Chapter 4- The Way Life Should Be
Note: I have nothing against a certain work mentioned in this chapter, but my friends seem to have a grudge against it and my roommate suggested I use it. I have actually never seen it, but I have heard some of the music and I am just imagining how it would be interpreted for the nineteenth century.
Christine did not want to get out of her bed. She did not want to face that confusing and scary world that had changed so much in one night. When she bravely opened her eyes, however, she saw that she was back in the swan bed and not in the strange bedroom she had seen yesterday. Happily, figuring she must have had a nightmare, she leaned against the velvet pillows and breathed in the scent of musty cave.
Not bothering to look in the mirror because she was so terrified of what might happen, Christine grabbed the first dress that caught her eye out of the wardrobe and put it on. Then she made her way… she wasn't really sure.
To her relief, the room looked the same as it had when Erik had first brought her there: it was a cavern near a lake with a bunch of lit candles. Drawings covered the walls and everything was in a state of elegant disarray.
"Erik!" she called nervously, not wanting to see his frightening visage again. To her relief, he emerged from another chamber looking the way he should. To her joy, he was once again wearing a low-cut white shirt and high-waisted black pants. The way he smiled (for his smile was visible) made her knees tremble.
"What is it, mon ange?" he asked in a sensual tone. He walked over to her and kissed her hand.
"I-I was hungry. Very hungry, actually. We haven't eaten in two days!"
"Ah! You are right. Please forgive me, dearest: sometimes an artist simply forgets these things." He walked over to the row of covered mirrors, picked up a candlestick and raised the drape. There was a loud smashing sound as glass flew everywhere and fell to the floor. "The kitchen is through there, mon ange."
"Erik," she said, brushing stray glass off of her skirt, "Why not simply install doors?"
"Disappearing under a blanket isn't dramatic enough for movies."
"What?"
"What?" Christine shook her head. She must not be over that horrid dream she had had.
Erik led her to a small kitchen and showed her the pantry.
"Just give me a few minutes and I'll make you an omelet." Christine nodded and seated herself at the little, round table.
"I did not know there was more than that one room," she said, making conversation.
"Oh, yes," Erik said, "I should show you the bathroom, the library, and the weight room."
"There's a bathroom?" Erik paused for a moment but went back to making the food. Once he was done, he set the elegant platter before his beloved.
"Bon apetit!" Christine, ravenous, picked up her utensils and devoured the meal. It was the best thing she had ever put into her mouth! Erik was good at everything! Music, cooking, art…
"You are wonderful, Erik," she sighed as she ate the last morsel. Erik took her hand.
"My dearest angel, it makes me so happy to hear you say those words! Oh…" Tears filled his eyes. "I want to ask you something, dearest, dearest, most precious and gorgeous creature, nearest to my heart, nearer than my lungs!" Christine gasped. She knew what he was about to say.
"Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant, will you marry me?"
Well, not that.
Christine was absolutely sick and tired of fainting. How many times had it happened now? Three? Five? Just thinking about it made her want to faint.
She awoke and screeched when she saw Erik standing over her. His hand immediately flew to his face, which was unmasked, and he backed away.
"Oh, Erik, no! No, my love! It is not your face that startled me. Why, though, were you leaning over me like that?"
"Dear Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant, I only want to make sure that my dearest treasure does not cease to breathe as her precious heart flutters around the utopia that is the world of dreams!" Christine blinked in horror. What was with all the flowery language? It wasn't even flowery. It was more like weeds choking out sentences. She wondered why he called her that ridiculous name. Had someone's four-year-old sister chosen it?
"Erik, you may shorten my name. Please," She sighed, placing a hand elegantly on her forehead.
"Yes, dear sugarspoons. You have told me what you prefer to be called." He kissed every finger individually. Christine tried not to pull her hand back with disgust. It was one thing to fawn over a woman and quite another to become a puddle around her ankles! "Oh, Sparkle, I'm afraid I have not yet received an answer to my question." He looked into her eyes pleadingly, adoringly and not at all threateningly.
"Perhaps I will answer if you call me… Angebelle. Or maybe just Belle. Sheesh. I'd much rather be called Fred." Erik grabbed her around the waist so tightly that she could not breathe.
"Dear Fred! Say you will be mining forever!"
"What?"
