"Christine. Hey. Christine."
With a surprised little gasp, she opened her eyes and looked around, blinking in confusion. Someone had been shaking her and calling her name. Rubbing her eyes to wake herself up, she at last focused and saw a man—Alex—looking at her with concern.
"Yeah?" she managed sleepily.
"Rehearsal just got over," he said.
"Oh, no…" she groaned, burying her face in her hands. They had been blocking something, a scene she wasn't in, and she had gone to sit down in the corner and watch for a couple minutes. And apparently had fallen asleep in the plush seat. "Was Mr. Hoffmann mad?"
"No, we didn't even get to your scenes, so you weren't missed," Alex said, sitting down next to her. "I think a couple of the others went to practice a little bit more in the rehearsal room, but you should be okay."
"I feel so bad," she said, rubbing at her sore neck. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"It was a long day," Alex said. "That's what we all wanted to do."
Christine smiled and then leaned over to gather up her things, her head still a little fuzzy from her nap. She was lucky that she hadn't been needed.
"Hey, Christine?" he then said. "Are you okay?"
"Hmm?" she said, pushing her water bottle and cell phone into her bag. "What do you mean? Of course!"
"Okay," he said. "Just wanted to make sure…"
"What do you mean?" she repeated, curious. "I'm not sick, if that's what you're wondering. I was just tired."
"Yeah. Good. Well…" He looked around. "Just wondering. You've seemed kinda out of it the last couple weeks"
"I'm fine," she said blankly. "Just busy and tired and stressed. Like everyone else. But thanks for asking."
He took that as a hint and stood up. "Yep. Asking just in case. Well, have a nice night, then." He walked away, and she watched him go. She hadn't meant to come off sounding so unkind, but he had jarred her a little with his questions. Maybe she was sick...She shook her head, standing as well and making her way out of the theater.
The only thing wrong with her was how tired she was. But that was nothing new. Rehearsals were long, and she was busy trying to keep her little underground house home-like. And now...Erik. She blushed a little. He was certainly keeping her busy. Since that conversation by the piano, he had apparently taken it upon himself to prove to her just how much he really did want her. She felt as if they had just barely gotten married. Well...he was probably making up for all the lost time. All those weeks of only Wednesdays…
She had asked him once about it, why Wednesdays and only once a week, and he had stiffly replied that they had been married on a Wednesday and that he hadn't been able to stay away from her longer than a week.
"And I...researched it," he had then muttered, looking at the wall.
"You researched what?"
"How often normal couples...were intimate." He was definitely avoiding eye contact. "Research suggested once a week."
Christine's immediate reaction was to laugh as she envisioned him scanning internet articles about the subject, but then she caught herself and thought better of it. It all spoke volumes about him, about his desire to make her happy. To be normal with her, even if he wasn't. So she hugged him instead.
"Thank you for thinking of me," she had said. "But right now we're still kinda newlyweds, you know…" He had wordlessly accepted that answer.
It was almost dark by the time she emerged from the theater, and she yawned widely. She had to swing by the post office and pick up the mail, as she had neglected to do so for over a week. She had a PO Box now because she couldn't just tell people to send her mail to the Opera House. They didn't get much mail, but sometimes she ordered things from the internet, or an occasional magazine would find its way to her. She was also mailed her paychecks, and although they were never very much money, she was beyond glad that she was contributing and helping.
Again, she thought wistfully and hopefully of the home that was soon to be theirs...Or apartment. Anything, really, with a mailbox and windows that opened and sunshine. She missed sunshine.
On the way to the Opera House, she rifled through some of the mail, her eyes heavy and her ears filled with the dull chatter of the bus. She had ordered a frame for one of their wedding pictures. Another package, small and light, made her blush. There was some junk mail and a newspaper, and she put everything in her bag before leaning back and staring out of the window. It was a dark by now, and she examined her reflection in the window. Maybe she had lost a little too much weight from her diet. She felt guilty for thinking it was her physical appearance that had kept Erik away, and so she hadn't mentioned it to him, not wanting to hurt him for assuming that.
Tomorrow I'll have bacon for breakfast, she thought sleepily to herself, her eyes closing. I'll fatten myself up again.
For the second time, she felt someone shaking her.
"Miss? 'Scuse me? Miss?"
She opened her eyes, trying to adjust to the light. An older man with a thick mustache was watching her, frowning a little.
"Last stop of the night, Miss," he said. She realized he was the bus driver, and she sat up quickly, looking around. The bus was empty. She had fallen asleep again.
