Well, Rosalie's coming for dinner, and the Phantom's cupboard is bare! He hasn't been to the market in over 100 years! (Men!) He's got a little work to do while Rose is at work. Special thanks to the brilliant FantomPhan33 for sparking the idea of Erik's shopping trip!
10. The Unexpected Song
Erik hummed to himself, waiting for Rosalie's arrival. The day stretched on before him, and yet he found he could hardly contain himself until her return. It was not natural for him to seek out another person's company. Since childhood, Erik had spent most of his time alone-with only the occasional pet as a companion. He remembered his beloved Sasha, the dog who would lick the tears from his cheek after his mother would scold him or beat him for daring to show his face. She lost her life because others wanted to show him cruelty. And then there was Ayesha, the Siamese stray who kept him company in his last mortal days. He hoped Nadir had taken her in after the mob had destroyed him. He hated to think of what might have happened to a poor cat on the streets of Paris. That was one of the reasons Erik had taken her in to begin with. She had been unwanted-like him.
But Rosalie was different. She sought him out, had already returned to see him once, and had promised to return again. Miraculously, he had found himself comfortable enough to share with her the details of his life that she had not known from the book. (Which had been all too intimately true, thank you, Nadir!) He had willingly shown her his face, having believed it better for her to see it now, rather than to build up some idealistic notions in both of them that would one day have to be shattered. But she had not jeered at him, or run from the room. She had kissed him.
"She called me beautiful," he whispered to himself in remembrance, as he touched the spot on his own misshapen mouth where her lips had brushed his.
She was a miracle. A healing salve sent from Heaven.
But when she returned, she would be hungry. Erik had to find a way to offer her something to eat. Food did not really matter to him. He had gone for so long without taking any sustenance into his body. After all, it wasn't as if he was going to be afforded the luxury of starving to death. But sharing a meal with Rosalie would be about more than nurturing his body. And in truth, since she had agreed to return that evening, he had, for the first time in a century, been feeling faint pangs of hunger.
Erik ascended the Box 5 staircase, since his boat was still in a state of disrepair. When he entered the box, he fluidly glided to the opposite wall, where there just happened to be a second switch. He smiled to himself guessing Rosalie had not yet found this one. He pressed it, and the wall gave way to another secret passage-this time a tunnel which would take him around the main floors of the opera house. He was certain he could find something for Rosalie to eat in the opera kitchens. After all, his salary had not been paid in over a century. He could not exactly be expected to buy his own meals. He chuckled to himself at that thought. Perhaps he should make another visit to his manager's office to see if he could catch a glimpse of the fool who was employing a star quality soprano as an office girl, in an opera house which only seemed to produce ballets. He shook his head a moment, trying to wrap his mind around that dizzying summation of his Opera House's fate, before turning to the right for his little side excursion.
A man with dark curly hair and a swarthy complexion was sitting at the desk in the manager's office, looking over papers and jotting something down on a yellow note pad. His face seemed to have a kind appearance, not arrogant like the last pair of managers he had known. There was a thoughtful expression on his face, and Erik could not help but notice that he looked vaguely familiar. There was something about him that Erik could not immediately place. He watched the manager a moment longer before continuing on toward his destination.
The kitchen was fairly empty, Erik observed from his space behind the wall, except for a couple of attendants who seemed to be prepping for the lunch rush. Unfortunately, they stood between him and his goal. Erik remembered how he used to spook the cooks into leaving their posts, as he searched around with his long fingers for the thin spot on the wall. Ahhh, there it was, he smiled, locating the threadbare section he had been looking for. He could hardly believe his luck that the cookware was still hung in the same configuration as of old. Erik strategically tapped the wall, gently at first, but then with increasing vigor. It took only a moment before the two kitchen ladies noticed that the pots and pans were dancing. The resulting sound began as a quiet rumble but quickly grew into a grand crescendo until saucepans and skillets began to tumble, one by one from their hooks. The lunch ladies swore that as they fled the kitchen, they could hear a building laughter rise above the cacophony, as if it were coming from the very walls.
Once he had dispatched the kitchen help, Erik knew he had to be quick. He dashed to the cold storage in search of meats and cheeses. In the pantry he found some potatoes, seasonings, and various other food items which were completely unfamiliar to him. He made a mental note to ask Rosalie what on earth Ramen noodles were, or SPAM. Armed with the supplies he needed, he made a quick escape, certain that the kitchen staff would quickly be back to assess the women's claims.