"The spell check did that. Oh, say that you will stay by me for the rest of our lives!" Christine felt dizzy from all of the attention. She wished he would just go away. But he was still Erik…
"I'll marry you." Erik's face fell. "What? I said 'yes.'" Erik's lip quivered. "I will be your wife!" Erik burst into tears.
"You do not truly love me!" he wailed. Christine sat up in her bed.
"That's ridiculous, Erik! Of course I love you! Would I be here if I did not?" Erik sniffed.
"B-b-but all you said was "I'll marry you." What kind of an acceptance speech is that? I put so much effort into the things I've said to you these past days…" Christine sighed and walked over to him, cradling his face in her small hands.
"Erik, oh, mooshie gooshie. I would be honored. I would be the most honored woman to become your wife. Mooshie gooshie goo. Your love is like the sweetest song sung from the sweetest lips to the sweetest ears. Music mooshie gooshie goo. You are the most wonderful man I have ever known. My life is yours and I will have yours for my own. Mooshie." Erik's eyes filled with brilliantly shiny tears. He smiled and laid hundreds of kisses upon Christine's cheeks and nose.
"Those ears are yours, Fred. The lips are yours. And my heart is singing that song." Christine waited for his kisses to end and then excused herself to the bathroom (Erik had to smash another mirror) where she promptly retched into the toilet.
An hour or so later, Erik had gone out to buy some food. Christine perused his massive library but found nothing to her liking. Bored out of her mind, she walked back to her room, hoping Erik had left something to amuse her there. Searching everywhere, she found a small leather journal that was three-quarters full.
"I wonder whose it is." Christine opened the book, feeling like a snoop until she saw the signature at the bottom of the page: Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant. "Apparently, it's mine," she said, rolling her eyes. Figuring it would do well to read up on the life of this person she supposedly was, she started at the first entry.
March 28, 1871
Dearest Journal,
My dearest brother, Javier, has given me this little journal for my birthday. I am sixteen today- quite the important age! Mother has been telling me for the past three years that she has been looking for marriage prospects for me but she has obviously found none as there are no suitors at the door asking for my hand.
Oh, journal, my step-sister Snobiette says this is because I am so horrendously ugly! Oh journal, it cannot be true! It just cannot! It cannot!
Deep down, though, I know she is right. No man would ever love me with my shining fiery hair and emerald-mirror eyes. And my figure does me no justice! I am very full-bosomed. Oh, no man can bear the sight of me! Men want slender, boyish girls with ringlets of mahogany curls and eyes to match! That is how Snobiette looks and she has more suitors than I though she is but fourteen!
I must close you now journal for fear of smudging the ink with my tears.
Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant
March 30, 1871
Dearest Journal,
It happened again. It is so horrid that I doubt if I can write it, but I must, journal! I must!
Claude, my step-father, though he prefers that I call him 'papa' came into my room again last night. He touched me again in that horrible way. Oh, if he should ever find this…
No man could ever want me. I am ruined; I know it. Maman's heart would break if she knew.
Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant
April 4, 1871
Dearest Journal,
More horrors to write about! Today, Claude banished Javier from our home because he lost his job at the mill! Javier's foot was crushed in a horrible mill accident and he was thrown out into the street! I do not know how I will go on without my dearest brother! He was the one who taught me to write like a rich lady. He encourages my education. No more! Claude says that girls should not do such things. He is forcing me to do more and more domestic work and I hardly have time to write!
Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant
July 18, 1871
Dearest Journal
I have not written for a very long time. Maman has fallen quite ill and I have had to care for her and do her share of the chores. There has been no time for writing at all. I am very afraid for what Claude will do to me. I fear that if Maman dies then he shall try to wed me. Snobiette does not care that I do all the work. She is to be married in two months to a well-to-do banker and I shall be left alone here with her father every day.
Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant
July 30, 1871
Dearest Journal
Again there has been a lapse in my writing. For this I am sorry but truly exciting things have happened.
First, I ran away. I know it was horrible of me to leave Maman, but the doctor has told us that she does not have long to live and I cannot bear to think of becoming Claude's next wife. Surely there are laws that forbid that?
I searched for Javier everywhere but no one had seen him. I even went to the bad parts of the city and am quite sure that I could make money by selling myself. I would never do that! Now that I am free from Claude's persecution, I will treat myself like the virgin I deserve to be. Though… perhaps I deserve whatever horrid fate befalls me…
I had to close you for fear of ruining the ink. I must say what happened next. I had to find work of course and I have had much experience. It so happens that I came across a group of girls of my station who were applying to be maids at the Opera Populaire. I asked if I could join them and they agreed. I feel like I finally have friends, journal! Their names are Claire, Clarice, and Clairanne. Needless to say, such a large building always needs more hands. We were hired!
