Act One; Scene Eight
The New York Opera House, Backstage after a performance of 'Hannibal'
Saturday, despite the escort, was a success, no Raoul. No Erik. Pretty much on men. Sunday she wasn't as lucky, George got a job; hooray for their bank account but Raoul could smell an opening.
"Christine Daaé did you know I went to a party by myself?" He burst into her dressing room like a fridge wind. Christine tried to remain calm as she took off her make up, but her hands were shaking.
"I highly doubt that." She sounded pulled together, thank God. He laughed a harsh sound.
"How well you know me, actually I picked up a Twinkie and we fucked instead of working the red carpet. But don't think for a second I'm happy about missing a photo op." Christine tied her red ribbon around her neck, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.
"I'm sure you took pictures, they just can't be published in the papers. At least and keep in the family."
"You wound me." He said coldly. "But since we're going to dinner, you little shrew, you can make up for it." He was persistent.
"No Raoul! I – I…" She needed an excuse stat!
Erik had spent his time behind her mirror just in case she needed him. He was mixed on what he saw. The second night little Meg Giry and her boyfriend marched her around like she was Hannibal Lector; he didn't get to speak to her at all. At least she got his rose. At first it was just the boyfriend alone in her room and jealous green anger filled Erik. He had no claim to her, other than his love. Which was ridiculous in itself, he didn't know her well enough to love her. But he did. And when his love was threatened he would act.
"No Raoul! I – I…" she was floundering, eyes big. He acted.
"She's already spoken for." He announced from behind the mirror. Christine hoped he knew what he was doing. Raoul's icy eyes flared.
"Spoken for? I hear a voice but where's the body?" Raoul advanced on her.
"Who are you?" Raoul addressed Erik.
"I am her…" What could he say?
"Angel of music." Christine said for him. "Remember my Angel?" Raoul looked around her room frantically. Erik slipped out and surprised the ex. Raoul, usually steely calm jumped. Erik smiled evilly.
"I said 'spoken for'" He said firmly enjoying his power.
"Who the hell are you?" Raoul was back to normal, a little angry but composed. Christine rounded up all her stuff, 'flight' beating fight.
He really wanted to say 'your worst nightmare' but restrained himself. Christine took his hand. For a second the world melted away except for the feeling of her hand in his, it was a simple gesture with tons of meaning. He looked down in her eyes and she looked back up at him. But Raoul, while he managed to bring them together every time also ruined everything.
"What the FUCK?!" Raoul didn't like being ignored. We're in a theatre, let's act. Play along with me. Her eyes seemed to say. Erik was good off the cuff.
"Ready for dinner, mon ange?" She smiled God he loved that smile.
"If you are."
Raoul was, for the first time in his life, speechless. Christine and Erik took the chance and flounced out of the room. Oh shit!
"Now what?" She asked him. The lead of the opera was walking around with the opera ghost – who didn't exist, after just turning down a very rich, very interested ex lover. The world was spinning off the axis; they had seconds before they flew off into the unknown.
"We… TURN HERE!" He pulled her quickly into the shadows, holding her tight against him. They had to be conspicuous despite the hiding in the shadows, every place they touched fireworks went off. I don't know what is going on Can't work it out at all Whatever made you choose me I just can't believe my eyes You look at me as though You couldn't bear to lose me1 She could just swoon.
Erik was trying his best to formulate a way out but his best was loosing badly. Christine was clouding his senses. His mind was powering down. The sent of her hair, her hands wrapped around his back, the swell of her chest against his, his hands on the flare of her hips. All of this was more for his brain than escape. However if he ever wanted anything like this again they needed to move.
The coast was clear, from their hiding place deep in the shadows they were able to see Raoul take off in a tantrum. Taking the opportunity they bolted for her dressing room and hid behind the mirror.
"Raoul is pissed." Christine lamented. "And he knows about you. Oh this is bad…"
"Don't worry." He told her, she just looked at him, it was the first time he saw fear in her eyes.
"You don't know what he's capable of."
"And he doesn't know what I'm capable of." He replied Erik knew how to take care of himself.
"But he's seen you. Your reputation."
"I'm not real here, just a joker in the company as for the mask – this is New York, it's the mildest thing you'll see all day."
"But…." She protested.
"Christine, don't worry about it. Call Meg, let's get that diner we lied about."
"But… are you…"
"Yes!" Raoul had crushed her confidence.
"Alright." She pulled out her cell phone.
Roses are red booger's are green please leave your message on this stupid machine
"'Allo Megster, I'm not going to be in my dressing room, I'm going out to dinner. Don't know when I'll be home, but my phone will be on." She hung up and smiled.
