Chapter Ten: The Grudges Of Women

The August heat came, and with it the fiery gossip of the blossoming Opera house blooming in the center of their city as well as its new owners and the scandals that surrounded an unmarried man and woman living and working together. Glorious. So on the morning when seats were first being sold for the debut piece staged at the House and by extension an invitation for the gala following the sun had not yet reached its highest point in the sky when the house became full with a river of people stilled lined form the grand entryway of the recently renamed House: The Phoenix.

"It's a wonderful name," said Olivia, sitting on the edge of their bed while Erik played with bits and pieces of his new piece meant for opening night on his organ, "it suits her."

"Quite," Erik agreed pausing in his playing to edit a bit of the score, "fitting since its predecessor perished in flames."

"It is fitting for you as well," she responded, "To be born again, young and alive."

Erik turned on his bench and looked at his love. "So it is." He stood and opened his arms so that Olivia could be embraced by them. Olivia rested her cheek on his chest out of the corner of her eye looking at the uneven ceiling of the house, seeing past it to all that lay above. "It is so wonderful. After all these months, after all the hard work you did."

Erik turned her chin with the tips of his gloveless fingers so that her face stared at his. "We did, my dear." He lightly kissed her lips.

Olivia nestled into his chest while Erik laid his chin on the crown of her head, his neck inclined to look at the ceiling as she did, he too seeing past it but not wallowing in the grandeur that they had created with almost every cent they had. Olivia felt his body stiffen and still and she looked at the chiseled lines on his visible face, his golden eyes hard as the metal itself.

"Your nervous," she stated.

Her words prompted Erik to breathe again, drawing him out of his nightmares of horror and heartache. "A beaten dog, however healed, is still wary of the hand that harmed them.

Olivia stroked the outline of his waistcoat, her nail running over the fine burgundy silk. "I understand," she said, "but you need not worry. I would put a bullet through the hand before it touched you.

Erik laughed at the thought. "Truly you are a rose with thorns."

"And truly you should not worry," said Olivia, "this night, Erik, will be unforgettable.

The eagerly awaited for night came to The Phoenix fast, and the separate scenes happened in three separate places at exactly the same time.

Christine leaned up against the thick glass of a front window at the Chateau de Changy, her mind far away in her own memories of opening nights behind the curtains. Absolutely nothing had changed about the event, including the mysterious man who presided over it all. Even the part of besotted young girl was played, only their had been a cast change. The fact that Erik was alive and apparently better than ever had not consume Christine's mind the most, but that there was another that was vying for a place at his side, a place never in her wildest dreams she imagined taken. She was not jealous, but protective of this woman. Erik she knew the man that she loved, or she had been made to believe she loved. Armed with this certainty she turned to her husband who waited at the door and together they went out into the night. Christine chose to ignore the gun she felt weighing down his pocket.

Erik slowly slipped on the cream colored mask that covered a quarter of his face, adjusting to fit the contours of his uneven countenance. He looked at the mirror and for once in a very long time did no shudder at the sight of himself but rather brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face. Olivia was getting dressed in what used to be her old room for it still had her dressing table and wardrobe inside of it. Erik walked across the main room of his house and pulled the trigger that released the hidden door to the room. Erik leaned against the door in relative awe at the dark and beautiful creature that dwelled within it a black strapless dress pooled to her feet her arms wrapped in tight black gloves. She sat on the chair in front of her mirror pinching color into her cheeks.

Erik stepped forward and rested his hands on her bare shoulders, causing her to start slightly. "No," said Erik, "stay exactly as you are." Erik wrapped her dark hair in his fist with one hand and with another he produced a red rose tied with a black ribbon and brought it around in front of her face. Slowly he took it back and used the ribbon to tie the rose into her tresses. Erik's left hand was at the juncture of her neck and shoulder turning her head up and to the right so the could both admire the flower, his right hand rested her shoulder. Olivia reached up and took is hand on her shoulder and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze, and sat silent for another moment in each other's company.

Barum simply walked the streets towards the opera house where his prizes waited chuckling deep in his throat.

Erik and Olivia arrived at Box Five reserved especially for them and watched the crowds flow in like the tide. Olivia looked over at Erik who was having trouble suppressing the grin of child like delight that was on his face. Olivia chuckled endearingly and kissed the top of his hand before the lights dimmed and the curtain rose for the first time in The Phoenix.

The one joy that Erik publicly allowed himself to have about the reconstruction of The Phoenix was that now and forever he would never again have to wince or tune out a singer because they, in his opinion, were not suited for the part. Erik relished this newfound power coupled with his new piece. It was called The Twelve Puppet Masters and it was about the battle of Troy as seen through the twelve Olympian gods making man stupid and immortals shallow. It was a comedy, it was a political satire, and it was brilliant, spellbinding the audience to the stage.

