I do not own the characters of Christine, Erik/Phantom, Raoul, Meg or Nadir.
And here it is, the big date...
Chapter Ten – Tuesday, 26 April, 2011
Christine and Meg had spent the day touring London. In the morning, Meg enjoyed a traditional English breakfast of porridge and sausage at a local coffeehouse. Christine, a vegan, had chosen a tofu scramble instead of sausage. The restaurant, which catered to the young professionals living in the borough of Islington, had an ample selection of vegetarian, vegan and gluten-free menu options. After breakfast, the women had taken the subway to Regent's Park, where they took a long stroll past statues and around the flower beds with steaming paper cups of coffee in hand.
In the afternoon, Christine took Meg for a guided tour of Buckingham Palace, the formal residence of British monarchs from Queen Victoria to Queen Elizabeth II. There were 429 rooms in the Palace and, although the public was only allowed to tour a tenth of those rooms, the tour had left both women with sore feet by mid-afternoon. After the excursion, Meg had suggested going home early to get Christine ready for her dinner with Erik.
"He said I could dress casually," Christine said, protesting as Meg pulled a navy-blue day dress out of the closet and tossed the garment at her.
"That doesn't mean dressing like a slob," Meg replied, digging further into Christine's closet. "Ah! Here it is – I knew you'd brought it with you to London." Meg pulled out a long, V-necked lilac tunic shirt with cocoa-hued embroidery around the neck and hem. "Wear this, with a belt, your brown leggings and the dark brown boots. You'll look gorgeous."
"It's not very 'heavy metal,' Meg," Christine said, fingering the ties of the shirt.
"This is a date, not a concert. You're not going as Christine Daaé, lead singer of The Fifth Cellar; you're going as Christine, recent university graduate, tree hugger, and charming Canadian."
"I do like this shirt," Christine agreed, gathering the clothing in her arms and walking to the bathroom to change. Pulling the tunic over her head, Christine had to admit that the outfit was a good choice. The belt cinched the shirt in at her waist and the tunic fell to just below her butt, draping modestly over her belly and upper thighs.
Half an hour later, Christine was sitting in a chair in her building's lobby, trying to look comfortable, but feeling nerves tingling under her skin. Meg had agreed not to wait with her, but she suspected that her curious friend would find a way to get a glimpse of her dinner companion. Christine tapped the screen of her smartphone, feigning interest her email and social media feeds. The record label had given her passwords to the band's Twitter and Facebook accounts, and she'd been charged with keeping both up-to-date while the band went on tour.
"Keeping busy?"
"Erik!" Christine said, rising from her chair to greet the composer. "You scared me."
"I'll try to be a tad noisier when I enter rooms, then," he said, his mouth pulled into a tight smirk below his mask. "I should add that you look beautiful tonight, Christine."
Christine smiled at the compliment. "Thank you. So, mystery man, where are we off to for supper? You've been keeping me in suspense."
"Intentionally, of course," he said. "We're going for Indian food. While it's not the national dish, curries have become an English staple in the last thirty years."
"So I've learned," Christine said, recalling her initial confusion at seeing the Indian dish on so many pub menus. "I love Indian food. It's a great choice."
"Nadir also mentioned that you didn't eat any meat, eggs, or dairy?"
"That's right," she answered, wondering if the conversation would turn into a criticism of her dietary choices. "I've been completely vegan for about three years. It drives my dad crazy, but it's a healthy way to eat and gentle on the planet."
"An honourable choice. Perhaps I'll give it a try sometime. But first, dinner. Are you ready?"
Christine nodded.
"Good, I brought my car. It's just downstairs, in the visitor's lot."
"Lead the way!"
Erik nodded and walked over to the elevator, hitting the key for the parking garage. Christine followed him, letting her eyes sweep his figure. He was tall, at least six-foot-two, and his wide shoulders and firm build suggested strength.
"Where did you park?"
"Just over here," Erik answered, gesturing towards a black Toyota Prius.
"So you do have a soft spot for the planet then," she said. "Here I was thinking you were a rockstar with a devil may care attitude."
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he said as he opened the passenger-side door for her.
"I'd like to know more," she answered. "I'd like us to be friends, if you'll let me."
"I – I'd like that too, Christine."
"Nadir said that you like to keep to yourself," she ventured.
"Ironic that we both go to Nadir for information about each other; perhaps we could try asking direct questions instead?" Erik suggested.
"I think that's fair."
"So, if we're in the business of asking each other questions, I'd like to start. Where did you grow up? In Toronto?"
"No, actually," she said. "I was born in Montreal. My father worked there, as a policy analyst, for many years before his job moved to Toronto."
"And your mother?" he asked. "At our first meeting, you mentioned that she had a private music studio? Was she a singer as well?"
"You remember that?" she asked, amazed at his recollection of their first conversation.
From the passenger seat, Christine had a good view of the right side of Erik's face. Perhaps it was the glow from the streetlights, but she was sure she saw him blush.
"I have a good memory."
"I'd say so. My mother was a pianist. She used to perform with the Montreal Symphony Orchestra and toured as a soloist as well. I didn't know her very well – she died when I was seven."
"I'm sorry to hear that. My father also died when I was young."
"And your mother? What is she like?
"I don't like to talk about my mother. We rarely speak to each other."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. But I think it's my turn to ask you a question," he said. Traffic was flowing quickly – unusual for London – and they'd driven through several city blocks. "You have an impeccable voice and a fantastic range; you could have performed at any opera house. What motivated you to send in a demo tape for The Fifth Cellar?"