"If you're sure." He helped her with her jacket.
"Stay close, the path can be tricky." He lead her down the narrow stair, lit only by a few and far between bulbs.
"Where are we going?" She asked, stumbling. Erik took her hand and they continued down the path, now well lit with the tingle of their contact.
"My car." He was proud of his snarkiness in the face of jello knees and cotton tongue. The things she did to him.
"Then where?"
"How does the Hunt Club sound?"
"The Hunt Club?" It was one of the biggest, trendiest, famoustest places of New York. He would pass; this opera outfit was a black suit, shirt, and red tie – striking. She had on a black knit shirt, jeans and a ribbon. Her hair was a mess and remnants of make up still hung on her features.
"Yes, the Hunt Club, is that a problem?"
"YES! Look at me, I can't go there looking like this!" He paused and looked her up and down; to him she looked fine – beautiful as always. But he supposed she would object, women were puzzles.
"Not a problem, I have a connection for you."
"Alright." She allowed him to lead her on. They were silent for the rest of the walk, enjoying the closeness.
In the car, his sound system wove Sarah Brightman's voice around them.
Erik drove to the back door of some building in the fashion district and parked. Christine had no idea where she was, having only been in New York two years there were many things she still didn't know. Erik knocked on the unmarked back door. He really did have fantastic hands.
"Erik!" A burst of energy threw open the door and it took Christine a second to focus on what the dazzling array of colors, sounds, and energy was. It was a man; somewhere between her petite stature and Erik's Goliath with skin like mocha and an amazing smile, he ushered them in.
"Erik, it's been too long, how are you; you look stunning by the way. What can I do for you?" Erik smiled, this was another of the few he felt comfortable with.
"Thank you. I am quite well. I have someone I'd like you to meet. Hector Ramón this is-"
"Christine Daaé?! Is it truly?" He bowed. "The world is a buzz about you my dear and I must agree. I am a fan." A fan, she never had one that wasn't related to her or a roommate. She smiled shyly, not used to the praise. And it was coming from Hector Ramón, he as the designer behind HARC! (Hector A. Ramón Clothing), a brand she all but lusted after.
"Thank you, the feeling is mutual." She was prod of her composed response, so was Erik, she could see it in his eyes and she felt even better about herself.
"You're a fan of you too?" He asked.
"No. She's a fan of you." Erik replied. Okay, so Hector didn't know his way around the English language, she didn't care, he knew his way around a woman's body like nobody's business.
"Right, right. Now what can I do for you my diva?" he smiled at Christine. "Maestro?" he turned to Erik.
"I would like to take Christine out but she felt she was not properly attired." Hector turned his eyes back to Christine and gave her a critical once over.
"For casual wear she looks gorgeous, but knowing where you like to eat she is right." He gave as a professional estimate. She smiled giddy. He thinks I look good!
"Erik, feel free." Hector waved around she followed his hand, they were in the back of the boutique. Hector turned to her and offered his arm. "You, my dear, come with me."
Hector led her to another back room, this one filled with women's clothing. Christine felt like a star. In the center of her dream closet was a stool Hector handed her up.
"Down to the undies, let's get some measurements." He said airily, turning around to look through a drawer. Christine felt her eyes get big. Hector turned around and noted her surprise and discomfort.
"One, you can't show me anything I haven't seen before. Two, as beautiful as you are – and that's pretty damn gorgeous, you're not my type – I only lust for you body to be in my clothing." She smiled and began to strip.
"Oh honey we need a full wardrobe over haul." Christine frowned and looked down. Nude, full coverage bra and matching granny panties.
"What?!" Hector just gave her a look and held out his arms, indicating for her to copy his pose.
"36C." he announced and instantly a guy in a pink ascot appeared with a clipboard.
"Uh, hello." She wasn't as uncomfortable as she was surprised.
"Don't worry darling." Hector waved again.
"I'm not." She said apparently unconvincingly.
"Sweetheart – pink ascot. 21."
"TWENTY ONE?!" every other thought flew out of her mind except that number being linked to her waist.
"36." Hector flipped the tape over his neck. Her eyes were big and so were the designer's.
"No way. Say it again!" she was ecstatic.
"36C – 21 – 36." Ascot boy said. "I want you."
"Max is my art director, he is also in charge of my models. And I don't want you… I need you." Christine could just faint.
"Are you weaving the fabric? I'd like to eat before midnight!" Erik called from the back sitting room where he parted with Christine. Time had stopped he was sure of it. Pacing alone made every second feel like an eternity.
