Chapter 7
It was her dirty little secret.
Lizzie had her reasons for keeping her newfound friendship to herself. First, she was perfectly aware that her mother would never approve, having made the connection that the masked man from the laundry room was undoubtedly Erik. She was also aware that her mother had been prone to exaggeration on several occasions and for one reason or another managed to rub people the wrong way. Second, Lizzie found that no matter how much she tried she could hardly pry her thoughts from her handsome neighbor. The dreams hadn't ceased since she'd met Erik, in fact, they'd only become more erotic. Sometimes as she'd taken out the trash and happily found her charming masked friend there, she could barely contain her blush; his deep blue eyes penetrated her like an x-ray machine as though they could see every little secret, every sinful thought, every desire.
Her mother, however, was beginning to get suspicious.
Lizzie hummed to herself nonchalantly as she washed the dishes and Nell opened up the door to the refrigerator. Curiously the older woman opened and closed it, and opened and closed it again, her eyes narrowing at the light that shone back at her.
"The light works now. The bloody light works," Nell commented, pulling out the cream from the top shelf.
Humming, Lizzie decided not to acknowledge her mother's remark.
Nell shut the door suspiciously and set the cream down on the table. "What's going on, Lizzie?"
Scrubbing a plate, she focused all her attention on some very stubborn dried red sauce. "Hmmm?"
"I know the landlord hasn't been here yet all of a sudden, the refrigerator light's working, the shower's not leaking, and my door doesn't get stuck anymore when I close it."
"Right," Lizzie replied, scrubbing the sauce on the plate as though her life depended on it. "I-"
Nell interrupted. "Please don't tell me you did it, Elizabeth. You're rubbish at fixing things. Now how about you tell me who you're paying to do this?"
Before Lizzie could answer Frankie joined them in the kitchen, pulling a box of cereal and a bowl from the cupboard. Lizzie was grateful for the distraction and hastily dropped the soapy sponge back into the sink. Quickly she dried off her hands with a towel and met her son's eyes as he seated himself at the table.
"Are you meeting with your friend today?" she asked, desperately trying to change the subject.
Nell looked up from her tabloid, sipping from her coffee mug, curious about the boy's response. For weeks her grandson had spent every possible moment with this new friend and as of late he'd stopped altogether.
Frankie's eyes focused on the sugary flakes he was pouring into his bowl. He simply shook his head.
Lizzie's eyebrow shot up and she wondered if she should be concerned. Standing beside him she took the box of cereal from him closing up the inner plastic lining. She kneeled down and met his eyes. "Is everything alright?" she asked.
Careful not to aggravate the situation Frankie smiled and nodded his head. He'd gone this long evading their questions and the last thing he wanted to do was stir their suspicions. With a casual spoonful of cereal in his mouth he signed calmly to his mother, "I'm meeting Catriona at the library."
His eyes picked up the look his mum and nana gave each other. Inwardly he smiled knowing that the two women would be satisfied with his response...for now. He made no further gestures and scooped another spoonful of his cereal. To his relief his mum went back to doing the dishes and his nana went back to her tabloid.
It was annoyingly quiet.
Erik usually preferred the silence but now the only sound his ears wished to hear were the welcome patter of footsteps- not just any footsteps; he anticipated the sound of gentle shoes tapping against the steps making their way downward. Eagerly he awaited his lovely upstairs neighbor; ready and hoping for another chance encounter. There had been many "chance" meetings over the past few days and Erik had looked forward to every one of them. Patiently he waited by the door, his sharp blue eyes peeking out from the small peephole, not even caring that the surface of the mask was making a clicking noise as it made contact with the wood from the door.
Perhaps at any moment he would catch a flash of white from her tennis shoes, the faded blue denim of her jeans following as she skipped gracefully down the steps. Any second may bring the pleasant smile that graced her lips, the sparkle from those rich chocolate colored eyes, the gentle bounce from her ponytail.
And from her delicate hand a tied, plastic bag must surely dangle. The size mattered not.
Trash.
Surely garbage had never meant so much to any one human being as it had meant to Erik at this moment. That plastic bag was his only ticket, his only admission to be within her presence. He'd readily complied with her requests. It had been his pleasure to tend to her repairs. Although she would have been welcomed Lizzie was a lady and never seeked him out. Somehow it was more comfortable to meet the way they were; out in the foyer on the way to the dumpster. It was private, it was easy, it was... necessary. During these meetings Lizzie would summon up the courage to speak to him, to smile, to laugh, to chat; to accept his offer to help whenever there was some domestic matter that needed fixing.
For the moment it was what he lived for.
The opera ghost...
It was ironic to think that at one time he'd practically ruled that large Parisian opera house...and now he was only too happy to act as a handyman for a woman.
The phantom of the opera...