The Opera Populaire is a marvelous building, especially after it was reconstructed after that horrid fire. Oh to be invited to the spectacular balls that are held here or to watch one of the magnificent operas! But, alas! I am only a maid.
Claire, Clarice, Clairanne and I share a tiny apartment in a rundown part of the city. It is worth it, though, just to be able to be in the Opera House! I feel so honored every time the head cleaning woman hands me a bucket and tells me to clean the stage. Sometimes I imagine that I am a great singer- the greatest in all of France, no, the world! Then the little dancing girls dump water all over my head.
Sometimes I just hate my job and I have only been here for a week! I know I just said it was wonderful, but my back has never been so sore and I have never looked so ragged. At least at home I had a comb… no! I must not think of that place! I have a new life now and whether the world likes it or not, I will apply myself!
Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant
August 9, 1871
Dear Journal,
The oddest thing happened to me today. I was cleaning the Prima Donna dressing room. A terrible woman named Marplotta Snootifelli holds that title now after what happened to Christine Daae. I have indeed heard strange rumors about that girl and despite my fears of Marplotta's sharp tongue, I braved the task of cleaning her dressing room, something the other maids dare not do.
It is a most lovely room- decorated in many shades of pink, almost to the point of looking tacky I daresay.
The most interesting thing about the room, though, is the large mirror opposite the door. It is almost as if there are two entrances to the room: one through the door and the other through the mirror. But that is my silly mind again.
Still, I felt as if I were being watched…
Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant
August 14, 1871
Dear Journal,
I could not help it! I was so curious about the room and the mirror but had no opportunities to go back as it does not need to be cleaned every day and Marplotta gets so annoyed when we try.
I was dusting the bureau when I noticed that she had left some sheet music on her music stand. Dear Javier had taught me to read music, but I did not know much about singing. Fortunately, I recognized the song as one we used to sing as children. I cleared my throat and imagined Javier was standing there with me as I began to sing:
Brand new state!
Brand new state, gonna treat you great!
Gonna give you barley, carrots and pertaters,
Pasture fer the cattle,
Spinach and termayters!
Oh, how we'd imagine ourselves away from dreadful, dirty Paris and to the great, sunny plains of Oklahoma! It sounded like paradise to me! But I am getting off the subject.
An invisible man spoke to me! Oh, I know I sound just bonkers, journal, but it is true! I could hear him plain as day in sunny Oklahoma.
He said, "Dear child, your voice is truly sent from Heaven. I should know as I am the angel sent to guide you."
Christine snapped the book shut. She was furious. Erik was cheating on her! With… her! She looked down at her chest and it was indeed full. She let out a 'humph.' She could guess what happened after the next entry. Erik decided to take this strumpet back to the lair and woo her. Of course there would be no handsome nobleman (not that she cared to read any further) to get in the way of "true love."
Suddenly she thought of something horrible. What if she and Erik had…
She leafed through the journal, but apparently, it had only been a few days after Erik had brought "Angebelle" to his home. Christine sighed with relief, but the relief didn't last long, for she was in someone else's body.
Terrified, she approached the mirror. Staring back at her was a frightened-looking, but attractive redhead.
"What did she mean by "No man would ever want me?" she asked aloud. Angebelle's body put her own real body to shame. In fact, she wondered if Angebelle's body could even exist. She looked down at her finger, the one that held Erik's sparkling engagement ring. Tears started to form in her eyes. What was going on? Why did everything keep changing? When would she wake from this nightmare?
After lunch, Christine found herself (or Angebelle, anyway) at a rehearsal for Oklahoma, as the opera was so cleverly called.
It seemed that Erik had improved her voice in a matter of days and had secured her the lead role in the production. Christine rolled her eyes. This was impossible! It had taken her ten years of training to become the Prima Donna, and even then it was Erik's letters that had gotten her the position.
But no one seemed to believe in reality anymore. It was almost worse than the previous day.
Christine glanced at Meg, who was blonde and endowed once more and standing with the other dancers. They were wearing hideous, garish farmwife outfits. The current backdrop was painted to look like a farm. Angebelle may have been in paradise, but Christine sure wasn't.
"Mademoiselle du Croissant!" Christine almost forgot to answer to the name. The only reason she had was because it was so stupid.