"Destler, you should know more than any body else that genius can't be rushed!" Hector yelled back. Erik smiled a little; Hector Ramón could put anyone in their place with one comeback. Sighing in defeat Erik slinked into the store. He had to get his mind off Christine. Ha!
"Can I ask one thing of you?" Christine began as she was led to the racks of her size clothing.
"That depends dear." Hector replied.
"I have a scar on my neck that I'd rather not showcase, could I keep my ribbon or do you have something high collared?" Hector looked critically at her ribbon.
"I have a fabulous pair of shoes that will go quite nicely with it, you're lucky. If you would've asked to keep your underwear I would not have been as nice."
"What are you going to do with my underwear?" she asked him.
"Burn it." The man's face was straight, voice deadpan.
"BURN THEM?" she exclaimed looking down again at her old, comfortable friends.
"They are an abomination." He pulled a dress off the rack. "And they won't work with this." Christine felt her mouth drop open. The beauty was in the simplicity as was all HARC designs and life. It was why she loved the brand so. This number was like onyx in color with subtle design in the bodice. The bodice was an off the shoulder corset, sexy and gothic but also sophisticated and in no way S&M. She loved it, something about the style made her feel so much. Exchange her underwear for that? She couldn't get the lingerie off fast enough. Hector laughed. Thankfully Max wasn't long with the new, non abomination undies. From naked as a Jay Bird to black lace, which was more risqué? Hector helped her into the dress and lacked her up. The sheath skirt went to her knees and was made of the most luxurious silk she'd ever felt. It was like she was wearing Erik's voice. Heaven! She was in Heaven!
"A little time on the hair." Max pulled the elastic from her hair and finger combed it. Curls fluffed and falling she took her red pumps with a velvet ankle bow and felt like a princess.
"Hot damn honey, you're going to give the old boy a heart attack." Hector proclaimed as he made her turn to view the finished product.
"I don't want that; I want him healthy and hearty." Christine said. I just want him. Period. The men laughed.
"Don't worry dear. If Erik died, he'd raise himself from the grave just to kill himself for dieing." Max said. Hector and Christine looked at him blankly. He threw up his hands. "It sounded better in my head." Hector smiled sarcastically.
"It always does. Now hot stuff we have quite the man to impress." Do we ever. Christine thought falling into place for the big reveal.
Erik sat jiggling his foot in time to an unwritten tune in his head. His long fingers playing his thigh like an organ. Hector and his Art director, Max, entered, Erik stood.
"Monsieur Erik." Hector spoke French with a Latino accent but Erik was too anxious to care. "I give you Melle. Christine." The men parted. There was no air in the room, her beauty took more than his breath away. She was a vision beyond words, too perfect for him by far. Her smile made him weak in the knees and he had to clear his throat to keep his voice from sliding up several octaves.
"Can we go now? I could've written a symphony in the wait." Humor. Humor was a wonderful defense. Christine laughed. That did not help. Humor. Humor was a bad idea.
"I will follow where ever you may go." Christine told him before turning to the HARC boys.
"Thank you ever so much." She said sincerely. Hector smiled and handed her his card.
"Call us, I do want you in my clothing." The pairs parted.
The Hunt Club specialized in after performance gourmet, so at nearly eleven the place was going strong. Erik pulled into a back lot and feeling like a million bucks he escorted Christine to the door.
"Erik, usual table?" Faber Hunt the owner himself greeted Erik as a dear regular.
"Yes, Thank you Faber." Erik replied ushering Christine inside.
"How was the opera tonight? I've heard nothing but good things." Faber asked not looking around to speak directly to them as he led the way to a private room.
"Why don't you take that up with the Diva?" Erik replied. Faber Hunt spun on his heel so fast he nearly tripped himself. Very funny for a man in a double breasted suit.
"Miss Daaé! It's an honor." She'd never had this much attention in her life.
"Erik, you've got to stop paying people to flatter me." She said joking away the insecurities and swatting his arm. He smiled at her in that 'reduce – a – girl – to – nothing' sort of way.
"This my dear, is all you." She was beyond cloud nine.
The room was immaculately decorated with warm rich items; the focal point was a table for two with candles and several different forks. There was short Mexican standoff between the men over the seating of Christine but Erik soon won and handed her into the high back chair and pushed her in.
"I'll leave you two to the menu. It truly is an honor and a pleasure Ms. Daaé." And with that the host was gone.
"How do you know these people?!" Christine asked as soon as they were alone. Outside of the opera she'd never met one person who enjoyed it. Let alone two in the same night. Two high profile people no less.
"Ah, priorities, Christine, what do you want to eat?"
"I'm not that hungry, do you want to get dessert?" Christine said peeking at the menu. Twenty dollars for an appetizer?