She'd known this question would come soon and wasn't sure if she was ready to answer. How would Erik, or any of the others for that matter, feel if she told them that she'd auditioned as the result of a well-intentioned prank? Would they question her dedication? Think that she'd been desperate? No, it was better to leave that story untold until after she'd proven her mettle onstage.
"I appreciate the compliment, truly. But I did audition with opera houses and theatre companies, with little success. I didn't have enough experience. Most performing arts companies prefer their musicians to have graduate degrees. I'd only just finished my undergrad," she said. "And my motivation to audition for The Fifth Cellar? I'll let my friend Meg tell you – after our first show."
"I look forward to hearing the story then. And to meeting your friend."
"Meg's really great. And she's one of your biggest fans – I'm surprised she didn't ambush us in the lobby," Christine admitted. "I'm lucky that she's been so supportive over the last couple months. Lesser friends might have become jealous or drifted away after the move."
Erik was quiet for the next few minutes, his attention focused on the road ahead. He steered the car smoothly to the right, pulling them into a parking lot behind a row of shops and restaurants.
"And here we are," he said, shutting off the car's engine and unlocking the doors. He had parked the car in a shadowy lot in a less-travelled part of the city. A plaza of Indian and Caribbean restaurants and grocery shops stood across the street. "It doesn't look like much, but the owners are very polite and the food is incredible."
"You come here often then?"
"I don't like to go out much," Erik said, gesturing towards his mask. "But Sohan and Minnie are discreet."
They entered the restaurant and Christine could smell a mix of curry, sizzling butter and cardamom coming from the kitchen. The walls were painted a deep red and the restaurant was lit by wall sconces and table candles. Their host recognized Erik and sat the pair at a table near the back of the restaurant, close to the kitchen doors.
The two sat opposite each other, in silence. Erik had taken off his jacket and was sitting up straight in his chair, studying Christine with interest. Unsure what to do, Christine took a cautious sip from her water glass. This may have been a casual meal, but Erik was far from a casual companion, she thought.
"Thank you for inviting me," she said, her voice quiet. "It's good to spend time with you, outside of the studio, I mean."
"Of course," Erik answered. "You're right. I don't know you very well. But you are interesting to me."
"Interesting?" Christine repeated, smiling at the choice of word.
"Yes, interesting. You have an arresting voice, yet you have a double degree in engineering and music. You don't fit the mould of a metal front woman, but you're stunningly beautiful and can carry a song with power and gusto."
"You're making me blush," Christine whispered, feeling shy at Erik's compliments.
Their server arrived to take their order, interrupting the conversation at an awkward moment, and Erik ordered a selection of vegan and vegetarian fare.
"You deserve every compliment. You don't give yourself enough credit," Erik said after the server left their table.
"I hope you still think so after our first gig," she said, trying to lighten the conversation. "I used to get stage fright when I was younger. I'd get so nervous that I'd want to throw up on stage."
"I don't think we'll have that problem."
"And what about you – do you ever get stage fright?"
"Of a different kind," he said. "I'll be playing the keyboard from the back of the stage. I designed our stage to include layers of translucent screens. To the audience, the screens look like set pieces from a theatre performance, especially with the strobe lights and the smoke. To us, the screens look like thin, gauzy curtain stretched over a frame."
"That's genius! You designed all of this yourself?"
"A hobby. Before forming The Fifth Cellar, I worked as an architect and designer for several years."
"Several years? How old are you, exactly?"
"I'm thirty-three years old," he answered. "Not an old man yet."
"An architect, a composer, a set designer – you wear a lot of hats," Christine remarked.
"I like to spend my time working. If I don't have a project to work on, I can get… restless."
The server brought their first course to the table. Crispy papadum and spicy pakoras. Christine helped herself to both dishes, transferring food to her own plate. On the other side of the table, Erik did the same. His black mask covered the left side of his face from his hairline to the base of his nose. While his mouth was uncovered, Christine guessed that chewing must be difficult; the stiff material covered his cheek, restricting his movements so that he had to chew quite slowly.
Aside from the mask, he was a handsome man. The right side of his face showed high, strong cheekbones and smooth, olive-toned skin. He had bright grey eyes and his left eyebrow was thick and dark, a match to his chestnut hair. His mouth was wide, with thin lips that twisted and stretched with expression when he spoke. As she watched, Christine felt a tingle of attraction spread from her chest through to her belly. If only she could see beneath the mask.
Looking away from her dining companion, Christine focused her attention on her supper, which was delicious. The food was well spiced and didn't carry the heavy oiliness that cheap Indian food often did. Between dishes of stews and curries, Erik and Christine continued to talk about the band, the upcoming tour, and their career ambitions. When the meal ended, Erik paid the bill and took Christine home to her apartment.
"Thank you for dinner," Christine said, standing at the door to her building.
"It was my pleasure and I enjoyed your company very much," he said. "Could we, perhaps, have dinner again another night?"
"I'd like that," Christine answered, taking his hand in hers and squeezing lightly. They were standing close together, less than a foot apart. If this was a date, then he should be leaning forward to kiss her goodnight.
Instead, Erik froze at her touch and pulled his hand away. "Goodnight, Christine."
"Goodnight, Erik."
The composer turned and walked back to his car, leaving Christine to wonder if she'd misinterpreted their dinner together. Perhaps it hadn't been a date after all?
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