"Oh," she said, her voice tight. "I didn't…"
"You missed your stop?" he said. By his gentle but unyielding tone, she knew that he had seen this happen too many times to be too concerned about her.
She nodded. "I'm sorry."
"You need to borrow a phone for a cab?"
"No," she said, standing shakily, clutching her bag close to her. "I have...I have one. Thanks."
He opened the doors of the bus, bid her a goodnight, and she descended carefully out into the empty, cold street. The bus rolled off with a reluctant roar of the engine, leaving her alone. She was in an unfamiliar part of the city, and she looked around in confusion, trying to get her bearings. The street was full of apartment buildings and small convenience stores. Some of them were still open, buzzing neon lights boasting 24 HOURS. A few cars drove by.
Quickly, she pulled her phone out of her bag and shivered. It was late. She had been sleeping on that bus for hours. Unsurprisingly, there were dozens of missed calls from Erik. They rarely spoke over the phone; sometimes she would call him when she missed the bus or was going to be late, just to reassure him. But she hadn't felt it vibrating in her bag, and she bit her lip as she pressed the button to call him back.
He picked up within the first ring.
"Where are you?" he demanded, his voice almost hysterical.
"I'm okay," she said softly, glancing around her again. "I fell asleep on the bus. I'm sorry."
"Where are you?" he said again.
"I don't know," she said, trying not to tear up or freak out, but his strangled tone was making her jumpy. "There are some apartments…"
"Find a street name. Now."
"I can just call a taxi and come home," she suggested, shivering in the cold.
"Find a street name!" he repeated, obviously not in the mood to be reasoned with. Christine wandered down the street, looking around for a sign. Thankfully, there was no one out.
After a couple minutes, she found a bent, dirty sign and read it, squinting under the orange, dim, filtered light of the street lamp: "North Union."
"I will be there in less than ten minutes," he said. "Do not move."
"Okay," she said. "See you soon."
She slid the phone into her pocket and stood there, trembling. The February air was freezing, and patches of dirty, slick ice lined the sidewalks and gutter. Next week was Valentine's Day...She wanted to bake him sugar cookies again, to make him laugh at her awkward blunder from a few years ago. And in her bag...She blushed again. She had bought lingerie for the first time. It still embarrassed her, but hopefully she wouldn't make too big a fool of herself. After all, it was Valentine's Day, and she had a feeling he'd like that a lot more than some chocolates or socks or something.
She stood there, trying to wait patiently but feeling as if hours were passing.
I'm such an idiot, she thought miserably to herself. Why had she fallen asleep on that stupid bus? And why had no one woken her up?
Then she huffed a sigh, her breath curling up in a fog. The second question was stupid. She saw people sleeping on the bus all the time and never woke them up.
Her stomach was growling. She hadn't had any dinner yet. If she wanted to put on weight again, she needed to stop skipping meals. It had gotten easier as the weeks went on. As Erik never ate, she let mealtimes just slip away without mentioning them. Of course sometimes she would cook, just to eat something substantial and to persuade Erik to eat as well, but it became rarer and rarer over the past couple weeks. She was too tired to cook regularly anymore.
Across the street, she could see a cashier dozing behind the counter of a convenience store. The wide window was plastered with large, colorful advertisements, and she was momentarily tempted to run over and buy something to appease her stomach. However, she thought better of herself. Erik had instructed her not to move. So she continued to stand, shivering and exhausted.
What felt like days later, a pair of headlights swerved to the side, and she hurried over, eager for the warm car and Erik's embrace. However, to her surprise, the car pulled up next to her, and she saw that it was an old, ugly, rusted orange model. The window next to her rolled down, and she took a few hasty steps back. A man stuck his head out of the window and whistled at her.
"How much, baby?" he called. He looked to be around her age, with long, dull brown hair and hazy dark eyes. Even from her distance, she could smell alcohol and an unpleasant scent of what she could only assume to be marijuana.
She blanched and wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm waiting for someone," she said, trying to sound brave but failing.
"How much is he payin' you?" the man said, and she could see that the driver of the car was craning his head to leer at her as well. "We'll give you seventy bucks."
"What?" she stuttered. "No, I…"
"C'mon," he cajoled. "We'll have a great time. We got some beer and weed if you want some."
When she tried to protest further and explain that she wasn't what he assumed, his face fell into a scowl.
"Look, you ain't worth more than fifty bucks, but we'll give you seventy 'cause we're nice guys. Just get in the car."
"Go away!" she said, freezing and exhausted and hungry and frightened. The men laughed.
