her hair wouldn’t fall – it was attached to her head. It would be Maxine plunging to the street fifty-three stories below, were she to shift her weight forward by carelessly stretching out her arm.

           She stepped down from the windowsill, back into the barricaded hotel room, ignoring voices and sirens echoing off neighbouring skyscrapers. A gale seemed to penetrate every cranny of her coat, freezing her insides. The lock of hair hung motionless though, when she reached for it, tucking it back with fingers brittle as ice and pale as the snow falling peacefully outside.

           “You know, this is harder than I thought,” Maxine uttered, poking her head out of the window, only to get blinded by blue and red lights flashing in the depths. “No! I gotta do this! Imagine the photos. Visualize the articles, the reports on national TV! Tonight, everyone will have heard of me. Or was it just empty words when I said I’d do anything for the fame? That I’d even become content if I was unable to create it? C’mon! Move, stupid legs! This is the last time I’ll be straining you. Move! Before he digs himself out from somewhere and finds a way to mess everything up for me again!”

           Breathing in the winter’s chill, she gripped the windowsill, but her feet refused to take the step. In her last moments, Maxine couldn’t help thinking back to the events that led her to hijacking a lavish apartment and alarming what seemed the city’s entire police, fire, and health departments. All those bystanders… The news helicopter. So many eyes to witness her spectacular demise.

           It was Maxine who had started it all off, back in the suburbs when, searching for an audience to witness her puppet show, she had stumbled upon Ivan’s backyard, nearly – literally – tumbling down a two-metre-deep hole. Being two years his senior, Maxine had only known Ivan from their primary school’s gossip – apparently never getting the true meaning of words, a target for bullies that never learned his lesson, not once giving up on things he set out to do.

           Oh, how naïve little Maxine was for thinking that a commendable trait. How simple-minded she had been, setting out to bully the boy into watching her play with dolls.

           “Get out of that hole and come watch my performance,” young Maxine had ordered.

           “Why? I have more important stuff to do,” words had come from underground, along with soil being thrown up.

           “What’re you, some kinda mole?” Maxine had looked down at the boy shrouded by darkness, digging, using his bare hands. “C’mon, get out I tell you!”

           “No. This is important.”

           “Important? Did your house’s plumbing break? Are you tryna dig up a well? If you’re looking for oil, don’t bother. If it were here, they would’ve found it already.”

           “No. Something more important,” Ivan had continued to strain, scraping up soil at the bottom of his hole.

           “What?”

           “I told my brother I’d dig all the way to China.”

           “What?” she couldn’t believe what she had heard.

           “I told my brother I’d dig all the way to China.”

           Maxine had burst into laughter. Since Ivan had not reacted, she had taken a step back. “Wait, you’re serious?”

           “Yes.”

           “You know that’s impossible, right? China isn’t even opposite us.”

           “So, I’ll turn halfway.”

           “Halfway? You know what you’ll find halfway through the Earth? The core! You know how hot the core is?”

           “How hot?”

           “Well… Very!”

           “I’ll pack sunscreen.”

           “Sun… Wha…” Maxine had staggered. “You… You’re just a stupid kid! You’re making fun of me!”

           “My brother tried to stop me like that too. I’m not giving up.”

           “C’mon! Stop wasting your time and come watch my performance.”

           “You’re wasting your time. If you want me to watch, get down here and help me.”

           “And dirty my beautiful hair? No thanks.”

           He hadn’t even bothered to respond.

           “Hpmf! Fine!” Maxine had spun to walk away. “Waste away in your hole if you want, stupid boy. You know what else they put in the ground? Garbage. And dead people. You may as well be one of those already if you want to pursue impossible goals. A life like this, you’ll never be content.”

           “What did you just say about my hole?” he had gritted his teeth.

Turning around had revealed a fierce face, missing one tooth, poking from the ground, covered in dirt. “You’ll never be content! You! I’ll take care of that, just you wait!”

           His hand had come up. Entirely brown, with nails wickedly cracked. He had been gripping a fistful of soil. He had heaved.

           That was how their first meeting had ended, sounded by Maxine’s hasty rout, shielding her precious hair from a brown, destructive hail. In the shower that evening, shampooing, Ivan’s words have steamed out of her head, sounding as empty threats.

           Oh, how very naïve of young Maxine.

           “I have met him again a few years back,” Maxine reminisced, unfeeling fingers clutching at the windowsill. “When I finally made my way to that backwater, mid-western bog they dared to call a town.”

           There, Maxine had borrowed a piece of a club’s spotlight – discreetly – resulting in a spike of popularity in her street singing performances.

           The police had come for her anyway, finding in her apartment gear belonging to many other establishments. Maxine had been banished from the city, the police saving themselves an ordeal. All the stolen pieces had been sullied by dirt, as if a gardener had misplaced them.

           All but one spotlight, making Maxine unable to push for a proper investigation, which would have had easily revealed Ivan’s fingerprints in the mud.

           In similar ways, Maxine had been forced to switch cities multiple times. Sometimes, Ivan had shown his face, repeating the words “you’ll never be content.” Elsewhere, following a failed performance, she would find dirt on the cut cable or inside the out-of-tune guitar. Ivan had always dug himself out of some hole at the last minute, to mess up Maxine’s efforts.

           Oh, she had tried reasoning with the madman. She had apologized endlessly. To no avail. Ivan had spoken that cursed line once and he never went back on his word.