"That's not very health." He scolded lovingly.
"I had dinner before the show Madam cooked a rib sticking meal. I'm surprised I fit in my costume. There, priority one done." She made a checkmark in the air. God, she was twitterpaitted. "Now, where did you meet these people? I mean Hector Ramón, we're in a private room in the Hunt Club. I go to the same Starbucks every week and they don't even smile at me!" Erik laughed. Man she loved making him laugh. He always looked so serious. The smile did wonderful things to him. The handsome side got even more attractive and the masked side became less cold.
"I do a lot of shopping from Hector who thinks my mask is a fabulous creative eccentricity. Faber hired me to design and build his newer club FABER. To him my mask hides an old injury. I do have some friends." He said in a mix of memory and deadpan.
"I never asked about friend quantity, but quality. Not only are they successful but cultured. Other tan George and Meg none of my friends knew opera. And they really don't count. Meg was raised in the theater and George is with her." Tension relieved.
"The red velvet is rally good, so is the German chocolate I can introduce you to a few more opera fans, not many but some."
"Thanks." She peeked down at the menu again. "Ooh, German Chocolate Ganash." She looked up and smiled. "I love Chocolate." And I love you. He thought. Faber returned filling the gap in conversation nicely.
"I'll have the usual." Erik said.
"And I'll have a slice of the German Chocolate Ganash and a cup of coffee." She handed Faber her menu.
"Room for anything?" he asked.
"Just more coffee." She said smiling. I'll be right back.
"Nothing in your coffee?" Erik asked casting around for conversation.
"I like it strong enough to stunt my growth. That's why I'm so short." Erik laughed. Things were back to normal.
"You're not short, just vertically challenged."
"Says the guy whose like seven feet tall."
"6' 5""
"5'2" and I stopped growing when I was thirteen." She pouted by playfully. "I remember I was sixteen and this little fourth grader asked if I had hit puberty yet. The nuns were more upset than I was, although I think that was over saying 'puberty' in a church. I just asked if he had learned a new word."
"Nuns? You're Catholic?" He asked. Faber returned with the food and drink. He then left.
"I was raised a very bad Catholic. Daddy sort of gave up on God and Church when Mom died, but he thought I should still go, it had some good points." She took her first bite of cake and moaned. "This is too good to be allowed."
"Do you still go?" Erik chuckled but her humor couldn't circumvent his interest.
"To church? I spent a lifetime there when Daddy was sick. That was enough for me." They both chewed for a while.
"Do you believe in God?" He asked. She swallowed and sipped her coffee before answering carefully.
"Not 'God' per say, but something bigger than I am… like the force. Yoda or a bearded guy I don't care; but some faith makes me feel safe. And you?" He took a bite of cake.
"It's hard to believe in God when you're told everyday you're the spawn of Satan." He was deadly serious and it made her painfully sad.
"You've always been an Angel to me." She told him quietly.
"An Angel?" He could scarcely believe his ears.
"My Angel of Music, Guide and Guardian. Grant to me your glory." She replied in song.
"You called me that earlier." Twice in fact. Once when she was afraid of Raoul and once when she was running away to dinner.
"When I was little and my mother had died Daddy told me that she would send an angel of music to me to comfort and guide where she could not, she couldn't come back from the dead. When you're five and scared it makes you feel better. I would never be alone with him with me. He became that invisible friend of childhood. I got older and realized he wasn't real, but became a sort of joke tween Daddy and I. My 'angel' sent me flowers after every performance. When Daddy died my Angel became my… well everything. My guide, my guardian, my sanity, my music." She stopped, she had said too much, but Erik wasn't caring. You remember my Angel of Music, don't you Raoul? He was her angel. Was he all that to her, dare he hope? Quite. Dessert was finished. A waltz played on the sound system, Faber indulged his love of Classical music. He got up and walked to the wall with the equipment. Christine's pure blue eyes followed him. He turned the music up and then turned to her.
"Melle. Daaé may I have this dance?" He extended his hand to her. Her beautiful features lit up as she fit her small hand in his large one.
"I'd be honored Monsieur." She now completely understood Cinderella and the slipper. Erik was a perfect fit. He led her to an open space not taken up by table and chairs and drew her close for the dance. There were no words to describe the feeling of their bodies together. I am in love and no one can blame me. Such is my story, such is my fate. She looked up at him, he looked down at her. The world stopped turning, her heart skipped a beat. He dipped his head to reach her lips in a motion that took a life time. His lips were so close to hers she could taste his body heat; just a breath separated them yes, Yes, YES! Christine's mind screamed.
I'm your private dancer; dancer for money; I'll do what you want me to do.
