Chapter Ten

In the two weeks that passed since their talk in the library, Sarah made good on her word. Her sister, Genevieve, was enlisted and, being a hopeless romantic herself, played her part to a T. They came to the opera together twice and were sure to be seen at several dinner parties where they stirred up just enough gossip to get people talking about them. The social occasions were always carefully orchestrated by Sarah to include the managers of the opera one night, Anton Seidl, the conductor, another night, and Marie and Eugene on another. Rumors of the dashing and gallant masked patron came back to the cast and it was all many of the girls in the chorus could talk about.

"How terribly romantic," Leah sighed upon hearing the latest story.

"What's romantic?" Meg asked as she walked by after their most recent performance.

"The story of Mr. Leroux. I heard that the woman he's been seen with so frequently is Mrs. Brokaw's sister and that she's the one who introduced them. I think it's such an amazing love story! They say they've been seen everywhere together!"

Meg cleared her throat and shot Christine, who was standing right beside her, a look. "Well, you know how those society people are. Tomorrow she'll be seen with someone else."

"Even if she was, there'd be someone to take her place! They say the ladies positively swoon over him. I hope he comes to the final curtain party! Marie said just being near him is electric!" Monique butted in and gushed.

Christine did an about face and went off in another direction. It was easy enough to weed through the crowded backstage until she managed to slip back onstage and behind one of the large props. Most of the audience had cleared out; just a few stragglers were left. Mr. Crawford, the stage manager nodded to her that it was okay and she stepped back onstage to watch the last of the patrons leave. She scanned the boxes, hoping to see this masked man, but to no avail. It had been her habit to stay each night and be the last of the cast and crew to leave, hoping that, if it was, indeed, Erik who was creating the stir, he would come to her when she was alone. But he never did. As the doors got locked up and she truly became the last person in the auditorium, she felt her frustration begin to build. And with that frustration came doubt. It couldn't be him. He would have come to her by now! She knew it. She opened her heart and sang for the empty theater, hoping if he were here, he'd come to her now: but no. At the penultimate performance tomorrow night, the two understudies were allowed to perform one piece during the evening. She knew that, if it was Erik who was here, he'd be there. She would know one way or the other: and she felt both excitement and trepidation at the thought.

The next night, many of the trustees were back for the special show. They threw a small party at the end of the run of each opera for the cast and crew as a way of thanking them for their hard work. As the performance moved on towards the duet which would feature Christine and Maurice's understudy, Louis, she couldn't help but notice the butterflies building in her stomach. It wasn't the thought of singing in front of an enormous audience that made her feel that way; it was the thought that she would be singing for him. Every moment she was on stage before her duet, she spent the time scanning the front of the audience and the boxes to no avail. But the excitement she felt kept building moment by moment until, finally, she stepped on stage for her moment of fame in Marguerite and Faust's tragic duet.

She felt herself being drawn to one specific box and, since, the part of Faust was being sung as though she couldn't see him, she directed her voice and soul above her head to that box. Her eyes tried to penetrate its shadowy confines and, perhaps it was her imagination...or her heart…she thought she saw someone lean forward attentively and caught a flash of white, briefly: perhaps a mask?

As the duet finished, the audience, completely breaking with tradition, leapt to their feet in thunderous applause, halting the production for a good two minutes. She hardly noticed, instead looking desperately for her angel.

As the show ended and curtain calls began, Meg ran to Christine's side. "Oh, Christine! You were divine! Everyone was amazed!"

Christine smiled distractedly. "Thank you, Meg."

"What's wrong?" Meg grabbed her friend's hand.

"I think he's here. I feel...different tonight," Christine answered, eyes everywhere but on Meg. Before she could say more, their cue came up and they came back on stage for their bows.

After the final curtain call, the cast and crew hurried to get out of costumes and clean up in order to begin their celebration. As the audience cleared out, caterers appeared on stage, setting up a small bar and some finger food for the party. As members started appearing back on stage, some of the trustees began showing up as well, congratulating lead performers and directors on a run well done. Christine had been chatting with two of the patrons along with Marie when Meg came to stand nearby. She handed them both glasses of wine and remained by her friend's side, happy to hear the patrons praise both her and Marie's performances.

As the two patrons began talking to another member of the cast, Marie grabbed Christine's arm. "That's him! That's Mr. Leroux!"

Several things happened to Christine all at once. She felt Marie's hand on her arm, turning her in the direction in which she was pointing. She saw Meg's eyes go round as her hand shot to her mouth, and then she felt an explosion in her chest and stomach as her eyes landed on Erik's masked profile. She felt her heart race and she grew lightheaded. She wanted to run to him but before she could act on impulse, she watched as he turned and offered his arm to the beautiful woman next to him. The woman leaned in to speak to him and Christine saw something she had never seen before; Erik smiled.