           “I didn’t even mean it like that!” she grumbled, balling up a frozen fist.

           Finally, she had made her way to New York. There, she had pushed out every single street performer one by one. No time for collaboration or their designated zones. Her talents, face and hair had to be seen by the entire nation while at their best.

           A week ago, her official performance had finally come up. Before she could utter a note however, the lights illuminated the audience – the guild of New York’s street artists, crowned by Ivan himself. They had made Maxine apologize publicly.

           “Well, soon enough it’ll be them regretting their actions, you know?” Maxine smiled proudly. “Guilt – the strongest of emotions – won’t allow them to ever forget me. I can already see them tearing up at the funeral. Ahh, it seems I too am an artist whose value will only be realized after her death. C’mon! I can do this! I will become content!”

           She hefted her foot up on the windowsill. Then the other one. The abyss rumbled with terrified voices. The news helicopter rounded the skyscraper. The glorious attention filled Maxine with courage.

           Her mind cleared. Everything slowed down. It seemed weird to her that the rescue team had set up on only one side of the building. Didn’t they communicate with the hotel? Didn’t they know her apartment had another window on the other side of the room?

           “Not that it matters anymore.”

           She took a piercingly freezing breath. Her last breath. She stepped forward with one foot.

           And she was pushed back into the room by a hand, reaching for her boot from below.

           Maxine fell back painfully, neither coat nor carpet providing much cushioning. She lay there breathless, heart beating like a metronome with its weight pulled all the way down.

           The hand reached for the windowsill. Red, bloated and bleeding from nails chipped in half. The jacket’s sleeve was covered in a layer of snow.

           Fear completely immobilized Maxine while Ivan pulled himself into the room. No hat, no safety harness, no climbing equipment. The same fierce face.

           “How… How?” she sputtered.

           “How?” he reached for her face, dripping pink snow.” Told you you’d never be-”

           No! something burst from within Maxine. She punched at the face that haunted her in her nightmares for years. Ivan stumbled back, ripping away Maxine’s beanie. He grunted in pain, blood rushing from his nose.

           I can do this. I will do this!

           She spun and shot out like an Olympic sprinter, aiming for the other window. She dove elbows-first.

The window shattered. The cold air hit her. Her insides lurched. Wind swished in her ears. She fell to the quiet street together with the shards of glass, quicker than the snow.

           She had trouble seeing through her own untamed hair.

           Hair, she thought. Yes! Going to make for some nice pictures. Thanks, Ivan.

           Wait. Pictures? Who’s going to take those? This street is completely empty! Everyone expected me to jump out of the other window! The one Ivan blocked!

           Panic struck her. Not because of the street she was reaching at lightning speed, but for the futility of her actions. Maxine tried to move mid fall. To spin or adjust. It wasn’t as easy as the movies made it look. And why even bother? There was no stopping anymore. Her death would be in vain.

           A click.

           A spotlight hit her along with the snow-covered street.

           TV Helicopter, she jolted. They’ll get me on camera!

           All her troubles washed away with the wind. She did it. She beat Ivan. She did everything in her power to gain fame. That was all that ever mattered.

           She closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.

           She hit.

           Not as stiffly as she expected.

           She opened her eyes.

           She saw the skyscraper. The night sky. And something else. Something close. Something enveloping her, allowing for only a sliver of vision. Did she… Did she fall into something? What was she…? Who put out the lights?

           Maxine opened her heavy eyelids to lights. Beeps. Voices. Whiteness, which made her head throb. A comfortable rocking. A car?

Yes. An ambulance.

Memories of the fall struck her mind, making her hands sweat and her knees itch.

I actually did it, didn’t I? she couldn’t believe. But… I survived? How?

Not alerting the nurses with any movement, Maxine glanced at the TV, where a news anchor stood in a thick jacket and earmuffs. By her side – in front of a background of upbeat spectators – stood a man.

Ivan.

“And this is the hero that we reported on earlier,” the woman informed. “The spectacular man himself, that dug a hole on the backside of the hotel and filled it with snow, then climbed from window to window in an attempt to save the victim. As we all know, his intuition came through, saving the victim from certain death. Now, sir, would you mind telling us your name?”

“Yes,” Ivan said, fierce face unmoving, changed only by the broken nose. He looked straight at the camera – straight at Maxine – and uttered: “You’ll never be content.”

Then he walked off.

Hole full of snow! What! Maxine almost jumped off the ambulance bed. But wait! What’s that idiot talking about? Everybody knows me now! And thanks to Ivan, I still have a celebrity life to enjoy!

“As a smart man once said, most heroic acts will remain only in the memories of those involved, for humility is a heroic virtue itself,” continued the news reporter. “On the other front, the paramedic team had refused to disclose the identity of the woman that had all of New York on its feet for a night, only to be saved by nothing short of a miracle. You heard thar right, we still don’t know the name of the other person responsible for this spectacle.”

What?

“Thank you, Susan, for bringing us this report on-site, in downtown New York,” the news cut to studio. “All we can offer our viewers are these scenes taken from our helicopter. We would like to remind our viewers, that the victim is in her way to a hospital and not in life-threatening condition.”

Maxine’s mouth gaped. The shots of her falling off the skyscraper were breath-taking. The snow seemingly flying upward. The shards of glass glittering. Her hair fluttering in the wind like a wildfire.

The hair. That was the problem. There was too much of it, obstructing her face at each moment of the fall.