To her horror, another car pulled up behind it, and she was about to bolt until she recognized the tall frame that stepped out of the second car.
"Erik!" she said, her voice strangled.
He ran to her, and at last she could see his eyes, wild, desperate...afraid. He grabbed her face in his hands and tilted it up to his. She could hear his breathing. It was harsh and uneven, panicked. Then he seemed to realize that there was another car there, for he looked over, pushing Christine behind him.
"Leave," he commanded coldly, his voice chilling, without question.
"C'mon, Batman, we just wanted to have some fun," she heard the man say sourly. "Nothing serious." But to her everlasting gratitude, she heard the car shift and drive away. Its taillights disappeared around a corner, and she released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Thank—" she began but was cut off as he whirled around and crushed her to him, his arms tight around her, pinning her against his bony chest. His heart was beating frantically. She could feel him shaking a little as well, and she could smell perspiration through his clothes.
"I'm okay," she said, her voice muffled.
He made no reply but continued to embrace her, his fingers twisting into her coat, his breath hot against her curls. They stood like that for such a long time that her back began to seize up a little because of the awkward angle and his strong grip. She wriggled against him. Slowly, he released her.
"Can we go home?" she asked him. "I'm tired."
He led the way back over to the car, and she slid in, sighing in pleasure at the warmth. Erik climbed in the other side, and the car took off smoothly. To her surprise, he reached for her again and pulled her over, running a shaking hand down her cheek and over her curls.
"I'm really sorry," she said then. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was just so tired after rehearsals…"
He was silent, but she could sense he wasn't angry, and so she relaxed into his embrace. The car ride was soothing, and she leaned against him, dozing as his fingers continued to stroke her carefully. She could feel his heartbeat slow to its normal pace, and his breathing evened. The heater was blowing on her feet, warming her immensely, and she yawned widely. She felt lucky nothing worse had happened that evening other than a few guys harassing her.
She was almost asleep by the time they arrived at the Opera House, but the stopping of the car woke her, and she stepped out into the cold night. Erik unlocked and opened the door, and she hurried inside, anxious for her bed and its thick blankets.
To her surprise, she felt him pull her bag off of her shoulder, and then his hands slipped behind her back and under her knees. With a startled little squeak, she wrapped her arms around his neck as he wordlessly picked her up.
"I can walk, you know," she protested half-heartedly, laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. He made no reply and continued their descent.
They were silent for a while, and Christine was grateful that he was carrying her. It felt wonderful. To be in his arms. To be protected, safe again.
"You thought I wasn't coming back," she said at last, her voice echoing slightly in the darkness.
"I didn't know what to think," he replied after a moment.
She echoed his pause. "I would never leave you."
They entered the house, and he took her over to the bedroom. She was set down, and she pulled on her pajamas before climbing into the wide bed. To her slight surprise, Erik joined her. His mask was off, and he leaned down to kiss her, and she responded, sensing somehow that he needed the reassurance. Although it was passionate, his fingers didn't wander, instead remaining buried in her curls. He then pressed a few kisses to her cheeks and jaw before pulling away and sighing into her shoulder, his long, pale hand coming to rest on her chest. Not groping, nothing sexual, simply resting, as if he wanted to touch and feel the heartbeat underneath his palm.
Although she was exhausted, her mind began to turn, and she lay there for a while, feeling him gradually drift off into sleep, his breath washing against her.
It had all been...a forceful reminder of just how much she really meant to him. How much he really did love her. Need her. Her life had been so busy and so scattered that she had again lost sight of who the man next to her actually was. Routine and work and married life had lulled her into something of a complacency...They had gently persuaded her into relaxing and believing that Erik was just a normal man. A normal husband. But his eyes, the panic, his desperation that had resulted from her disappearance (a disappearance of a few hours at most) had reminded her that that was a lie. Erik was not normal. He wasn't like other men. Not in this sense, anyway.
The seriousness of it all suddenly overwhelmed her, and she reached up to grasp his hand, his ring rubbing against her skin. She had to be conscious of just what was happening. Erik had been hysterical over a few hours. It was her husband and her marriage and her happiness that depended on it all, and she choked a little and then took a deep breath, calming herself down.
They were happy. She was happy. The only thing that had happened was her realization. And that was good. She made a silent vow to be better—for him. He deserved it.
She dutifully stood in her spot onstage, singing, listening to the changes in the tempo as the conductor moved the small orchestra through the score. Her costume was itchy and her makeup felt constricting, but she resisted scratching or rubbing and instead concentrated on the music, on the energy that was running from the orchestra to the cast.
