A/N: Thank you to all who have signed on to read my little tale. I had over 80 hits! Yay! However, not everyone who read chapter 1 returned for chapter 2. Boo. Also, I only received 7 reviews (and 2 were from me commenting to those who did review). Please leave a review! They really make me feel good! I love hearing from all of you.
Disclaimer: I do not own POTO. The market Christine goes to exists in Paris today.
My FanFic of the Week: Something I will do from now on. Once a week I will recommend a different favorite phantom phic. This way, I can advertise your stories. However, I will not recommend your piece unless you give me a review that week. Sneaky, huh? My first recommendation is for BleedingHeartConservative and her tale "Therapeutic." This piece is very intelligently written and has dynamic, realistic characters. Give her story a shot!
Ch. 3: Adopting an Air of Mystery
January 3, 18--,
Dear Diary,
Today I decided to begin my transformation. In consulting my list of "Erik Attributes," I concluded that it would be much easier altering my personality and habits -- only slightly, mind you – rather than focusing on elements that require any particular skills or talent. Skills and talent I can acquire later. Therefore, I decided to focus on adopting the most prevalent aspect of Erik's personality – an air of mystery.
The air of mystery surrounding Erik is perhaps best attributed to his general living habits. After all, he is the Opera Ghost. This is a man who dwells in the lowest cellar of the Palais Garnier! Alas, I do not have a vast opera cellar at my disposal. However, clothing is relatively easy to change. Erik tends to wear black rather incessantly – definitely mysterious. I myself have always preferred earth tones, but I determined to add some more black to my wardrobe. I immediately spoke to Willis about ordering some new suits. I remembered that Erik wears a cloak and fedora, as well. I thought a cloak might be rather nice, but a fedora, I cannot do. My head simply does not have the proper shape for hats.
What of the mask? . . . No, I already determined that that is out of the question. A mask is certainly mysterious, but I rather like my face. It would be a shame to cover it up. Not to mention, I, well, I have a slight glandular problem. I tend to sweat profusely, and a mask would just exacerbate things. Also, my moustache would probably make the thing terribly irritating. Therefore, I settled for black clothing and a cloak.
Today, I also reflected on Erik's personality. Erik tends to be quite temperamental. One minute he is calm and collected – the image of a perfect gentleman (except for the mask). The next minute, something sets him off, and he becomes sullen, moody, sarcastic, and violent. I myself would find such sudden fluctuations in mood rather frustrating. One would think the man was pregnant. Perhaps, the man's fickleness makes women able to relate to him easily. Perhaps, women like the challenge of a man who is not so easy to please. Maybe that makes him exciting. One cannot be certain.
Thus, I decided to enact my own experiment in adopting Erik's volatile personality. Christine had decided the day before that she would spend this Saturday with Mme. Rieux and her young daughter Cecile, our neighbors, at the Aguesseau Market near Le Madeleine here in Paris. Christine had planned to leave early and be back by noon.
After consulting Willis about the issue of my wardrobe and writing correspondences with my various business partners, I decided to sit in the parlor to await the return of my beloved wife. Attentiveness is good. Erik, after all, was quite attentive. I once thought his behavior – hiding behind mirrors and such – was rather obsessive, but women do enjoy being fussed over. Yes, attentiveness could certainly placate a woman's desire for safety and security. A husband, after all, must protect his wife.
Our apartment is located on the Rue de Montmorency. Our rooms consist of two guest bedrooms, a master suite for Christine and me, a library, two powder rooms, a sitting room in the back overlooking our rose garden, a kitchen, servants' quarters, my study and a parlor. Our parlor overlooks the street, thus my reason for choosing to wait here for Christine. Reclining amongst the folds of our deep burgundy, velvet curtains and the equally opulent matching pillows, I perched myself in the parlor's comfortable window seat. From this position, I had a good view of the street below. I would see returning Christine before she saw me. Yes, very Erik-like. Christine would love my attention.
After staring out the window for fifteen minutes or so, I began to grow restless. Where was she? Certainly she must be finished with her shopping. Trying to find a way to occupy myself, I stole away to our well-supplied library. Grabbing the first book I saw, I glanced down at the title.
"Frankenstein. How appropriate. Perhaps, the gothic tale could provide me with some insight into how to sympathize with a monster," I thought.
Bringing the novel back to the parlor, I resumed my place at the window. I tried to concentrate on reading, but my mind would not focus. Glancing at the large grandfather clock in the corner, I noted the time.
"Twelve fifteen."
Just then, I heard the familiar clack of horses' hooves on the cobblestone outside. I peered through the curtains to see my lovely wife. Christine was dressed in a lovely peach dress, one I knew would be in the Josephine style she preferred, though I could not see the dress in its entirety due to the long cloak Christine wore to keep out the cold January air. Christine began descending from the carriage with the help of our footman Jacque, and I instinctively rose and made for the door to escort my much-missed wife into out home. However, something made me pause.