Immediately, Christine's throat tightened and she felt sick in her stomach. Before she could speak...react...Marie grabbed her hand and pulled her with as she went to speak to them.

"No! I can't," she said, shaking her head and pulling her hand out of Marie's grasp.

"Suit yourself," Marie shrugged and continued to where Erik and Genevieve stood.

Christine watched as Erik took Marie's hand and kissed it, bowing slightly as they apparently exchanged pleasantries. She watched as yet again Erik smiled. And she watched still as she saw Marie motion to Christine. Almost as though in slow motion, she saw Erik follow Marie's gesture and his eyes locked with hers. She felt caught in that endless moment; everyone and everything else slipped away and it was just them. Christine's breath stopped and she felt heat building in her body. His stare burned into her and she felt pinned, unable to move.

It was he who broke the eye contact as he turned to Marie, shaking his head. Then, without looking at Christine again, he turned calmly and walked away, the woman still on his arm.

Once released from his gaze, Christine began breathing again as an invisible hand seemed to squeeze her throat. She tried to swallow around the enormous lump but it refused to lessen. She was vaguely aware of Meg taking her hand, but still she couldn't take her eyes off of Erik as, with his back to her, he continued speaking with others. She watched as the woman laughed at something he said and leaned in to place a light kiss on his unmasked cheek.

"Christine?" Meg asked for the third time.

Coming out of her fog, she looked at Meg. "I….He…." She couldn't make her vocal chords work around the lump. She tried once more, "She…." Shaking her head, she felt tears start at the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, Christine!" Meg said quietly. "You must be so hurt!" She retrieved a small handkerchief and gave it to her friend.

Christine nodded but still couldn't speak. Hurt? She was destroyed. She felt sick to her stomach as she watched the couple. He never looked back: never came near to her. And when she saw him lean close to the woman and place a kiss to her brow, something snapped in her and she spun on her heel and ran off the stage, through the cast and crew, and outside into the humid July night.

"Christine! Wait!" Meg called, running after her.

She stopped and collapsed on a bench. Meg came to sit next to her, unsure of what to say. Before she could gather her thoughts, a few of the other patrons came out so the men could have a cigar. They nodded to Christine, mentioning their appreciation for her performance. Their wives smiled and then sat down on a bench a few feet away.

"Did you see them, though?" The one woman asked the other.

"My dear, I would have to be blind not to! And not only tonight: at two other dinners Sarah hosted this week! They must be falling in love!"

"It's all so romantic, isn't it? I mean, he's brilliant and talented and she's beautiful and so lonely after her husband passed so suddenly. I mean, it's a shame he has to wear that mask, but honestly? I think it makes him dashing!"

"It's even more romantic than that!" The second woman insisted. "Have you heard why he left Paris?"

"No, why?"

"They say he was madly in love with a woman who wanted nothing to do with him because of his disfigurement. Can you believe it?"

"What? Well, you know those French women. Shallow to the core," the first woman passed judgment.

"True," the second agreed. "Well, I'm certainly glad for him that he's come to America. Here in New York, he can have his pick of society's elite, eligible women. To Hell with Paris and its ungrateful women!"

The two laughed and, at that, Christine jumped up as if stung by a bee. She ran then, crying, as fast as she could in order to get as far away as she could from the women, the party: everything.

Erik had been struggling to hold himself together. He knew she would be at the party and he knew they would see each other, but he hadn't been prepared for the intense emotional connection that had occurred and the equally intense physical reaction he'd had. He felt they had stared into each other's eyes for hours yet he knew it had only been a few moments. Telling Marie calmly and cooly it wasn't necessary to meet her understudy in person had been the most difficult thing he'd had to do since arriving in New York. While he had kept Genevieve on his arm, it had really been her keeping him standing. He owed her a great deal. She had positioned herself so that she could tell him what she was seeing on Christine's face as he kept himself turned away from her.

"You have certainly made an impact on her," Genevieve remarked quietly, smiling as though they were talking about anything else. "She is still standing in the same spot and her eyes are glued to us. Her little blonde friend is trying to talk to her, but I don't think she's hearing a word."

Erik nodded, not sure if he could trust his voice.

"Lean in towards me a bit," Genevieve commanded and he complied. She reached up and put a small, chaste kiss on his bare cheek. His eyes widened in surprise and he felt momentarily taken aback. No one had ever done that and he was still incredibly unused to any true human contact such as that.

"I hope you don't mind, Erik," Genevieve apologized. "But I promise you that struck home. She's just turned a brilliant shade of red."

