Followers of the prophet weren't allowed wine but Nadir found the phrase "when in Rome" - modified, of course, to "when in Paris" - useful in his retirement. "Retirement" itself was a strange phrase for what this stage of his life really was. It was more like exile yet also a targeted mission. Could Allah forgive him for indulging in a cordial or a fine glass of wine to get through this bit of business? Nadir supposed he would find out when he finally crossed over, a time that might come sooner than later.
Yes, he had put himself clearly in harm's way, chasing a dangerous predator - his dear friend Erik. What was to be done about Erik? He mentioned he had "some influence" at the opera, and Nadir's investigations had confirmed the devil had installed himself as a troublesome "opera ghost", a waste of his unique genius. Keeping tabs on him had become a dangerous game, much like having a wild fox around. One day, it was friendly; another day, it could bite, and Erik's bite could be lethal. Nadir didn't want to believe his old friend would turn on him but it was always best to keep a kernel of healthy suspicion in one's heart when it came to Erik...
After chasing down information about his clever, meddlesome friend, Nadir chased away his equally vexing memories with a glass or two (or three, or four) of lovely French wine. This particular Sunday evening was well-suited to an open bottle, an open book, and a pleasant little fire in the fireplace. When the rain fell in a steady patter as it was doing now on his window, he really began feeling his age. He shifted in his chair, the mist agitating his joints, and settled in with his wine and his novel, ready to escape this strange world for a few hours.
Alas, his peace wasn't meant to last; at an inconveniently late hour, he heard a rap on his door. Who else could it be but the very person he wished to forget? The man had impeccable manners; Nadir wished he utilized them by keeping to an acceptable visiting time or at least sending him notice that he wanted to turn up at some ungodly hour.
Not wishing to rise from his comfortable chair, he shouted, "Just pick the lock and come in already, you fiend! Like a door ever stopped you…"
The doorknob jostled. "Monsieur...The door is locked tight!"
It was a woman's voice! Nadir scrambled to his feet, feeling quite inadequate to entertain a woman at this hour of night, just in his shirtsleeves and three glasses of wine into the evening. Perhaps it was Émilienne, a lady he had a bit of an agreement with. He had appeared at her apartment a few times at embarrassingly late hours, so turn about was only fair, wasn't it?
Upon opening the door, he was caught off guard for the second time that night. Standing before him wasn't his lady friend Émilienne but the serious ballet mistress of the opera populaire! Now he felt even more ashamed of his shabby appearance and could barely stutter a greeting.
"I apologize for the late hour, monsieur. My duties don't adhere to a conventional schedule. I know you understand very well how the opera is run."
Nadir nodded, in still, stunned silence, and stood like an idiot in the doorway.
"...Is this a bad time? I can see if I can come back after mass on Wednesday morning…?"
Nadir's brain and tongue finally decided to coordinate again and he found his voice. "No, no, not at all, eh - forgive me, I'm not prepared to entertain anyone tonight. Please come in."
"I'm not one to stand upon ceremony," she said, sweeping into his apartment. He took her coat and placed it on a peg by the door. She removed her modest hat and tossed her gloves inside of it.
"I've been wanting to speak with you for some time...I'm sure you can guess the topic of conversation."
Nadir couldn't picture what the ballet mistress of the opera would want to speak to an intrusive old man like himself about at all and gave a helpless little shrug.
"Forgive me for being blunt, but I don't feel it serves any purpose to play any word games or cloak our conversation in useless pleasantries." She paused. "Mon dieu, I'm quite rattled - may I have a glass of wine?"
"Oh - of course, certainly." Nadir searched for another clean glass for the lady. She was rather forward, even for a French woman, and it had taken years for Nadir to acclimate himself to his new home country's manners. His hand, unsteady from the nervous excitement, betrayed him and he ended up pouring her a bit too much.
She accepted the glass with a little polite nod. "I'm sorry - I don't even know your name. Monsieur -"
"Khan, Nadir Khan."
"And I'm - "
"Madame Giry, yes. I know of you but haven't had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."
She nodded. "I've seen you roaming all about the opera; you've become quite a fixture after hours. It's as if you're looking for something...or someone."
Nadir's breath caught in his throat. Could she know?
She continued. "Well? Am I wrong? Are you looking for someone, Monsieur? You're not one of those men who lingers in the backstage area hoping to catch a glimpse of the girls with their bare legs, you're not one who chats up any of the actors...You seem restless, as if you never see what you wish to see."
