Greetings, All, and thank you for all your kind reviews. I really appreciate feedback of any kind, you know, and I received a suggestion that really made me think. I have to agree with the reviewer who pointed out that Christine is frustrated and being made to shut up, and that she needs to fight to put herself on some type of equal footing with Erik.
Well, that´s tough to do. Christine is at a definite disadvantage and has very little room to maneuver. Erik´s just a bit much for her. However, she does have spirit, and I thought that this chapter might deal with that a little. She can fight Erik in her own way!
I do not own POTO, or its characters.
Christine spent a restless night thinking over the events of the day. The ring in the ring-box glinted at her from her bedside table, proof that she had not been dreaming.
Before last week, she had been inclined to dismiss Erik´s feelings for her as something temporary. She had always expected his attentions towards her to wane, and had wondered how much time would pass before he would discard her as a child discards a new hobby.
Now his first kiss came to mind. Her instincts then had been correct – his passion had been terrifying in its power and, behind it, a sense of implacable permanence, as though it formed part of every molecule in his body.
Yet she had refused to believe her own instincts, and she had accused Erik of considering her "an attractive piece of ass." She remembered the night well, and the expression in his eyes as she delivered the phrase. Was the upcoming wedding merely his response to that?
No, she decided, it was not. He was not proving a point. For some reason, he wanted a marriage. Could this be love?
Could love be such an obsessive, domineering thing? Perhaps, if it was not the only feeling Erik had in his heart. Perhaps, if it came accompanied by bitter insecurities, the sad gifts of a wretched childhood.
Do I love him? Christine hated asking herself this question, but now she took her feelings out of the closet, dusted them off, and examined them. She had certainly never felt such physical attraction to anyone else, but there was something deeper, much deeper, there. She sighed. Yes, I love him.
But where does he get off treating me like this? Who does he think he is? Did it ever occur to him to ask me what I want, or how I feel?
What can I do to get his attention, to let him know that I´ve a mind of my own?
She had fled him once, but he had proven that escaping him was impossible. That option was not viable. Besides, what did it achieve if she was so unlucky as to love him? She would only hurt herself.
Christine continued to consider. What do I do that really upsets or bothers him?
He seemed dismally happy with her character, behaviour, manner of dressing – in short, everything about her. Why, she could run naked and screaming through the Modern….Wait a minute! Naked…hmmmm…
She thought back on how upset he had been at the ball, when she had dressed so revealingly.
Very well, Erik – you think you own me, do you? Let´s see how you like me exposed to the public eye without a stitch of clothing on!
Monday morning arrived. Erik had reluctantly excused Christine from their morning tutoring session in order for her to rest longer. Nonetheless, she arrived at the Modern just on time, as fatigued as she was from the weekend´s events. Meg looked at her from across the hall before heading off to her own rehearsal, and the message in her eyes was unmistakable: We are SO going to talk!
News of Christine´s engagement had preceded her, and her fellow chorus members seemed to avoid her, though she often surprised people staring at her, and she could hear the buzz of murmurings. She sank into a chair and sorted through her music. She knew the role of Mimi quite thoroughly through previous rehearsals, and Erik had put her through her paces on Saturday, but she studied her chorus part instead. Nothing seemed real to her. How could anyone accept such an abrupt change just two weeks before opening night?
George Reznik, the director, was late showing up this morning. Surprisingly, Carla Forleo was in evidence, sitting with her klatch near the front and ignoring Christine completely. Back to her old self, thought Christine.
There was a ripple of sudden conversation punctuated by exclamations as all heads turned toward the entrance, and Christine looked to see George Reznik enter, accompanied by Erik DeJongh. Erik was often heard – mostly through terse messages – but rarely seen at the Modern, and during the few times he had chosen to address the artists in person, he had succeeded in frightening them. There was a general air of tension.
Both men went to the front of the concert hall, and George got up on the stage, clipboard in hand. Erik was content to stand facing the group, but his attention was focused on some papers in his hand, and he riffled through them, marking them with a pen from time to time.
"Hey, folks," George began. "Well, it´s Monday, and now it´s my duty to inform you all of some changes in this production….well, to be specific, of a change in the, um, principal role. Carla Forleo will not be Mimi…"
Here, there was a murmur which gradually grew in volume. George held his hands up.
"Christine Daaé will be playing the role," he continued, a slight tremor to his voice.
"This is bullshit! How can you treat Carla this way, after all the years and work she´s put into the Modern?" It was Gerri Caldwell, an alto who had worked for years in secondary roles and on the chorus. She was one of Carla´s most constant friends.
"Why should Carla lose her role just because someone in the chorus happens to be good in bed? I mean, let´s face it…that´s what this is about, right? Are we going to just sit back and let this happen to Carla…?"
"You, at least, are not going to be here to ´sit back and let this happen´ to Miss Forleo," hissed Erik, his eyes on Gerri, "You will leave, Miss Caldwell, right his minute!"
