Love Can't Happen
Disclaimer and Author's Note: All characters are the property of the Really Useful Group or Susan Kay. The song "Love Can't Happen" is from Grand Hotel. No money is being made from this story. There is actually more to this story, but I want to see if any enjoys this before I post part two. Constructive criticism appreciated.
The ink on the page seemed to leer at him, mocking his efforts. Erik pressed his fingers to his temples to soothe his headache. Being his own librettist for Don Juan Triumphant had proved more difficult than he had imagined.
The songs of lust, anger, and betrayal had proved simple. He'd written the words as he had the music, distilling the pain and rage of a lifetime into the strokes of a pen. Now he needed a love song full of open and honest emotion, a song for the time before Don Juan and Aminta were consumed by their fear and black desire. A song for a time when a happy ending was possible. Even the melody had come easily. The words alone defeated him. Every phrase rang false, every rhyme forced. How did people in love talk?
The pain became unbearable. With an effort, he crumpled the paper and stood. He needed to take a walk and clear his head. Who knew? Perhaps he would be fortunate enough to overhear a pair of young lovers kind enough to offer inspiration.
He made his way to Box Five in silence. Rehearsal was underway for the new production of Orpheo et Eurydice. He noted with dismay that La Carlotta had recovered from the cold that had kept her away from the Opera. So much for clearing his head.
"Complete and unmitigated disaster" would have been a charitable description of the sights and sounds before him. The second violin was constantly off pitch and the leading baritone wouldn't recognize a B-flat if he were strangled with it. Carlotta screeched her way through her first aria. He would have much to tell Lefevre in his next letter.
He allowed his mind to drift back to the crumpled piece of paper on his desk. Why was it so difficult? He had mastered music and architecture with alacrity. A simple love song should be nothing.
Could it be because you have never been in love? The voice was cool and indifferent.
Erik whirled around to see who dared invade his private sanctuary. He was alone and realized the voice had come from inside his mind. He bristled.
Of course I have never been in love. How can a monster fall in love? How can anyone fall in love with a monster? Remember Luciana? She loved me, or thought she did. How did that turn out again? Oh that's right. She's dead.
The sound of Carlotta's piercing shriek interrupted his reverie. Her eyes were flashing and he sensed rather than saw the beginning of one of the diva's temper tantrums.
"Daaé! How am I supposed to sing with that infernal humming of yours?"
"If you please Madame, it wasn't me." He could feel the terror in her voice. He did not know this Daaé, but he suddenly felt immensely sorry for her. No one, except perhaps Carlotta, deserved to be the target of one of Carlotta's temper tantrums. He peered out over the stage, but he could not distinguish the girl.
"Who was it, the Opera Ghost? You ballet girls and your Opera Ghost!" A pause. Carlotta's voice took on a sinister note. "Since you are so obviously musical perhaps you will oblige us with a private concert?"
"Please, no."
"Oh, but I insist! What shall it be? Oh, I know! 'The Jewel Song.' Maestro?"
Erik shut his eyes. This would be torture. The girls of the corps de ballet were almost without exception tone deaf creatures with no idea how to interpret a song. To hear his favorite aria mangled by one of them! Suddenly, the idea of returning to work on his opera seemed almost pleasant. What rhymed with romance? He heard the sound of footsteps shuffling to the center stage and braced himself.
He started at the sound of her voice. It was as if crystal had been transmuted into song. Her voice was shimmering and impossibly delicate. He listened with pleasure as she tackled note upon note. There was something wrong. She lacked a certain spark of divine fire as if she were a singing automation, rather than a human being. But such a voice.
He allowed his eyes to open, prepared for almost anything but what he saw. The girl was beautiful. No, exquisite. Dark curls cascaded down her back. Her skin was pale and flawless like marble he had seen long ago in Greece. He felt an unfamiliar mixture of pleasure and fire run through him. The girl was Galatea, the perfect woman, come almost to life. All she needed was Pygmalion.
He allowed himself to imagine her in full costume, caressing the box of jewels left for her. Her glorious voice could thrill all Paris! No, all the world! He could hear the applause, the cheers that might be hers.
She finished the song, and Erik exhaled. He felt his pulse race and his palms sweat. The entire world shattered and reassembled itself around the flushed face below him. The world swam before him and he gripped the edge of the box to keep from fainting. A shiver passed through him though everything burned under his touch. He must leave before he went mad. He fled the box, not caring who saw him.
The journey back to his home took twice as long as normal. In his haste, he made a wrong turn and had to double back. But he was home now. Safe from the girl. Safe from madness.
He needed to play. He could feel the notes surging through his fingers, yearning to be set free. In his mind's eye, he could see the notes of a new concerto sitting on a staff, waiting for him to give them life. The music had never come this easily. The notes came faster and faster. Erik could almost see them toppling over one another. He tried to play. His hands would not move. What force would send music through him, only to leave his hands paralyzed and his soul denied this release?
Love perhaps? The same cool, methodical voice from before.
He froze. This was not love. Love took more than an instant, didn't it? He would have had to have dreamed her up. Besides, love can't happen to monsters, can it?
"Love can't happen," her murmured. "Love can't happen."
He began to play again, forcing his fingers to move properly. He played the melody to the love song. Only half-conscious of what he was doing, he began to sing.
"Love can't happen quite so quickly,
not unless I dreamed you beautifully and sweetly"
Of course! Why had he not seen it before? Don Juan was not a naïve schoolboy, but a worldly, cynical libertine. Love would take him by surprise. He continued playing, and the words rushed forth.
"No, don't look through me so clearly,
I might very nearly lose myself completely.
Who could ever have suspected you would make me tremble so?
I can't think of any answer,
Other than if love comes,
When love comes
You know!"
Erik smiled. Perfection. He had written his song.
But what was he to do about the girl who inspired it?