Meg's ring tone shattered the moment. Erik pulled back so fast he probably gave himself whiplash. Christine couldn't think of strong enough words.
I'm your private dancer; dancer for money…
"Answer your phone Christine." Erik said flatly releasing her. Christine threw open her phone with almost enough force to break it.
"Damn it Meg!" Christine barked. She was not happy and wasn't going to hesitate to show it.
"Whoa! Chris, what the hell? Your message was less than clear and I'm ignoring the shitty reception." Christine vented her frustration with exaggerated hand gestures and a posture tighter than a celebutant's pants.
"I'm on a date Meg, and it was just starting to get good." Her tone could slay thousands.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry Chris, it's just George and I were so worried, you wouldn't believe the hell that bitch was raising. Says you were abducted by an Angel of Music with a mask. The Phantom wears a mask… Oh MY GOD! Chris, are you with the Phantom?! Get away Chris, get away!" Meg was freaking out as only Meg could.
"I'm hanging up now and salvaging what's left of my night. Talk to you tomorrow." Christine slammed her phone shut, on her finger, it sort of ruined the mood but the little communication device got the message. She would kill the messenger. She turned back to Erik.
"Now where were we?" she ask trying to get the mood back.
"It's getting late, you need to sleep after the show. I'll take you home." He had completely shut off. His statement was as cold as the weather she felt frozen and helpless.
"Oh. Okay." Her voice was not her own. Erik took her long coat off the peg and helped her into it, except now the brush of his fingers sent chills straight to her tear ducts. For a time she HATED Meg. Erik signed the magically appearing bill and then led her back to her car with a firm hand was not happy silence. Sarah Brightman was singing Pie Jesu from Requiem. It seemed like a death. A time later he cleared his throat.
"Where exactly do you live Christine?" He asked. She'd gone from sad to pissed and was temped not to tell him. But fear of making it was made her comply.
"Inwood." She said in a damn frail voice.
Erik felt like… what was lower than scum? He had almost kissed her, almost lost control of the one thing he couldn't let get away from him. He was almost ruled by his heart and for a man like him that was not good. He had scars from the last time he'd done that. But oh, she seemed to have wanted it too. Don't even contemplate thinking about that! Okay that didn't make any sense but he didn't care. He had to get her and… every thing about her out of his car so he could get his head on straight. Inwood was sod far, a blessing and a curse.
The quite gave Christine time to brood and scheme. She wasn't going to leave so unsatisfied. She was going to close the evening on a good note for her.
"Where in Inwood?" he asked, they were close.
"212 Doughty Blvd." She told him. She had to prep herself. Kiss him and run like hell so you inner chicken doesn't have to see his reaction. Yep, sounds like a plan.
Her building wasn't bad looking, large windows and nice brick work. The bulb on the front door was bare and security was nil, but he had seen much worse. He stopped in front of her stoop. Christine turned to him. A new tone in her soprano.
"Thank you for everything, Erik, I had a wonderful time and don't deserve the half of it." Erik turned to her, the moon and low watt bulb reflecting off his mask renewing her chutzpah.
"You deserve all this and more." She licked her crimson lips and took a breath.
"Good night Erik." She whispered and leaned forward until her lips brushed his. He was stiff and cold and didn't react for the beat she held the kiss for. Embarrassed at her gross miss calculation she pulled away and fumbled for the door handle, trying not to cry.
"I'll flash you when I'm in. See you … uh… later." She wasn't quick enough and her voice cracked, but she didn't care, her heels were on the pavement and she was running.
"Christine." Erik called. Did she just kiss me? "Christine!" I blew it. She returned and he got out and leaned against the door. Christine looked up at him as if to say, 'Yes?' The tears were quickly drying. He caressed her cheek hesitantly until he saw her full lashes flutter over her gorgeous blue eyes, he made his move. She didn't react for a second and in that moment he thought he was crazy, and then she kissed him back and he didn't think at all. When they finally separated for air (after a long time, air support was a blessing) he rested his forehead against hers.
"You should get inside its freezing." He said not meaning a word.
"In a minute." And she kissed him again.
"Either get back in the car or come up here but doing it out on the street is positively indecent!" Meg yelled hanging out the open loft window.
"Not to mention illegal!" George added joining his girlfriend half out the window.
"But it's damn interesting." That was Meg. Christine kissed Erik again as she flipped off her flatmates.
"I'll see you" Kiss "Tuesday?" Kiss. There was no rehearsal Monday as a break after the first weekend of shows.
"Yes, Tuesday. Now go explain to your friends."
1 Unexpected song, ALW, Sarah Brightman