It was the last dress rehearsal before the show opened, and there was the usual excitement going through the cast and crew. Christine felt nerves building every time they rehearsed, every time opening night drew another day nearer. This was about as far as she had made it with her other productions. Well, with Figaro she had kind of made it until opening night...But she let a small flame of hope warm her and whisper to her that this time it would be different: this time she would sing. This time would be a success.
Hopefully.
At last, the orchestra gave its final chord and was cut off, and there was a smattering of applause from the few onlookers—the directors and choreographers and costume designers and such, all gathered to watch one final dress rehearsal before opening night.
Mr. Hoffmann stood from his place near the back of the auditorium and approached, his face bright and his smile wide.
"Nice job, you guys!" he said. "Go ahead and take a seat if you want. I'm just gonna run over some quick notes I took…"
Christine took his suggestion and sat down on the stage, leaning against a prop and trying to concentrate as Mr. Hoffmann began reading his suggestions. They were simply small, miniscule mistakes or improvements for the cast, and she waited for her name to be mentioned, forcing herself to stay awake and not fall asleep.
"Christine? Where are you, sweetheart?" he then called. He spotted her and said, smiling, "Great job, babe. Just come onstage a second sooner on your cue, and you're golden."
She nodded, making sure to note that for opening night. He continued, and some of the cast grew a little restless. On the other side of the stage, the small group of girls had gathered, and they were giggling softly and hissing to each other back and forth. A couple of them glanced at her, and she blushed and tried to roll her eyes and pretend she didn't care. She didn't...not really. But she did care. She didn't like it when people were mean to her. What had she ever done to them?
At long, long last, Mr. Hoffman finished his notes and gave them all a long motivational speech for opening night. Christine was feeling too tired to be that inspired, but she listened and nodded absentmindedly anyway. Finally, they were dismissed, and she followed the crowd backstage to change and grab her things.
She put away her costume and pulled on her clothes after wiping off her makeup. Tomorrow she had a break, and then the next day was opening night. She ran through her long list of chores and errands that she needed to get done...and she hadn't visited her father on Sunday, having been too tired after church to manage the trip. Then she shivered a little. Erik always liked her days off. He kept her busy with...other things.
A pleasant, tickling warmth filled her stomach as she thought. Valentine's Day had been successful. She hadn't felt up to making the sugar cookies, but the lingerie had definitely been more appreciated on his part. She had felt silly and uncomfortable when she first stepped out to show him, unused to being so...blatant and provocative, but his reaction made it all worth it. Then he had ripped it in his haste to get it off of her. On accident, of course. Still, the outcome had encouraged her, and two days ago she had ordered three more sets.
Someone put a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped and whirled around, her face bright red at having been caught in her...dirty thoughts.
"Whoa!" Alex said, holding his hands up in a playful gesture of defense. "Calm down, there."
"Oh, sorry," she said, trying to control her blush. "You startled me."
He laughed. "Hope you weren't sleeping standing up."
"Just thinking," she said evasively. "What's up?"
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Well, I have a...not really a favor. So my sister is getting married next month, and we're still looking for some music, and then I thought...hey! I'm surrounded by music people all day. So then I thought...Christine's good! D'you wanna sing at the wedding?"
"What?" she said blankly.
"Do you want to sing at my sister's wedding next month?" he repeated. "I mean, I know it's not West End or anything, but she said she'd pay you five hundred bucks for the reception, which is pretty good for a couple hours."
"Really?" she said. "Has your sister even heard me sing?"
"No, but I told her about you and that you're really good. She's coming to see me in the show next week, so maybe afterward you could sing a song for her or something to prove it...Nothing too hard. But she believes me. And you really are super talented. It'd be nice."
"Does she know the type of music I sing?" she asked.
"Of course," he said. "She wants it to be a little classier. Fancy and stuff. I dunno. Some women are like that, I guess. I don't care. Just give me a beer and a beat, and I have a great time."
"Heh," she said awkwardly. "Well...I guess so. It sounds fine. But can I tell you for sure on opening night? I just wanna check my calendar and stuff."
"Sure," he said. "And like I said, my sister will be here next week, so maybe you could pick out a bunch of songs you could do and show them to her then, so she can decide."
"Sounds great," she agreed.
"Awesome. Hey, thanks a lot for doing this. I think you'll be great. You—"
"Alex!"
He cut himself off, and they both turned to see the blonde girl—Catherine Abramson—standing there, glaring at them, her arms folded.
