I do not own POTO.


The rest of the day passed in a painful blur. Christine attended her classes and half-listened to the lectures presented. She would be graduating with a degree in Finance in a few months. In spite of all that life had thrown at her, her grades were very good, since she was, as Mrs. Geary called her, "a quick study" and also used her time wisely.

Mrs. Geary! She would never understand her. She had always been "Meg´s mom" to her until she had sought her out, urging her to come to the City Opera, where she worked, to take Voice lessons 5 mornings a week. Mrs. Geary had insisted – her voice had the potential to be great, she said. But you´ve never heard me sing, Christine had protested in bewilderment. You have been heard, Mrs. Geary had responded simply. So, Christine´s voice was being trained, under Geary´s strict tutelage, and an old dream of her father´s was finally being realized. Free of charge, too, since Mrs. Geary refused Christine´s offers to pay.

And speaking of money….Christine was scheduled to work at Winslow´s Bistro tonight. Years of studying and practice had made her a very good, if not brilliant, pianist, and she had a knack for accompaniment. So, the waiters, generally Voice majors, would enjoy the limelight and sing while Christine happily accompanied on piano. Sometimes Christine would sing and play, if everyone else was busy. Christine´s paycheck was good, but her tips were phenomenal, especially if she played a lot of requests. Four nights working out of the week, especially Fridays and Saturdays, were enough to keep her (and Raoul, she thought bitterly) from starving. Today was Friday.


Raoul was late coming home from work, Christine noticed as she finished making dinner. Six o´clock and no sign of him. It happened sometimes, and tonight she was glad of it. She was not sure she could face him without crying. Fortunately, he had not seen her at the Vasco, and, if only she could calm down, she could forget it and soldier on….


Seven o´clock found Christine at Winslow´s. She was happy to plunge into her work, and gratefully played without breaks tonight. Jen, one of the waiters, seemed to sense her mood and kept serving her sodas, eyeing her solicitously from time to time. Finally, at about 2 in the morning, at the end of the evening, Jen presented Christine with a glass of Port. "It´s not from me, it´s from that gentleman over there," Jen said. "He´d like you to join him. He´s extremely polite," she added, and gestured toward the darkest corner of the restaurant.

Christine looked, and from her perspective, she could barely discern the figure of a man – tall, rather slender, and elegant, from what she could see of his clothing; his hair was nearly shoulder-length, dark, and carefully combed. And then he turned his gaze upon her, and she saw, first, a white half-mask – then, impossible as it seemed, the fiery glow of a pair of eyes, gold and implacable, as they fixed on her. She felt a warmth color her cheeks, and she breathed in deeply. She had often been invited by male customers to share drinks, and up until now, she had always refused. This time, however, she made her way into the man´s corner. He gave her a slight bow and pulled out a chair for her.

"Christine," he said, and his voice was warm, liquid, as golden as his eyes. The beauty of it filled her senses, and she glanced at the glass of Port she had put on the table. No, she hadn´t touched it yet!

"Thank you for the wine," said Christine, as the man seated himself gracefully near her.

"You´re very welcome," he said, his eyes fixed on hers. He himself had been enjoying a glass of Cognac, and he cradled it in one hand. Christine could not help noticing how beautiful his long fingers were, and how graceful his every gesture was.

"You know my name," prompted Christine, hoping for something in the way of an introduction. His unrelenting stare was causing a warmth to pool within her, and she felt an intimacy with him which unnerved her.

"Forgive me. My name is Erik. Erik Darrow," he said. Christine, lost as she was in Erik´s voice, found that his name registered a certain familiarity. "You might be wondering," he continued, "how it is I know your name. I will not deceive you; I have been your friend for a good number of months now, unbeknownst to you. June Geary has been a delightful help to me in keeping myself anonymous, but I find that giving you Voice lessons with her as my proxy has, at this point, become impossible. To progress with you – now, at your advanced level – I need to instruct you myself, with no more subterfuges. You have great potential, Christine. Indeed, you are already great, although you are unaware of it. There is so much you are unaware of," he added, almost pensively, and his hand brushed Christine´s cheek. She felt a flood of heat at the contact, and she could only gaze at Erik, speechless with amazement.

Erik smiled slightly. "Drink your Port, Christine," he said in a low voice, and she quickly downed half the glass.

He leaned forward. "There is more, of course, so much more…Drink the rest, now, that´s it. I have watched you these many weeks I have been barking into poor June´s ear in order to correct your pitch and posture, but I was watching you long before your classes began. The first time I saw you, shortly after the death of your father, was in this very place. I listened to you as you played and improvised here, and imagined what changes I could make to improve your technique. Then I noticed your beauty, and I was lost, but I quickly despaired of ever daring to approach you. I am eccentric at best. But then you sealed your fate, my love – you don´t mind if I take the liberty of calling you that, Christine?"

Christine shook her head, trying desperately to keep the room from spinning. Should one glass of Port have had that effect on her? She felt Erik´s hand touch hers, then grasp it. His face was very near hers now.

"You sang. Your voice was like a soul laid bare to me, and how I loved that soul! I knew, then, that I could never rest until I heard it every day, until I was near you every day. Have you never seen me haunting the places you go, dreaming of you even as I watched you? No, you never knew. You yielded to that boy, you loved that boy, and I was driven to such despair over it that only dear June´s intervention saved me. And thank God!

"I speak to you now, because now I have hope. Your boy has enslaved you and forgotten you, and now you are desolate. Know that there is one who hungers for your love as no man ever has, and whose desire is to keep you always, to care for you forever. I wish to be your husband, Christine…."

Christine listened to Erik´s words with clarity, and could not help the warmth with which she reacted to them. Yet the Port had taken its toll, and she could feel a type of greyness descending on her. She was just conscious enough of her situation to feel panicked.

She heard Erik, more distant now. "I fear you are indisposed. I will take you home…" Then everything went black.