Though a roof now hangs over his head, and sturdy walls surround him, the rigid, frigid conditions from the polar ice Paris outside seem to manage to seep and creep in through them, causing whatever more warmth from the apartment that seeks Julian to dissipate into the air before it can reach him. It seems the janitor who, in such a heated, wholehearted pursuit for the host’s earnest amnesty, managed to dissolve the facade of his coming to terms with all that had gone on with the show—mostly cricket-related, but possibly otherwise, as well.
His eyes widen as John’s voice heightens, and his speech becomes more emotional and less controlled than Julian was used to hearing. Why, the only other time he can remember hearing John Cameron go on that was was when he was drunk and ready and willing to end his life via janitor-mercy-killing, and on the pavement beneath the legs of the tower. And though, at this moment, he is all that is, quite literally, standing between the host and some quality time alone with his mattress, Julian has been around the circus and John Cameron enough to be able to discern between insomnia–which, he was sure, was a stubborn obstacle plenty a night for the man–and irritation, and that being forced to remain awake is definitely not entirely to blame for his reaction. Julian has seen John Cameron in states of emotion none of the listeners could ever guess even existed in his repertoire, with the way he always speaks and carries himself around them, despite what else may be going on offstage that he may be in the center of. “I…I–I knew it…,”Julian says quietly.
He takes a deep breath, and pipes up just a little–only as much as he can possibly allow himself to when speaking to the host, feelings aside. “I-I had a feeling you still hadn’t forgiven me for what happened, and–and I was totally right all along. And, yes…I understand, Mr. Cameron. I really, really do.” He sighs forlornly. ”And I agree–I messed things up that night more than I ever thought I could mess up anything. Especially something that I love, and really want to be a real part of, and something the people that I really care about love, too…and people I don’t even know, they all do…and I'm…just so sorry Mr. Cameron. Couldn’t be more sorry if I tried. I truly can’t say how sorry I am enough.” Although judging by the host’s expression, the reception to his apologies and pleas for forgiveness…indicates that he has, indeed, exhausted the limits on offering them…
His voice cracks as the wind howls noisily across the rooftops of the sleeping city of Paris. “But I don’t think–I mean…I-I guess that…whatever I say won’t really make a difference. I mean, it already happened, and, it’d be wrong of me to try to change how you feel about it, now, about how the audience feels about you, and…maybe even how…you feel about me.” Julian arrives at this realization aloud. Unfortunately, he has no proof to present that would support his claims. Only that he is utterly doubtless that the he puts John Cameron on level standing with the acts even, more accurately, a bit above them. The crowd’s placation from the safely-returned cricket didn’t do much at all to further his theory.
“Well…,” the Janitor goes on, “I don’t know. I just really wanted us both to believe that the people listening weren’t just focused on how they were gonna be entertained.”
Julian could point out that had it not been for the cage’s refusal to lock, there would not have been a circumstance otherwise which required that cricket to tell his story, or reason to think crickets could ever weave such enchanting tales when their lives were in danger. He could remind John Cameron that, as he, himself found out from the host later on, there would have been no act that night, if the bird remained contained. Perhaps, he could even return John to the fact he was now aware of his almost complete lack of involvement with the acts other than presenting them.
But, no. the Janitor, though growing as frustrated as he is apologetic, decides he will not resort to such tactics, and not speak that way. It would more than likely further hurt his case, and his chance of getting back to…reluctant, barely-borderline toleration from John Cameron.
“But, whatever you can come up with, Mr. Cameron, I’ll do, if you feel like it’ll even begin to make up for everything. I…don’t have anything in mind, but I’m sure you can think of something. Or, maybe it’s a whole bunch of different things I can do at different times.” The Janitor shrugs.
Well, actually, he does have some things he considered asking about: helping him find acts more…actively, or…sticking more strictly to cleaning and less on joining in for a bit (which already proves difficult, but, should that be what the host asks of him, more effort will be applied), but he refrains from further implications, words, or suggestions that might return John Cameron’s blood to its boil.
“Of course I haven’t forgiven you, you ruined the show,” John responded. He looked around the apartment for something — anything — that could help him in the seemingly never ending battle of getting the janitor to realize his own culpability in why things were always going sideways. Maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe in an alternate universe Julian would be able to blame the events that seemed to haunt his very presence at the Eiffel Tower on some other malevolent being. But even if that were true, wouldn’t it have been more prudent for him to go as far away from the show as humanly possible? Wouldn’t that have been a better way for Julian to have shown his love for the show than to constantly be trying to drop onto the show? The few moments he had been able to sneak on so far? He froze! He was almost completely incapable of saying something coherent or interesting on air, at best narrating to the audience what John Cameron himself was just about to say about the Orkestral.
He had let him on the tail end of the show to be nice. To show Julian that things were at least a little patched over between the loosing of the cricket and the way they were finally, amicably, able to wrap things up on air with the conclusion of the Cricket’s story.
John sighed as Julian apologized, mentally having blustered through a good proportion of the lingering irritation at how things had panned out for the show. In the morning, he’d still have to answer to the head of the PBC “Mr. Cameron, why did you save the cricket until the end of last night’s show when you could hear the audience calling for him?” “Mr. Cameron, do you know how close you were to losing your job last night? If you hadn’t produced the cricket, you’d be gone.’ He sighed again, already mentally exhausted from being chewed out by the President and he hadn’t even gone up there yet. That night’s relaxation efforts helped a considerable amount, but even a good lay good only get you so far….
He crossed his arms in front of his chest as Julian kept rambling onwards with his apology. Maybe he actually had misjudged Julian’s intentions. And he was right, things had turned out ‘salvageable’ at the absolute worst.
“All they were talking about during the show was how they were going to be entertained,” John said, voicing his complaints against Julian and his actions again. But John Cameron knew as well as any man in show business knew that all an audience talked about wasn’t necessarily all they absorbed, but more than likely, it was still the most important thing to understanding what had worked about a particular night. Or what had fallen flat on its face.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked of Julian’s proffered penance. The way Julian had phrased it would have put the onus on John for coming up with the particulars of just how to punish Julian’s misbehavior, even if it had ultimately worked out in John’s favor. “No, whatever you do has to be done before the next show.” Before you have the chance to screw something else up, he mentally added and then, unusually, chastised himself for being perhaps too harsh on the janitor for how things had ultimately turned out. Maybe after this he would actually do something nice for Julian.
“But whatever you do, you have to stay off my show until you are invited,” John cautioned, hoping that this time, it might actually sink in in a way that it thus far had not.
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