"You're asking her?" she demanded, pointing dramatically at Christine, her voice shrill.
Alex swore softly and then replied, "Um...yeah. Sorry, Catherine, but I thought...uh, I mean...wedding singer? Isn't that a little...beneath you? Ha…"
She gave an indignant, angry huff and stomped off, slamming the door shut behind her. Some of the cast who had lingered to chat snickered at her.
Alex sighed. "I didn't want her to see me asking you…"
"Was she going to sing?" Christine asked nervously. Maybe that was why all those girls hated her so much. She had a suspicion that Catherine was their ringleader.
"No. Well...I might've mentioned it once or twice that we were looking for someone," he muttered. "I mean...yeah. I think she was expecting me to ask her. We kinda...uh, hooked up the other weekend. It wasn't supposed to be anything serious, but then…" He trailed off. "Why am I even telling you this? Whatever. Just let me know if you wanna sing or not." He stomped off, red in the face. Christine watched him go, a little flabbergasted. Suddenly, she felt very grateful for the fact that she was married and didn't have to deal with situations like that.
She hurried home to her husband, who welcomed her with a warm kiss, and she told him of the offer over a cold, hasty dinner of bread and cold cuts.
"A wedding?" he said distastefully.
"I think it'd be good," she insisted. "Just more exposure. More experience." She shoved more bread into her mouth, ravenous.
"You will look back on it in disgust and wonder why you ever sank so low. And slow down. You are going to make yourself sick. "
Christine laughed, though she followed his advice and waited before eating the next bite. "You're so dramatic. I want to sing. And I don't have anything other than this show."
"Not yet," he said stubbornly. "But very well. If you wish to, sing and be paid that ridiculous amount."
She thanked him and then hastily cleaned up dinner before heading to bed. He didn't follow her, so she gratefully snuggled into her pillow and slept. Well, tried to. She had a few uncomfortable dreams about opening night. One dream involved Mr. Hoffmann directing her while the show was being performed. He kept telling her what to do, and then Catherine and Alex were making out in the middle of the stage, and Mr. Hoffmann was applauding them...Another was Erik as the entire orchestra and playing all the instruments, and he didn't like the way she was singing, so he ordered her to have a voice lesson right there in the middle of the show, and suddenly she was naked, and everyone was laughing...
To her sleepy chagrin, she felt someone shaking her yet again, and she grunted in annoyance and tried to roll away. She just wanted to sleep. Why would no one leave her be?
"Christine, it is well after midday. You should be up by now." The shaking resumed.
Sighing, she cracked her eyes open. "Erik…" she mumbled. "Is it opening night? I'm not going to have a lesson...not naked onstage, okay?"
"What?"
"I sound fine," she insisted sleepily. "So no naked lessons."
There was a pause, and then he started to laugh. She rubbed her eyes, wondering why he was laughing so hard, and then her mind began to churn and function and she realized what she had said. She groaned, putting her hands on her face to hide.
"I was dreaming," she clarified.
He couldn't reply; he was still laughing. She blushed.
"Stop laughing," she snapped. "I was half-asleep."
He stopped, though there was an amused glint in his eyes, and his mouth was being teased by a smile. "Of course, my dear."
She avoided him for a couple hours, still feeling a little embarrassed. The solitude gave her time to catch up on a bunch of chores, and the continual movement warmed her. She had taken to wearing thick sweaters and a couple pairs of socks around the house, and there was always a blanket or two on the couch for her to curl under when she sat down to rest.
Sometime after lunch, Erik coaxed her to the piano with a beautiful waltz, and she went, unable to resist his music. She listened for a while, enraptured. But he ended it all too soon and beckoned her over for a lesson, a few last hours of work before the show opened.
"You will be magnificent," he said afterward, closing the lip of the piano and standing. "You stand on the threshold of greatness."
Finally. All of her furtive, unspoken dreams and wishes happening…
"I wish my dad could've been here to see this," she then said, suddenly feeling somber.
He was silent for a moment. "Do you still miss him very much?"
"Of course," she said. "Well, I mean...not as much as in the beginning. I think I'm fine now. But of course I still miss him a lot. He's my dad."
Erik didn't reply, and she realized that he probably wasn't sure what to say, having no way to relate to her. Then she felt bad and reached over for his hand.
"Thanks for the lesson," she said, moving past the subject of her father and into more familiar territory. "I feel a lot better now. I think I'm ready."
He looked at her closely, his eyes searching, and then he nodded. "You are."
