Lord d'Arcy is Vile
Christine chose a gown of black silk to wear to the party. It was her form of protest. Although the bodice was a bit too low-cut and the gathered skirts hugged her hips a little too tightly to make the dress appropriate for a funeral, it certainly did not fit into the category of celebratory attire. Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny, however despite her efforts to appear grave, all but gaped at her when she made her first appearance to meet him in the foyer of the Opera, and then further complimented her beauty with lavish phrases of poetic flattery.
That had been hours ago, and as Erik predicted, the young man had since not left her side for so much as a moment. Christine always enjoyed Raoul's company and she could have wished for no more desirable an escort to this event, but she had long since grown weary of the evening of constant effort to completely avoid the guest of honor in the throng of merrymakers who had gradually become merrier as the night and the champagne wore on.
The effort had actually been successful so far for the entire evening, and therefore Raoul was beginning to become suspicious of the continual coincidence of evasions Christine cunningly created. As he stood with her on his arm now in one of the ballrooms, and they sipped uncounted glasses of champagne together while watching the dancers and enjoying obscurity among the crowd, he finally asked her forthright, more suggestively than was normally in his nature:
"When do I get the chance to meet this magnificent Lord d'Arcy for myself? I have been at his party for hours and have not so much as even seen him, much less been properly introduced."
Christine swallowed the last of the effervescent liquid in her glass too quickly, caught off guard by the question, and coughed slightly. She unhooked her arm from Raoul's to accept the handkerchief he offered her and dabbed at her lips. She then took her time to hand the empty glass to a waiter before she met Raoul's eyes, which were still expectant for an answer.
She offered him nothing at first, but then cleared her throat delicately and glanced about the room. Her eyes immediately found the man they regrettably sought across the floor, on the other side of the dancers, having what looked like an uproarious conversation with three young ladies whose brilliant giggles could be heard over the music from even where Christine stood.
She took Raoul's arm again with both of her hands and gestured with a tilt of her head for him to follow her gaze. "He is right over there."
"Aha!" Raoul smiled victoriously and left his own empty glass on a passing tray. "Then you will introduce us." He stepped away from the wall, bringing her with him.
"No!" she gasped, planting her feet firmly before he could take her any further. "I mean…I would really rather not."
He removed his arm from her grasp and turned to face her after another backwards glance at his first impression of Lord d'Arcy. "Why not?"
She pressed her lips together, her eyes darkening as they took in the image of one of d'Arcy's fleshy hands creeping around the bare shoulders of one of those girls while his other twisted one end of his rusty colored moustache. "I am avoiding him when I can."
"I have noticed. Despite how eager you know I am to meet him… Christine, all I want is an introduction."
She shook her head. "No, you don't. He is a vile man."
Raoul laughed at the adorableness of her severity and took her by the elbow, turning about to watch the scene again. "Vile? He looks most popular."
Christine shuddered and made herself look away. "With the pretty young women, I suppose."
Raoul glanced down at her, still confused, but now slightly alarmed. "Christine, has he offended you?"
She sighed softly and shook her head a little, uncertain how to explain. "He offered me the lead in his opera…"
"Wonderful!"
"At a price."
"A price?" he asked, not quite sure if she could actually mean what he thought she might.
But then as he studied her, he could suddenly so easily read in her darting eyes, that primal fear that only a woman could understand from a man.
Raoul froze, and then looked back slowly, seeing the composer in an entirely blacker light. "What did you tell him?" he asked, without glancing back to her, his voice sharp and low.
She looked back up to his face, hesitant now. "I…I did not know what to tell him. I did not say anything at all either way at the time. He just seemed to assume that I would agree. And that is…" She shuddered a little again. "I am avoiding him."
She could see the muscles in Raoul's jaw clench as his eyes narrowed in the direction of d'Arcy's group. And then she was startled as, without another word, he suddenly broke away from her and moved to go straight across the dance floor.
She grabbed him by the arm, stopping him before he got far enough to disrupt the dancers. "What are you doing?"
He did not pull away from her, but kept his eyes trained firmly on his target. "I am going to challenge him."
She tugged at his arm in attempt to return him to their previous location. "Raoul, don't be ridiculous!"
"How dare he! I'll kill him!"
"Raoul, please!" She tugged forcefully, attempting to avoid more surprised looks from the people nearby.
He looked back down at her finally, and after a wrought moment of desperate eye contact, he seemed to slightly relax.
"Confrontation will not solve anything." She continued to hold on to his arm, just in case.
"Neither will avoiding it."
"I know," she sighed. "But…You have to understand how things work at the Opera."
"The politics here are not beyond me, Christine," he frowned. "But I absolutely refuse to stand for anybody, magnificent new composer or not, to put you in a compromising situation. If he even attempts to lay a finger on you—"
"I know, Raoul," she cut him off and tentatively released his arm. "And I… I thank you, but I will find a way to deal with it on my own."
"A part in an opera is not worth…" He looked upon d'Arcy with unmasked disgust. "That." He barely prevented himself from moving forward again as he saw a group of gentlemen extract d'Arcy from the circle of women and lead him toward the large double doors.
Christine declined a tray of champagne glasses offered by a waiter, and then she took one of Raoul's hands, lightly resting her head against his shoulder. "I know… And I suppose this will be one opera you should not bother to come seeing for my sake."
Raoul exhaled slowly and then turned his face to hers, reaching up with his free hand to stroke the curve of her cheek with white gloved fingertips. "Come seeing?" he asked gently, a soft smile touching his lips.