"It's alright. I'm simply not used to anyone wishing to be affectionate with me, even in acting," Erik replied.

Genevieve placed her hand on his arm. "Oh, Erik. I am truly sorry for what you have suffered. I promise you that we'll win her. I swear it!"

Erik gave her a smile, small but genuine. "I appreciate everything you and your sister have been doing. Truly. I defer to you both in this."

Genevieve smiled. "Good. Then lean over and kiss me on my forehead. It will add a bit more fuel to the fire and give you a little practice at human contact."

Erik raised an eyebrow at that. "I can barely kiss a woman's hand!"

"I know. That's precisely why I'm telling you to do this now," she insisted, smiling more broadly.

Erik shook his head and awkwardly obliged, feeling supremely self-conscious.

"Well! That was definitely the icing on the cake, so to speak," Genevieve remarked. "She just bolted for the door with her friend following close behind."

He turned to see her fleeing form and felt his heart break a little. Had he caused that? "I should go to her."

Genevieve stayed him. "Follow her to make sure she's safe, but, Erik….don't let her know you're there! She must stew a little while longer: feel the pain so she knows her heart once and for all." She saw the reluctance in his eyes and she took and squeezed his hands. "Trust me."

He took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. "You're right. I won't reveal myself to her."

Genevieve smiled and bade him go, wishing not for the first time, that he felt for her even a fraction of the way he felt for Christine. Sighing, she finished her glass of wine and picked up another."

In Paris he had always possessed an innate ability to know where Christine was at all times. He didn't understand it except to believe it had been a sign she was meant to be his. He followed that extra sense now and discovered Christine on a bench with Meg. He arrived in time to see her jump up and run away and, staying in the shadows, found her in a small courtyard adjacent to the opera house. It was a quiet little garden with a small fountain in it, lit softly by a gas lamp. She was alone and holding her arms about herself tightly. He saw her small frame trembling violently and heard sobs escaping her as tears ran down her cheeks.

His heart constricted again as he was reminded of the young girl who he first heard crying in solitude at the Paris Opera House. He couldn't remain true to his promise to Genevieve. He had to go to her! He took a step towards the edge where light met shadow and then stopped as he heard her begin to speak.

"What have I done? What have I become? Oh, Father! You would be so ashamed of me if you were still here. I ran away from Erik and then I ran away from Raoul. What kind of horrible person breaks so many hearts?" Christine said aloud, talking to her father like she used to do. She walked a few steps closer to the fountain, looking at the play of water from level to level.

"I deserve this. It's about time Fate caught up with me. It's only right that I should feel the way I made him feel. I hardly spared a thought for how he must have felt when I so shallowly rejected him. Now he wants nothing to do with me. What did I expect: for him to welcome me with open arms?" Here, she laughed humorlessly.

"I'm an idiot! The women were right; I'm a shallow, callous, idiot! How do I have the nerve to feel like a jilted lover when I rejected him first? I know now how I feel; why did I think I could be the only one to feel this way about him? Why did I think I was the only one he could love?"

Erik was frozen where he stood in the shadows. She was saying things he had only ever dreamed she would say and yet he felt as though he couldn't trust his own ears. Sarah and Genevieve had been right. All Christine seemed to have needed was a jealous push and she was seeing things differently.

"I should have trusted my heart. Father, you told me the heart always understands things the head can't. You warned me not to listen to my head in matters of love. I didn't take your advice. I didn't recognize true love. It isn't always beautiful: at least not at the start. Now that I understand, it's too late." Here, Christine dissolved into tears again.

Erik took one step closer and saw Meg coming into the courtyard. He stayed to the shadows as she went to comfort her friend.

"Christine! I've been so worried! Are you alright?"

She shook her head. "No, Meg. I'm not."

Meg looked crestfallen. "Don't give up. That woman can't mean much to him. He's hardly been here long enough to be serious about anyone. Besides, the way you two stared at each other tonight? It gave me gooseflesh! It was like your souls were connected!"

"I didn't understand what I was feeling. I never realized what those reactions were. I regret my naivety so much, Meg! If I could only get one more chance," Christine trailed off, shivering.

"Let's go home, Christine. It's late and you'll feel better with a cup of tea. Things will look better in the morning," Meg urged, guiding her friend towards the street.

He was a dark shadow trailing them to their flat in order to make sure they arrived safely. Instead of going home once they were safely inside, Erik sat and watched the window of the room where he knew they slept. He spent roughly an hour thinking over everything he had overheard until he saw a dim light appear in the window and then shortly disappear again. It was a silly intimacy he allowed himself: thinking of how she looked while asleep. He had not entertained the hope of one day being able to share that intimacy with her in a long time. Tonight, he allowed hope to blossom.