The Greatest Showman #1342 - Nowhere to Run

The stage was set, and Jane seemed to sense Levine's gaze upon her. Her eyes briefly met his, but her expression remained unreadable, hidden behind the melody and lyrics she sang. It was as though her emotions were veiled, unpredictable.

Levine frowned slightly, his gaze shifting from Jane to the surroundings. All the softness in his eyes faded instantly, replaced by a cold indifference. He spread his hands, a look of helpless innocence forming on his face as his lips mouthed, "What?" His demeanor was calm, almost unaffected, as if nothing had changed.

Jane's eyes clouded for a moment, her expression dimming with a touch of sadness. But it passed quickly, replaced by a renewed cheerfulness as she looked toward Jim's chorus. She lifted her chin to catch his gaze, offering a sweet smile to her husband. Yet, beneath the joy, there lingered a subtle loneliness.

Levine's expression stiffened, his gaze never leaving Jane. A shadow of tenderness, mingled with sadness, crept into his features. The moving melody seemed to stir something deep within him, a quiet resonance stirring.

Papi, the bar owner, settled next to him, breaking the moment. Levine glanced up, then back at Jane.

"Boy, they're not bad," Papi remarked, observing the performance.

Levine raised a cigarette to his lips, the smoke curling in front of his face, a nonchalant hum escaping him. "Hmm."

"That Jane... I want her," Papi said, almost casually.

Levine simply hummed in response.

Emily, quietly observing the scene, felt a wave of bittersweet emotion. She could see the quiet grief in Levine's eyes, hidden between the melody and the shifting lights—a story of loss unfolding in slow motion. In that moment, she found herself captivated by the unfolding drama of the film.

That night, Levine stayed at Jim and Jane's house. He slept on the floor, while Troy found his rest in the sand.

The next morning, Levine was awakened by the sounds of Troy enjoying his breakfast cereal. They shared a brief but life-affirming conversation. Unlike Levine, Troy had an upbeat, cheerful personality. He never complained, always content, and had signed a contract with Bud Grossman. He was optimistic about his future.

But soon, Troy was gone.

Lying on the sand, Levine tried to enjoy a moment of relaxation with a cigarette. He opened the window, but before he could take a drag, a big yellow cat darted out of the window and scrambled down the fire escape. Embarrassed and flustered, Levine chased after the cat, but after a chaotic pursuit, he failed to catch it.

Levine returned upstairs to wake Jane, who was still asleep. He asked her to open the door, but rather than entering, he wanted to talk to her about the child. The indoors weren't the right place, so Levine borrowed Jim's winter coat and left with Jane.

As they walked toward Columbia Square, Jane began to vent her frustration, blaming Levine for everything. She wished the child was Jim's, but she couldn't be sure. She insisted the child must go.

Levine remained silent, adjusting his coat, which was a bit snug on him. His thoughts were distant. No matter what he said, whether in silence or words, Jane's anger couldn't be assuaged. Any word from him was just another reason for her to lash out.

It was clear that Jane knew this wasn't the first time Levine had found himself in such a situation. She was just another "accident" in his life.

Levine broke the silence with a calm sneer. "Ever heard the saying, 'Tango takes two'?"

"Go to hell," Jane snapped back.

Levine's eyes lingered on Jane for a moment, before he lowered his gaze, his emotions hidden. "Okay," he replied nonchalantly. "We can talk when you've calmed down. But I guess we'll have to wait..."

He trailed off, as though considering the next words carefully. "Until when? When will that be?" he finally asked, throwing the question back at her.

"Go to hell," Jane repeated.

Levine glanced at her with a complex expression, his internal struggle apparent for a brief moment before he sighed and turned his head, choosing not to speak further.

The silence stretched, and then Jane's voice softened, surprising him. "I miss Mike," she whispered.

Levine lowered his eyes, his emotions unreadable. He pretended not to hear, changing the subject. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Jane gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me?"

"It's not for me," Levine explained. "It's for the Grofiances. Their cat is missing. Can you leave the fire escape window open?"

"It's winter," Jane responded, her anger softened, her tone lighter now.

"Enough for the cat to slip in. It'll come back," Levine murmured, as if to himself.

"Back to our apartment?" Jane shot him a disbelieving look. "It was only there for six hours! Why would it come back?"

"I don't know. I'm not the cat's keeper!" Levine raised his voice, defensive. "But think about it—if I lost their cat, I'd feel guilty too."

"That's your reason for guilt?" Jane widened her eyes, clearly in disbelief.

Emily, watching from the sidelines, realized just how much of a jerk Levine truly was. But even she had underestimated just how much of one.

Levine returned to his sister's house, trying to borrow money to get by, but his pride wouldn't let him admit his struggles. He pretended that his music career was going well, offering condescending critiques of their lives. He refused to give up on his dreams, even as he posed as an artist. In the end, he left empty-handed.

At the train station, Levine called Professor Grofiens, once again mentioning the missing cat. He assured them that the cat was safe at Jim and Jane's house and would be returned the next day. He also learned that Jim was looking for him. Though he didn't care much about it, Professor Grofiens emphasized that there was a recording opportunity at Columbia Records—one of the singers had dropped out due to illness, and Jim thought Levine might be interested.

Levine made his way to Columbia Records. There, he met Jim and the strange Al Cody. It wasn't the kind of music job Levine expected—no backing vocals for folk singers, but rather a recording filled with catchy chords and gimmicky techniques.

When Levine asked Jim who the creator was, Jim simply replied, "I am."

After the session, Levine forfeited the copyright, only interested in the $200 payment. He didn't care about missing out on royalties or recognition. He just wanted the money.

Leaving the studio, Levine went to his record company to ask about a letter from Bud Grossman, but once again, he was disappointed. The company was sorting through old records, and one box was full of Levine and Mike's unsold records.

Dejected, Levine went to Al's house, carrying a large box of old records. Al, heading to New Jersey, left Levine alone in the house. As Levine looked for space to store the box, he discovered another box under the coffee table—one filled with records that Al Cody couldn't sell either.

Levine returned to Jim and Jane's house. Jane refused to let him upstairs but agreed to bring his things to the cafe downstairs. After settling the cash, Levine asked when Jane planned to have the surgery. This led to yet another argument—Levine criticized Jim and Jane for being utilitarian, reducing music to a mere tool, while Jane lambasted Levine for being a failure with no future.

In the middle of their quarrel, Levine stormed out of the cafe. After a chaotic sprint, he caught the big yellow cat. Relieved, he returned to the cafe, only to engage in another round of taunts with Jane. Their conversation ended, and Levine's life continued to spin around New York City.

But when Levine learned from the doctor that Diane hadn't had the abortion or surgery as he had believed, the entire theater seemed to fall into a heavy silence. The low hums in the room seemed to reflect the confusion and sorrow swirling within him, emotions impossible to decipher.

Levine refused to accompany Diane or Jane for the surgery, unaware that Diane had gone home and given birth. The doctor couldn't refund Levine's fee, and Levine, without a permanent residence, found that the bars where he used to perform had closed.

Now, three years later, Levine discovered that he was the father of a two-year-old child.

Sitting in the doctor's office, staring blankly at the desk, Levine's expression was a mixture of daze, pain, and bitterness. His dark brown eyes reflected a faint mist, and for the first time, beneath his usual facade, there was a moment of vulnerability.