Back in his lair, preparing the meal, he began to feel a bit nervous. Rosalie had looked upon his face and never flinched, but that did not mean she would find it appetizing to eat with him. Was this a bad idea? Perhaps he should just not eat? He could always attempt to dine with her, he thought. If the grotesque sight of his face trying to digest a meal was offensive to her in any way, he could always replace his mask.
Eventually, Erik heard her soft footfalls echo on the stone steps by the lake. He rose to greet her. "Good evening, Rosalie," he said gently, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. He adored the little tint of pink that rushed to her cheeks when he smiled at her. He could make her blush! Exhilarating!
Rosalie looked at him, a little flustered. He was so suave and charming. His eyes were shining so brightly as he gazed at her, she suddenly felt like a fool, not really knowing what to say, until she smelled a delicious aroma coming from the direction of his small table. "Erik, you cooked?" she asked him in surprise.
Erik raised an eyebrow at her question. "Rosalie, I invited you to dinner, did I not? I have always had to care for myself. Is it so hard to imagine that culinary skills would be among my repertoire?"
"No," Rosalie quickly responded. "But I cannot imagine you wandering around a grocery store in the middle of the day."
Erik repressed a chuckle, "Well, you are right, Belle Rose, that I did not exactly do my shopping at the market."
Rosalie opened her mouth to seek clarification on where exactly he had done his shopping, but then she looked closely at Erik, her eyes narrowing. She had heard talk earlier about a commotion in the kitchens-something about the cookware coming alive and ridiculing the food prep ladies before jumping off the walls of their own volition. Frankly, Rosalie had thought the two older women were showing signs of early dementia, but now she was beginning to wonder. . .. Realizing she did not want to know, she quickly shut her mouth, closed her eyes and shook her head, instead asking Erik, "Shall we eat? Your dinner smells too good to waste."
Erik looked at her then, a little nervously, "Rosalie, I've been thinking, and if it is unappealing to you to dine with me, I can always eat later, alone in my room. It would be no hardship. It is how I have eaten my entire life."
Rosalie looked confused. "Why wouldn't I want to eat with you? After you've gone through all this trouble to prepare a meal?"
"My face." he said, regretfully. "I would have to remove my mask." When Rosalie began to interrupt, he raised a hand to indicate he wanted her to hear him out, "I know you have already seen my face, but eating while I am unmasked is quite the different story, and I would not want to force that experience upon you. So really. . ."
Rosalie placed a finger on his lips to stop his rambling. She looked him directly in his eyes and said, "Well then, Erik, allow me." In a very determined manner, her eyes never faltering from his, she reached up and removed the mask. A simple gesture, which held a world of meaning to him. "Now," she said again with a smile, "Let's eat."
Erik sighed heavily, and shook his head in wonder, a little shaken by her gesture. The last woman to have unmasked him had been Christine. He remembered well the look of abject horror on her face, and how she had scrambled from him, begging him to stay away. How was it that Rosalie could unmask him now, and ask of him nothing more than to dine with her in his parlor? "You are a miracle, Rosalie." he said to her with great respect and admiration.
"No, Erik," she responded, her eyes wide with humor, "I'm just hungry."
They both chuckled, as they walked to the table that Erik had set for two with fine china and crystal goblets. A bottle of wine sat chilling in an ice bucket. In the center of the table was a single white rose, tied with a black ribbon. After making a great show of pulling out Rosalie's chair, he reached for the rose and handed it to her. "A flower for you, Belle Rose."
Rosalie accepted it with a smile. "Erik," she asked, her voice full of wonder. "Where did you find this?"
"There are still a few bushes in the gardens that could spare a bloom or two. I took the liberty of cutting the best one for you." He paused, suddenly shy, before saying, "It still pales in comparison to your beauty."
Rosalie gazed back at him, her heart beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it, but she found that he could not meet her gaze. Was there a flush in his cheek? "Thank you, Erik," she whispered, sure that her heart was about to burst.
"You are welcome." he said, breathily, still looking down. Erik remained quiet a moment longer before lifting the lid from the dish before her. "Your dinner, My Lady."
Rosalie looked with surprise at the plate before her. Steak au Poivre, cooked to perfection, matched with herb roasted red potatoes and sauteed asparagus. "Oh my, Erik," Rosalie commented. "How elegant!
"All for you, Belle Rose," he said, this time with a sense of pride, as he took his seat across from her.
They ate quietly for a few moments, savoring the feast before them, until Erik broke the comfortable silence with a question that had lingered in his mind all day. "So tell me more, Rosalie, about this Phantom musical you said they were producing upstairs." He was intrigued that such a thing should exist. Why on earth would anyone want to sing about a masked madman living beneath an opera house?