She blinked, confused for a moment, then corrected herself, "Coming to see. Champagne makes me say the strangest things."
"That wasn't so strange." He tilted her face towards his, his eyes seeming now to dance with the waltz in the air. "But you see, Christine? This is just why I mean you should leave all this Opera business behind and marry me."
She gasped and pulled away from him, laughing with sudden brightness. She did not need to remind Raoul of her devotion to her art and to Erik, whom she could never abandon for the normal life of a wife, Raoul's or not. Raoul had long understood her situation, and though his jealousy was never completely submersed, he managed to content himself with enjoying what he could of Christine for now; however, small yet serious comments like his now never failed to emerge whenever given the opportunity.
Her hair tossed with a shake of her head, and she dismissed his words with practiced ease. "I think you, monsieur, have had too much champagne!"
But her laughter only brightened his smile and he beckoned over another waiter. "And I think you have not had enough." He handed her a fresh glass and took one for himself. "What shall we toast, Christine?"
She paused, giving the idea a moment's thought, and then met his eyes with a smile of her own. "Virtue?"
He laughed and shook his head. "Virtue it is then, as the lady desires. To virtue."
And shortly after the lovely clink of crystal, each of them was another glass of champagne worse for the night.
The colors of gowns blurred with the black of tuxedoes as Christine and Raoul continued to content themselves without participating in the dance. And each of them had long since lost track of time when their private whispers were suddenly interrupted by the alcohol-enhanced giggles of the same three young ladies that had only earlier been entertaining the infamous Lord d'Arcy.
"Oh, Christine Daaé, my dear, I see you've brought your favorite escort to yet another of our company bashes!"
"Oh, yes, but must you keep him pulled away all night in the corner as if you didn't want to share him with the rest of us?"
"Christine Daaé, you are so selfish! Some of us don't even have escorts, much less vicomtes!"
Raoul only laughed pleasantly, and Christine blushed with a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation.
"My dear ladies," he began with a smug smile, "I would rather spend the entire evening with Mademoiselle Daaé alone in a dark corner than be without her amid the largest, brightest crowd."
One of them hiccupped with laughter, "I am certain he would!" And then was immediately jabbed by both the others.
The girls, who Christine knew from the singers' ensemble, had never changed the too friendly manner in which they had treated her from when she too had been among their ranks in supporting roles.
"Have you heard anything from the auditions today?" one of them asked her eagerly.
She shook her head guardedly, "No… Nothing definite, that is."
Meanwhile another one of them whispered too loudly to Raoul, "Someone was looking for you. You know, that black-eyed ballerina who follows la Sorelli around like a terrier? What is her name?" She burst into giggles, unable to remember.
"Have you heard anything?" Christine asked her questioner curiously, but glanced over to Raoul as she caught part of the girl's whisper.
"Yes, actually, we have heard something!" she beamed.
Christine's attention immediately returned to the one before her. She wondered if what they had heard had been part of that too intimate group conversation they had witnessed earlier.
"All three of us are getting featured parts!" she chirped before Christine had even had the chance to ask.
"And a salary increase for extra rehearsals!" the second one added, while the third meanwhile gave Raoul a knowing smirk.
Christine immediately turned away in revulsion, but none of them seemed to notice as one at once pulled the other two away to share the news with the next friend they happened to see.
Part of Christine wondered if she should feel happy for them. None of them had managed to work their way up to featured roles before, and this would be an exciting opportunity for them… But she just could not dismiss the abhorrent feeling that not one of them had earned the promotion on the merit of their singing.
She was drawn from her upsetting thoughts by the pleasant smell of champagne as she realized Raoul was holding another crystal glass under her nose, waiting for her to accept it. She lifted her eyes to his fair and handsome features, which were beset with the most endearing expression of understanding. She took the glass, holding its stem carefully between her loose fingertips.
"To respect?" he offered.
She could not help but smile then, and she happily tipped her glass to his.
Afterwards, they danced. He admitted it was his excuse to hold her in his arms, but at this late hour, she did not care. They laughed together as the tightly swirled material of the skirts of her dress caused her to miss many a step, and danced carelessly, as if nobody was watching. And indeed, it was unlikely that anybody was watching, for most of the party's guests were even more inebriated by now than the charming young vicomte and his lovely little diva.
When the waltz had finished, they remained standing together on the dance floor, their heads still spinning long after their bodies had ceased to twirl. But the slick satin material of Christine's long, black glove caused her hand to slip from Raoul's shoulder as her strength to hold it there waned. He caught it before it fell to her side and graciously pressed a kiss to its back.
But then she swayed on her feet and he had to catch the rest of her before she fell completely. "Christine! Are you all right?"
She pressed a hand to her forehead, and squeezed her eyes shut, unable to focus on his face. "Yes, I just… I feel so faint all of a sudden… I… No… I need to sit down."
He held her aloft firmly and guided her to a chair near a refreshment table at the wall. "It's just the champagne," he said gently. "I am almost seeing two of you, myself." He pressed her hand as she sat down. "Perhaps it was not so wise to dance, after all."
"No…" She clutched the thin arms of the chair, stray strands of her hair falling into her face as she leaned over. "I feel ill…" And then she almost laughed at her own misfortune, but could not quite manage the sound.
"You just need some water." He straightened and glanced to the table, but saw at once that the water pitchers were empty. "Just stay right here," he offered. "I shall fetch you some."
She nodded, attempting to breathe away the nauseating dizziness that now overwhelmed her, and she could not even look up to him as he left her side for the first time that evening, on a mission to find her a glass of water.