It was a lifestyle that he'd left ages ago. For many years it had suited him, it fed his lust for power and drowned out his pathetic need for acceptance, and he'd rather enjoyed it, but once Christine left it was over.
Christine...
When she'd left she'd taken his heart with her. Life as the opera ghost was over and it was time to move on.
Through every room Lizzie passed, her pace hurried, in search of wastebaskets. Lizzie cursed to herself as she left Frankie's room. Unfortunately his small wastebasket had been empty. In fact, to her dismay they all had been. This morning she'd already taken out the trash. And she'd all but snapped at her mother for running the kitchen trash down herself. In a huff Lizzie headed to the kitchen and began pulling out some grocery bags from underneath the sink. An old saying flashed in her mind like a bright neon sign.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Nell raised an eyebrow as she watched her daughter. A cigarette hung low from her lips as her fingers prepared to turn to the next page of her tabloid. Nell couldn't help feeling that her daughter had been acting very strange lately and now she appeared to be filling a plastic bag with rolled up newspaper.
Coolly she set the cigarette down on the ashtray, exhaling a long puff of smoke. Nell shook her head as she watched Lizzie stuff the bag in an almost desperate fashion. "What are you doing?" she asked impatiently.
Lizzie's eyes widened as she looked to her mother, and willed her mind to think of something quickly, any explanation as to what she was doing. She shrugged her shoulders. "Right, it's just that...well, we have all these bloody plastic bags and all these newspapers...so, I thought I would run them down to the dumpster." Right. That's it.
Unimpressed by her daughter's reply, Nell's eyes remained locked on the younger woman. Sometimes, she thought to herself, Lizzie had done some pretty odd things. Writing letters to her son and pretending that they were from Davey was one thing, but then she actually had the nerve to hire a strange man to act the part. And now...only God knew what was going through her daughter's mind. Something was definitely going on. That nagging feeling had bitten Nell over and over like a pesky mosquito. However, at this moment she didn't want to invite any more drama into her life. Day by day the hamper filled with dirty clothes. Laundry night was looming over her like a stormy cloud. With a sigh she put out her cigarette and stood up from her chair.
"Have fun then," Nell told her sarcastically, closing up the pages of her gossip magazine. "I think I'll have a bit of fun myself and rearrange my sock drawer."
Lizzie's brows shot together questioningly at her mother's biting remark, catching her off guard. She set the newspaper down for a moment as her mother gave her another curious look. Relief flooded her face when her mother left the kitchen. Her fingers turned happily to the newspaper and she began to hum to herself as she filled another plastic bag.
Nervously she skipped down the steps, the two filled trash bags dangling from both hands. A faint rosy blush played about her cheeks. Enough was enough, she told herself. She wasn't a schoolgirl with some kind of silly crush just hoping to catch the object of her affection. Well, at least that's what she told herself. The familiar quickening of her pulse, and sweaty palms made her feel otherwise. For nearly a week she and Erik had been going on like this, meeting to dump trash. It was friendly, always platonic, comfortable, and in Lizzie's flat there always seemed to be something that needed fixing. Lizzie was extremely grateful for his help, and in her mind no amount of words could convey it. At this point she wasn't willing to admit to herself that it was more than appreciation that she wanted to express but today she had decided.
Enough was enough.
It was time to take this neighborly relationship to the next level. She was going to thank him properly for all that he'd done. It was the right thing to do.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs she began to worry that he wouldn't be there- that Erik wouldn't be by the dumpster "coincidentally" taking out his trash. What if he was out? What if he wasn't? What if she had to actually knock on his door? She felt a bead of sweat form on her forehead. Wiping it away with the back of her hand she paused before his door, her heart pounding so loud she could hear it. She lost her nerve and headed with her two dangling trash bags toward the exit, rustling the plastic exaggeratedly so that everyone would be able to hear her.
It was only Lizzie there in the foyer and banging the bags together noisily, she felt like a fool.
Deflated, she pushed the door outward with her forearm and exhaled a depressed sigh.
He'd only left his front door briefly, almost having given up. With a cup of coffee in hand he returned to his dining room table, his eyes settling on the unfinished composition he'd been working on.
That was when he heard it.
It was unmistakable and he would've recognized that glorious crackling sound anywhere. It was the exciting, comforting, welcoming sound that only plastic bags made. And that meant only one thing...
Lizzie.
In a flash he was at his door, reaching for one of the large kitchen bags he had stowed conveniently by the door frame...just in case.
She didn't turn to look at him as he opened his door and with a big grin he approached her, large white kitchen bag and all, the yellow handles pressing the skin of his fingers tightly. Lizzie was pushing her way through the exit door and he heard her breathe a long sigh.
"It's a pleasure meeting you here again."
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this one- I'm having fun playing with these characters! As always I look forward to your feedback/ critiques/constructive criticisms so please review!