"Well, like I told you earlier," she began, excitedly, since the musical was her absolute favorite thing in the world to talk about. "It tells your story in song. The music in it is absolutely gorgeous-some of my all time favorite to sing. It just stirs something inside me when I hear it. In fact," she said, reaching into her pocket, "I can play some of it for you." She showed him her iPhone.
Erik looked at her phone with interest. "That . . . thing plays music?" He pointed out toward it, asking, "There are no keys, no strings. . ."
Rosalie laughed. "There's a lot you still have to learn about the twenty first century, Erik. Technological advances have skyrocketed since your day." She placed the phone in the center of the table and cued up the soundtrack. "All you have to do with this is tap the play button."
Erik listened to the story about the chandelier, and had to admit, he was stirred by the powerful organ music played in the overture. He cringed when he heard the character of Carlotta sing-although the soprano on the recording was a breath of fresh air compared to the real diva. His throat ran dry when he heard the name Christine Da'ae. Oh God, was this really such a good idea? At that exact moment, he felt Rosalie's hand reach out and squeeze his, and he felt his pulse calm. When he heard the coloratura begin to sing "Think of Me," he glanced at Rosalie and smiled, recognizing it as the song she had sung the other day on the stage.
"You sang that far more beautifully," he told her. She just rolled her eyes, blushing.
Erik went back to listening to the music with intensity. When he heard the opening strains of Angel of Music, he suddenly stood, almost toppling his carefully set table, staring with shock at her little phone.
"Erik, what is it?" Rosalie asked, concerned, "What's wrong?"
"That music. It is my own," he declared, still staring at the phone in confusion.
"What do you mean, it's your own?"
"I wrote it, Rosalie." He met her eyes. "That melody is mine. And the words too."
"Are you serious?" Rosalie asked in excitement. "You really did write those songs?"
"This one, yes. Listen, " Rosalie paused her phone as Erik raced over to the piano. He began to play the theme from Angel of Music flawlessly, humming the vocal line as he went. He was definitely a master of the song. "May I hear more, Rosalie?" Erik asked, and Rosalie walked over to him, turning her phone on again. Erik listened in awe, as more and more of his melodies burst forth from Rosalie's strange little device. He was hearing someone else play his music for the first time since that fateful night so many years ago. It was quite a thing, having his music on display like this-an experience he never thought he'd know-an experience he'd never sought, except for when he'd wanted Christine to sing the role of Aminta. And now-Rosalie had said this musical had been running for 30 years? His music had been known for that long? He wasn't quite sure what he thought of that.
"How can this be, Erik?" Rosalie asked him. "This musical was supposedly written in the 1980s."
"I have no idea. I never shared my music. All my scores were hidden away down here. When the mobs came, some were scattered about but I. . ." Realization dawned on Erik suddenly. "Nadir!" he fumed, banging his hand against the piano keys as her iPhone continued to play. "Nadir must have stolen some of my compositions. I am certain of it. Oh, that wicked Persian!"
Rosalie stifled a laugh, with her hand, because she could not help but think Erik was adorable when angry. To him she said, "Well, I for one, am glad your work was found-even if it was stolen. I fell in love with this music time and again while I was growing up. It always seemed to speak directly to my soul. All these years, I never knew it really was you I was falling in love with." As the words left her lips, she was horrified to realize she'd said them out loud.
Erik's heart absolutely stopped at Rosalie's words. Had he heard her correctly? Had she meant it the way it sounded? "I mean," he heard her say "Your music. I was falling in love with your music."
"Of course." Erik said, quickly, giving her the escape she needed.
"I'm. . .gonna. . .go clear the table." Rosalie said, rushing to the table, needing a moment away to compose herself.
Erik felt his heart swell with song as he watched her go.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Rosalie scrubbed the dinner dishes. Then she scrubbed them again. She could not believe the words that had stumbled out of her mouth. She was so mortified! She had only just met Erik. How could she be spouting off about falling in love with him? This was so unlike her. She'd always been so careful in relationships to never move too fast. Her string of frustrated ex-boyfriends was testament to that.
She stopped scrubbing for a moment and leaned against the sink. In truth she felt powerless to resist Erik. Something about his music-something about his eyes. They reached in and touched her very soul. She was grateful that he had not pushed her for anything more than what she willingly gave, because she honestly did not think she would have the strength to tell him no.