A fact that made it very noticeable when one was not. Erik, while duet banter was being sung between the characters of Aphrodite and Ares, looked about his theatre and saw a face turned towards the row of boxes. But not just a box, his box. And that face was not just a face, but her face.

Erik gasped loudly, falling back into his seat causing Olivia to divert her attention for the stage. "What is it?" she whispered but Erik didn't answer her, determinedly looking at the stage and not where he was looking.

Olivia followed what used to be his line of vision and she too saw the oh so familiar face. Olivia made no sound. Her eyes narrowed and her body tensed ignoring the show completely as she stared at Christine and Christine stared at Erik and Erik not staring at either of them until the irony of the climax gained thunderous applause and the standing ovation blocked everyone's vision.

The house exited to wait in the main hall for the gala to begin. Only two people remained in their seats in order to make the appropriate entrance to their party. They watched the woman that had captured their attention for the evening leaving for their husband not evening bothering to avert their gaze every time she glanced over her shoulder.

Olivia looked at Erik whose eyes were not looking at anything but the memories of what his eyes had seen. Olivia rested her hand on his upper arm. "Why did she come?" he asked her and himself.

"I don't know," responded Olivia, "to vex us I suppose."

Erik caught the note in her voice and looked over at Olivia's face to see that she had a much stronger reaction to Christine being present on their night than he was. His muscles relaxed at the thought and he tilted her head and kissed her hair before standing up and leaving the box, Olivia in tow.

Olivia walked down one of the two staircases in the grand hall leaving Erik up at the top so that she could introduce him as the composer. Her eyes scanned the crowds with grim satisfaction that the people who once scorned him would be welcoming him with triumphant fanfare, except perhaps one or two. Olivia eyes settled on the ex diva and her husband, the only two watching her as she descended, the others idly chatting around them. She stopped about three fourths down the stairs so that she could see everyone and they could see her.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she said. The crowd did not seem to here her so she tried again more loudly. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Olivia de Briar. Welcome to my opera house." This got everyone's attention and in a great wave all heads turned rapidly in her direction to get a glimpse of one half of the duo with her olive skin plunging neckline and wild raven hair tied up with a rose as she spoke with a voice not bearing a French accent at all. "I sincerely hope you enjoyed the show in our beautiful theatre. But, I cannot take all the credit for myself. I give to you my partner my fiancée and the composer, Erik Angele.

Christine new there was applause going on around her but she did hear any of it. She watched with wide and wondering eyes as her Angel of Music descended the stairs with as much majesty and mystique as he did not so long ago when she still held all his heartstrings in her hand, no unlike the woman than now took his arm and looked directly at her with a sort of smugness on her face.

Erik Angele raised his gloved hand and the orchestra began playing and the pair was soon engulfed in the congratulatory crowd. The evening continued without either couple crossing paths until members of the aristocracy were literally dragging Raoul and his wife over the meet the managers.

"Monsieur Angele, Mademoiselle de Briar; this is the Viconte and Vicontess de Changy.

The men slowly reached out their hands. "Raoul," said Erik through unmoving lips.

"Phantom," said Raoul equally as unseen. Olivia noticed that Raoul in the handshake was seemingly trying to crush Erik's fingers she looked up Erik to see him smirking slightly at the effort. Olivia then felt a slender arm slink around her waist and gently tug her away from the men.

"Come," said Christine, whose face was at her ear. "Let us chat, you and I."

Christine and Olivia walked heir arms wrapped around each other's elbows like they were high class friends and the walked with relative coolness both to others and to themselves until they were a little ways away from the gathering.

"You companion is quite dashing," said Christine once they were by themselves. "But I must wonder what he hides under that mask."

Olivia turned sharply on her heel and laced her fingers together and pressed them to her middle almost as if she were restraining herself. "You, Madam," she said pointedly, "of all people should know." And like the shattering of glass, the chivalrous charade ended.

"I know him," said Christine in a beseeching tone, "what he is like."

"No you don't. If you did, I would not be at his side this night." And thus was the statement of why Olivia held such a grudge on Christine. Christine bringing Erik down to how she found him was an unforgivable fault.

"How are you certain this is not just some fantasy he has ensnared you in?"

Olivia laughed. But it was a sarcastic, cold, accusatory laugh. "You doubt me?" she said in a slightly raised tone. "You doubt, that I could love such a man?"

"Love?" said a voice. Not the high voice of Christine, but a low voice leaning down to her shoulder. "Love?"

Olivia felt the air catch in her lungs as she slowly turned around to face the broad barrel chest and yellow grin. "My dear Black-Briar," he said, "you know the rule. You aren't allowed to love.

Olivia turned around "Er—!" but a strong hand silenced her as Barum drug the two off into the shadows.