"Madame Giry…" Nadir measured his words, hoping he didn't sound mad. "Do you know him? The opera ghost…?"
"Not a ghost!" she said with a serious snort of a laugh. "A man. A troublesome, vexing, infuriating man!"
Nadir was so caught off guard, his legs almost gave out. Clutching his side, he dissolved into laughter.
"Oh my word….oh my god - yes! Yes, he is all that and more! Oh, it's such a relief to have someone else to talk to about him -!"
"That's why I came here tonight! I had a suspicion, and now I know…"
"Has he hurt you?"
"No! No, not at all," she said, waving her hand and taking a nice, long pull from her glass. "He's given the girls a scare from time to time but nothing serious...yet."
"I've heard you carry notes for him and attend to him in his box sometimes…" Nadir leaned against the mantel as they spoke.
"That's true. We've...established a sort of friendship, I suppose. He's even had me down to his home for dinner."
"You've been there? You've seen it?"
"You haven't?"
"No - he keeps me away."
"How odd…" Both of her hands came together on her wine glass and she gazed into the dancing fire. Nadir wondered if he was too far in his cups because by the flickering firelight, he found himself admiring this brash woman's sharp features, her intelligent eyes, her bold attitude. Erik had made a miscalculation if he believed it was safer to admit this audacious woman to his home instead of his old friend! Nadir felt a stirring in his heart he hadn't felt for a long time and he couldn't quite pinpoint if it was excitement over having an ally, a partner, someone who understood their enigmatic friend or if it was the beginning of an attraction to an incredible woman who could hold her own against a gaggle of unruly girls, idiotic managers, and a fearsome opera ghost, a woman who walked the streets of Paris in the dead of night by herself and turned up unannounced at a foreigner's flat. The boldness was enough to make his head spin.
They continued discussing their mutual acquaintance, the words pouring out of them as years and years of bottled up ideas burst forth. Although two comfortable chairs were set up by the fire, they could barely stand still, let alone sit and they paced back and forth on the worn rug by the hearth, finishing the bottle as the conversation kept going long into the night.
A moment suddenly came upon Nadir where he didn't want to talk about Erik anymore. After all, he had set up his Sunday night to try to forget him. No, Nadir felt like talking about other things with this Madame Giry, perhaps even doing other things. Parisian women were forward, were they not? And he had decided to live his life by the motto "when in Paris" - couldn't he be equally forward? He was getting older...why bother holding back any more?
"Madame…" Nadir, in a halfway calculated move, stepped towards her and cupped her chin. As far as overtly romantic gestures went, this was pretty pathetic by his estimation but the wine had loosened him up and he didn't have anything better in his foggy brain.
"Monsieur!" Madame Giry pulled back, instantly shattering the warmth he had felt a moment ago. Fear snaked his heart - what was he thinking? This woman would believe he was trying to take advantage of her, or worse - that he was a loathsome foreign barbarian! The shame of his idiotic and rash action ran wild through him and he suddenly felt very small, old, and foolish.
Madame Giry blushed and turned away. "Monsieur...You've had a bit too much, haven't you?"
"...Yes, yes, that must be it…"
"The wine must be working on you if you would try such things with an old no one like me…"
Old? No one? What? "I'm sorry, I don't follow…?"
"Oh, come on - a handsome man like yourself. You don't have to stoop like this…"
The light went on in Nadir's brain. "Madame - ! You're joking! I wouldn't even have tried if I didn't feel something…Do you...feel something too? Even if it's not anything serious…"
She laughed bitterly. "I don't want to be made fun of."
She turned to face him and in her hard eyes, Nadir sensed that she must have a pain in her past that made her push the world away, push opportunities away, and now push him away.
"I know what I am. An old, used up nobody - and I couldn't stand to be ridiculed in such a cruel way. I thought I came here to find a friend and now you're going to try such a thing? No, monsieur; I've dealt with plenty of hard times in my life and I will not -"
Nadir went for it - planting a kiss directly on her lips. Once he was there, he decided to keep going, tightening his hands around her waist, pulling her closer. She resisted out of stubborness for a second or two and then finally yielded.
"Madame," he said, breaking the kiss. "Do you think I'm still trying to ridicule you?"
Left speechless, she sputtered a few incoherent sounds.
"If you need more convincing, there are other ways I can prove that I find you...fascinating, attractive, and - and - perfectly charming!"
"...perhaps, monsieur, I wouldn't mind if you tried to convince me a little bit more…"