"My dear wife is fifteen minutes late. Why? What could have detained her? She appears well and is even laughing and smiling? And where is Mme. Rieux?" I pondered.
I could not imagine why my merely content wife was suddenly so cheerful. Then, it hit me. The Aguesseau Market. Le Madeleine. Not so far from the Palais Garnier. Erik! Could it be my content wife was seeking alternate means of "diversion?" I am simply not enough for her. I would not, however, be so easily defeated. I would beat the Opera Ghost at his own game. Yes, I would respond as Erik would to such treachery.
Laying back down in the window seat, I propped up my legs, stared at the door, and waited for my wife to enter. The door opened with a creak, and Christine soon appeared in the room.
Entering the parlor, Christine replied cheerily, "Raoul, my love! Were you waiting for me?"
Rising, I responded icily yet calmly, "Why of course, my dear! I always await you with bated breath!"
My emphasis on the words "I" and "you" was not lost upon my wife. Frowning, she responded, "You are angry with me, but why? What have I done?"
I walked over to my anxious wife. I removed her gray cloak and handed it to Willis, who had entered the room to assist us. I waved Willis away, and he left us alone. I had to time my next move perfectly. Erik would hold his emotions in until they began to bubble over like lava from a volcano. Increased tension results in more power. I would make my dear wife think all is well. What a surprise she would be in for!
Taking Christine by the hands, I began to stroke the soft skin of her fingers. I would be delicate. I would be seductive.
"My beautiful, Christine, what could you have done, indeed? You are perfection itself. It is I who always seem to fall short!" Yes, I liked that one. Erik was always crawling around on his knees decrying his inadequacies before my wife. I am beginning to think that women like to make men feel inferior. Perhaps, it gives them the power and authority they otherwise lack in society and relationships. I am willing to grant my wife such a façade of power if it makes her happy. Still, do not woman wish to be protected and dominated in a relationship – that safety and security? Again, the mind of a woman is a paradox. Perhaps, that is why Erik's contrasting moments of gentleness and violence attract so many. He is alternately powerless and powerful. I would try this.
"Oh, my dear love! Why do you say such things? You know I feel you are wonderful! Tell me what it is that is truly bothering you."
Now was the moment I would turn the tide. Dear, innocent Christine expected nothing. She had her moment of power. Now, I would have mine.
"What would be bothering me other than my inadequacies as a husband? Is it not I who am supposed to provide for you, my dear loving wife? I cannot even do that! I cannot even provide you with a ladies' watch to adorn your bag!"
"But I do have such a time piece! You gave it to me just this Christmas!"
"Yes, but it must be of inferior quality, as it no longer works!" I lamented.
"No longer works? It certainly does!"
"My dear Christine, you must be mistaken, for, if it works, that means you are incapable of telling time! I certainly know that I did not marry a simpleton, and you are fifteen minutes late!"
"Late? Raoul, we had no plans this afternoon!"
"Did you go to the market?" I asked.
"Yes, we arrived at eight, as planned."
"At eight? What did you purchase?"
"I ordered supplies for our kitchen – fruit, vegetables, and fish," Christine responded.
"Fruit, vegetables, and fish? From the same vendor?" I questioned innocently.
"Well, no, but all were in near proximity. I don't see what this has to . . . "
Interrupting her, I replied, "And you needed four hours to make the necessary transactions? Certainly, that is excessive!"
"Raoul, what are you suggesting? That I somehow went somewhere else during this time?"
"I am suggesting nothing, my love, only making observations!"
"Accusations are more like it!" Her blue eyes flashing, Christine was beginning to raise her voice. I would not let her have the upper hand.
"Call them what you will, I will not have a disloyal wife! I will be 'honored and obeyed!'" Yes, that was good. Very Erik-like.
"Disloyal? Raoul, how could you think I would be disloyal to you!"
"Only that you spent four hours buying fruit! But perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps, you merely, stopped to take in a matinee opera."
"Opera? Raoul, are you suggesting that? . . . oh, the nerve!"
Christine then began to cry. She was getting hysterical. I cannot handle when women become hysterical. I know it was not the most Erik-like thing to do, but I did the only thing I could. I ran. However, Christine pursued me.
When I reached the stairs, I heard her call after me, "Oh, no you don't! You cannot lay bare such accusations and then walk away!"
Reaching the door of our room, I turned to find Christine right behind me.
"You will talk to me!" she yelled.
I wanted to take her into my arms and apologize. I wanted to hold her and tell her I loved her. However, I knew I must stick to my plan. I did what I felt Erik would do in this situation. I slammed the door on her face.
Yours,
Raoul