Rosalie heard the piano begin to play as she was drying off the dishes with a little kitchen towel she had found. The melody was so sweet and so tender, that despite her embarrassing slip from before, Rosalie could not keep the smile off her face. She truly could not help but fall in love with Erik's music.
She emerged from the small kitchen and saw Erik seated at the black piano next to his mighty organ. She noticed that there were sheets of handwritten notes on the music rack. More blank sheets and a few pencils lay next to him on the piano bench. "You've been writing?" she asked excitedly.
Erik's grin seemed to turn sheepish. "I have. After dinner, I found my heart was filled with song. When you so graciously offered to clean up, I decided to spend a little while with my music."
Rosalie found herself smiling again. She loved the way Erik spoke of music as if it was his dear friend. "That's wonderful." She walked over to the piano and snuck a quick glance at the sheets lying there. "It sounded lovely from the kitchen. Does it have any words?"
"It . . .does." Erik responded, again looking a little sheepish.
"Well, can I hear them? I would love to hear you sing."
Erik hesitated momentarily, before nodding slowly. "You were the inspiration," he revealed softly.
Rosalie looked at him with soft eyes as he began to play. Erik's words thrilled her. To be the inspiration for such beauty was beyond anything she had ever dreamed. After a few sweet measures, Erik began to sing.
I have never felt like this
For once I'm lost for words
Your smile has really thrown me
This is not like me at all
I never thought I'd know
The kind of love you've shown me
Now, no matter where I am
No matter what I do
I see your face appearing
Like an unexpected song
An unexpected song
That only we are hearing
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 me
Now, no matter where I am
No matter what I do
I see your face appearing
Like an unexpected song
An unexpected song
That only we are hearing
The significance to the words he was singing was not lost on her. This whole situation between them was completely unexpected, and it made absolutely no sense. She barely knew him, and yet it felt like she'd known him her whole life. She felt herself running full steam ahead into a relationship with a one hundred and fifty plus year old legendary villain. But now, none of it seemed to matter. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was the song he was singing, and the feelings she was beginning to have for its composer. She didn't care any longer that none of this was making sense. She had spent her whole life making sense, doing the "right thing," and where had it gotten her? Alone.
Erik belted out the key change with as much fervor as he possessed before ending on a final sweet high pianissimo.
Like an unexpected song
An unexpected song
That only we are hearing.
He looked at her when the ending piano flourish was complete. Cheeks flushed and eyes dreamy from his song, she was perfect. Without a thought, he rose from the piano bench, reaching out for her chin and pulling her face toward his. He leaned forward and joined his lips to hers in a kiss that was gentle, yet full of promise. . .full of hope. He truly could not contain the joy in his heart when her lips kissed him back.
They lingered in their kiss a moment longer, relishing the sweetness within each other's embrace. It barely even occurred to Erik how monumental this moment was. He hadn't hesitated or over analyzed a thing before reaching for Rosalie. It just felt so natural to touch her-even to kiss her. When finally they parted it was with joy on their faces, and hope in their eyes. They stood there a moment, their foreheads touching, Erik bestowing a final, quick graze of his mouth to her perfect lips. He had never felt this kind of elation.
He recalled that Rosalie had spoken about falling in love. He had been in love before. He had loved Christine with every ounce of his being-but with that love, there had always been uncertainty, desperate longing, torturous pain. With Rosalie it was just the opposite. He felt comfortable in his own skin, where Christine made him feel inferior. With Rosalie, he could smile, where Christine had only brought him tears. With Christine, there had been a violent yearning, with Rosalie there was only excitement for what may come. He knew it was too soon to talk of love. He had only just met her. But he could not deny that there was a connection between them. Her voice had literally brought him back to life after a century of latency. She had heard his story, and reacted with acceptance, not judgement. Most of all she had looked upon his unmasked face and she did not run. No, instead she had kissed him, and tonight she had allowed him to kiss her. Whatever the feelings that were there between them, they filled him with the invigorating certainty that he still had a heart, because with Rosalie he could most assuredly feel it beating.
Awww. Their first date! And I think it went swimmingly well.
SO, what did you think of the Phantom's little adventure in the kitchens?
Of Rosalie unmasking him before dinner?
Of Erik's Rose for her?
Of his reaction to her iPod?
Of the revelation that Erik wrote much of the music in the musical?
Of Rose's little slip?
Of the song Erik wrote for her? (By the way, Unexpected Song is actually a song by Andrew Lloyd Webber. I have a recording of Michael Crawford singing it, and it is just sooooo sweet and tender, I had to use it for Erik and Rose.)
Basically, what did you think? LOL. Please review and let me know!