"Yes, Madame Giry?"
"Could you please move? We are about to start." Christine did not know where that was.
"I- I am sorry, Madame. I feel a bit woozy and I am having difficulty remembering my marks." Madame Giry sighed in a very frustrated way.
"This is very unlike you, Mademoiselle. You usually correct me when I make errors!" She led Christine to a pretend hay bale in the wings. "Now, we are not rehearsing your numbers today." Christine thanked God with all her heart. "Just sit there while Pierre practices his part." Christine glanced at the person who must be Pierre. He was rotund- much more so than Piangi had been. He was dressed in a style that seemed to be popular in the American West. Monsieur Reyer cued up the orchestra and Pierre began to sing.
Oh, what a beautiful morning-
Of all the forays into Hell Christine had made over the past days, that rehearsal had certainly been the worst.
Then she remembered Erik.
"Oh Honeybunchkins of Love!" Erik cooed from the kitchen as she steered the gondola onto the tiny dock. Strange, she had never been strong enough to do that before, but Erik had insisted that she was perfectly capable of it.
Her love emerged holding a tray of steaming cookies. A syrupy smile was planted on his face and his cheeks seemed rosy and his heartbeat-quickening green eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm Christine had never before seen. The smile faded when she just stared at him.
"How fares the future Madame Ghostoux?" Erik set the cookies on the table and put the cloths he had been using to shield his hands from the heat alongside them.
"I am frustrated, Erik." She walked past him and sat down.
"This again, dear Fred?" he asked, brushing a crimson lock from her face.
"Angebelle. And yes, I am frustrated. I am frustrated with that dreadful spectacle they are producing upstairs! They kept calling it an opera. Pfft! It is a disgrace! There were grown men prancing around and singing about agriculture and apparently the whole thing is about how farmers and ranchers don't get along! Absurd! Couldn't you, with your influence-" Christine stopped her rant when she saw her beloved's face. His eyes were wet and his lower lip was trembling in a most annoying and juvenile way. "Erik?"
"Y- you do not like my masterwork?" Christine's face drained of all color. That abomination was his?
"That abomination was yours?" Erik let out a choked sob. He clasped her had so tight that she was sure the giant engagement ring left a mark.
"Oh, my Angebelle, dearest creature in my life, the only woman I have ever loved!" Christine made a very rude and sarcastic comment in her mind. "Do you not remember what happened the first night you came here and what we spoke about? Do you not recall how you said you wished you and your brother could run away to Oklahoma, where there are no worries and cares? Can you possibly not remember that I, too, expressed my lifelong yearning for the renewed Eden that is Oklahoma? It is the first thing we had in common, my beautiful Ange! When I showed you the opera, you were most excited." He squeezed her hand harder as the tears began to fall onto her new dress, "But now… you have heard it and you hate it! I am a failure to the name of Music and to the name of Love!" He buried his head on her knees and sobbed. Christine tried to move but he had a firm grip on her and she felt it was best to comfort him. She knew just the thing.
"You know… mooshie… what I was most irritated with was Pierre. He is a dreadful singer." It was not true. Though he was singing… that, Pierre had a decent voice. If only his talent could be showcased in something better suited for it, like Hannibal or Three Human Skulls. Erik was behaving like a fool, though, and Christine needed to fix this problem if she ever wanted to get her situation straightened out. "I am quite sure that the show would be good if not for his… well, do you understand what I am trying to say?" Erik looked up at her, rather like a tearful toddler, and nodded.
"You are correct, of course. I never did like him. He is like a male Carlotta, all those high-pitched wailing notes." Christine was glad that Erik was normal (sort of) once more. She stood up and took a cookie from the tray, eager to show that he was brilliant at most everything.
"The show is good, Erik," she lied, "But how did you get the managers to perform it? They despise you." Erik grinned.
"You are still under the weather, I see. The day after you arrived, you admonished me for being so coarse with people. I remember it well; you have quite the persuasive nature. You inspired me to write a letter to the managers, asking them to forgive me. I also sent my opera as a token of good faith- a gift. They were delighted and accepted, especially when they realized that the subject matter was… lighter than that of my last."
The two of them ate the cookies- but not too many to lose their perfect figures- and spent a lovely evening going over the new opera and some staging ideas Erik had. He also rehearsed many of the pieces with her. At night, Christine went to bed feeling like her ears were bleeding.