Gerri looked frightened, but she issued a feeble protest.
"You can´t do that to me! You can´t, because…"
"I am not certain, Miss Caldwell, what Miss Forleo has told you, but I assure you that I can ´do that´! I will not tolerate any such rebellion against my decisions, and I will not tolerate such slander!" Erik thundered. "Yes, I know of the mutiny Miss Forleo has coordinated among some of you, and I can assure you that she is trading on nothing more that putative power. She holds no position of influence at the Modern and can do less than nothing to advance your careers. Witness, if you will, what she has done for Miss Caldwell."
He pointed towards Gerri, who rose rapidly and, gathering together her things, left the concert hall, tears running down her face.
The klatch of people surrounding Carla shifted uncomfortably. Whatever rebellion she had planned had been effectively aborted. Carla glared at Erik openly, but he ignored her and addressed the group once more.
"Two weeks remain before La bohème opens. I expect excellence, especially of such a routine production. Miss Daaé is thoroughly professional and will handle her newly-assigned role well. I will not tolerate any rudeness towards her, or any hostility of any kind, from anyone."
Without one word more, Erik strode up the aisle to leave. All eyes were upon him, and as he approached the door, Christine could see Nadir waiting for him beside it. He handed Erik a briefcase, and before they both exited, Nadir caught Christine´s eye and gave her a brief, sympathetic smile.
George began to rehearse the cast once it had adjourned to the rehearsal room, and he was astonished and relieved by how well Christine sang her new part. Every hour she had spent under Erik´s tutelage had had as its purpose her assuming the role of Mimi, she now realized. The other cast members treated her with a type of terrified respect, except for Carla, who sulked in a corner.
Meg approached Christine at lunchtime, just as she was finishing a conversation with an old acquaintance.
"…No, I have no trouble making it over anytime after six-thirty…Seven-thirty?...No problem, Rose. I think it´s great that I can start this evening. The sooner, the better, and I just hope I can do it well…"
Meg listened with open curiosity as Christine ended the conversation.
"Hey, Christine – whatcha up to?" she asked.
"Nothing much. I´ve got a friend from university who runs a type of open art studio – I´ll be visiting her this evening, that´s all," Christine responded evasively.
A bit of a white lie. How could she tell Meg that she would be modelling in the nude? The news could easily make its way to Erik. She wanted Erik to find out, of course, but not until the right moment.
"So, Meg, tell me about you and Raoul…Are you a couple now?" asked Christine. She felt only the ghost of a pang at the thought.
"Are you kidding? Look, Honey, I understand that you had a thing for the guy once, but do you really know him?"
"I´ve known him since we were kids!" Christine protested, stung.
"But there were some years you two spent out of touch, right? When you were growing up?" persisted Meg.
"Well, yes," admitted Christine.
"So you don´t know him that well as an adult. Look, if you ever go out with Raoul, you notice two things. First off, he only talks about himself. He´s in love with himself! Second, he´s always looking at other women when he´s with you. Even when he´s talking to you, he´s always checking them out.
"I understand his ex-girlfriends really well now, even though I never met them. I mean, he was telling his side of the story of his last relationship, and it´s pretty clear he cheated. He thought his ex should have been more understanding. Then you know what he asks me? You wanna hear it?
"´What´s wrong with women?´ he asks me. Can you imagine that?" asked Meg, throwing up her hands.
Christine was quiet. There was no question about it now: Raoul, her childhood hero, had feet of clay.
Finally, she rallied.
"He did his best to help me out when I was in trouble. He got me a job taking care of Auntie Val, and then, when he saw I was in trouble, he got me a job at his firm," she asserted.
Meg looked at her with the same sympathetic expression a nurse wears preparatory to vaccinating a small child.
"Maybe you don´t know it, but Raoul was really relieved when he got you to take the job with his Auntie Val. Nobody else could fit the bill, you know. He´d interviewed and checked work histories, and the people who didn´t want too much salary had some really dubious pasts. Then you came along – desperate, cheap, and trustworthy. What could have been better? And now that you aren´t really caring for Auntie Val anymore, Raoul is just happy that someone he trusts is there to keep an eye on her. I know you aren´t being paid anymore, but he even told me how much you were making back then, and, Honey, he was paying you a pittance…"
"He takes good care of his aunt!" protested Christine, cut to the quick.
"He hopes to inherit from his aunt, and she knows it. Have you ever noticed how she talks to him, as if she doesn´t think much of him? She knows what he´s really like."
Christine was silent. The scales had fallen from her eyes.
"Well, if you see what he´s like so clearly, then why do you go out with him?" asked Christine, finally.
"To get him away from you!" spat Meg. "He may be a jerk, but he could be a very dead jerk if he begins to annoy Mr. DeJongh too much!"
Meg was steaming, and Christine was stunned, so silence reigned during a few moments.
"You think Erik would really…" Christine started.
"Forget it!" said Meg. "Forget I ever said that. I didn´t mean it. I just don´t want any trouble, that´s all."
They finished lunch in a thoughtful silence.
Trouble is what there´s going to be, sooner or later, thought Christine as she undressed in the bathroom at Rose´s art studio. She put on a bathrobe and put her clothes in a bag to leave in the bathroom. When she came out, Rose was waiting for her.
"I can´t tell you how grateful I am that you´re doing this," Rose repeated. "We just can´t afford to pay fees, you know, just getting off the ground as we are."
She gave Christine a small hug. The two women had been friends off and on during their student days. Unlike Christine, Rose had been a free spirit – she was an artist, and she believed in free love, unlimited joints, and anarchy. There had been friendly arguments between the two, but sometimes Rose could become impatient with Christine.
"You´re so repressed!" Rose had spat on one occasion, and Christine had never forgotten it. Now, years later, she thought that perhaps Rose had been right.
"We have a type of dais over there, so you can recline and pose. There will be about ten artists coming in tonight, and they are all serious about this, so you don´t have to worry. They don´t give a damn about how you look, they´re only interested in lines, textures, and composition, and this is incredibly good practice for them.
"You´ll want to strike several rapid poses – you know, about five minutes each? And then you can lengthen them later.
"We´ve turned the heat up for you, by the way, so we aren´t the totally cheap, ungrateful wretches you may think we are," concluded Rose.
Rose had just finished arranging Christine on the dais. She reclined completely in the nude, but somehow she felt comfortable in the setting. The artists filed in. Rose had been right – there were about ten or eleven men and women. They scarcely glanced at Christine until they were seated with their pencils and charcoals. Then, there was absorbed silence while they looked at Christine and sketched rapidly.
"Could you hold that position a little longer? I want to get the line of your neck right," said one, breaking the silence. Christine obliged.
She changed position occasionally, marvelling at how difficult it was to hold so still for even five minutes. The silence and the soft scraping of pencils on pads lulled her, and the warmth of the studio nearly caused her to doze. An hour passed.
The sound of someone banging on the outside door split the silence. Everyone jumped at the noise, and there were a few giggles at how immersed in work everyone had been.
"Don´t answer it," Rose said. "It´s probably someone´s wife."
There was an amused murmur, and everyone went back to work.
The banging became more insistent. Rose looked annoyed, but she was not worried. The door had been carefully locked for the session with Christine.
Rose moved into the foyer, and her voice could be heard yelling at whoever was at the door.
"This studio is closed! Go away!"
There was a silence, then a metallic sound which was a combination of rattles and clicks. A blast of cold air entered the studio at the same time as Rose screamed.
"You have no right…! I´ll call the cops! No, you´re not going in there!"
However, the intruder was going in there, and Erik flew into the studio itself. Upon seeing Christine, he paused for a moment, his eyes wild; yet he did not move, though he trembled as though balanced on some type of precipice.
"Hello, Erik!" greeted Christine as coolly as she could. "Do you think you could close the door, please? It´s getting kind of cold in here."
She moved to her side now as languorously as possible, giving everyone in the studio a frontal view of her body. The artists, who had frozen during the interruption, began to return to their sketchbooks, hoping that the intruder would sit down in some out-of-the-way corner.
For once, Erik was speechless, but he moved now, and, finding Christine´s robe, quickly draped it over her.
"Home…!" he choked out.
"No," said Christine calmly, pulling the robe off of herself.
"You know this guy?" said Rose, who had been standing in the doorway with her phone at the ready.
"Yes, sort of," said Christine, and she winked at Erik. "He has a hang-up about nudity. He wants to repress me."
"Oh," said Rose, in disgusted tones, "a boyfriend. Hey, stop covering her, would you? Andy hasn´t even started on her breasts yet!"
"Her…breasts?" hissed Erik, hurriedly covering Christine and doing his best to block everyone´s view of her.
Christine felt a surge of power at seeing Erik so nonplussed. She had always been so predictable, so easy to manage, for him. Now it was time for her to push back, and she intended to make the most of it. She seized her bathrobe and pitched it across the room.
That galvanized Erik, who in three quick motions had taken his coat off, wrapped it around Christine, and had lifted her into his arms. She fought and kicked, and part of his coat slipped off of her; an exposed breast pressed against his collarbone, and he froze, then bolted out the door, Christine pressed against him. Rose´s voice, raised in protest, could be heard behind them.
As he pushed her into his waiting car, Christine stopped fighting and started to giggle uncontrollably.
"My clothes are in a bag in Rose´s studio, Erik, I´m afraid you´ll have to go back and get them!" she said.
He turned the key in the ignition.
"You won´t be needing clothes, my love," he said, a dangerous glint in his eye.