A/N—Ooooh. That last chapter seems to have been a surprise. I did warn you that this would have some different elements in it! Same cast, slightly different roles…but the same plot points. :D I'm so glad you're giving it a chance! Trust me. Hang in there. All Will Be Revealed in due time, as Christine finds it out.
Hugs as always to those awesome people who review. Y'all make my day and encourage me to post the next chapters.


The Measure of a Man

Chapter 11 Shopping and a Road Trip

2016. 2017

The summer term ended with the usual flurry of examinations and final papers, and the compacted feeling of stress, no sleep, and poor food choices.

The campus itself seemed to empty almost immediately as students went home for the interim break. Christine spent a day sleeping and lying in the sun poolside, enjoying the peace and reflecting that the sense of freedom of the end of a school year was something you never really stopped enjoying.

Raoul had planned a flight back home the Tuesday after finals, giving them only the weekend together before he had to depart.

"I don't know, Chris. I think you ought to sell." He cut a piece of ribeye and speared a mushroom before taking a bite. "Seems to me you've got an interested buyer who'll meet your asking price, and it's not like it was your childhood home or anything, right?" He looked quizzically over the table at her.

They'd ended up meeting at Mantovani's Steakhouse, back in the city, where Raoul had looked askance at the tiny filet she'd ordered. Christine had not been there before; it was downtown in the area of steel and glass high-rise professional buildings and government offices. She'd been slightly disappointed that Meg hadn't been able to join them. "Rehearsals, you know," her friend had apologized, rolling her hazel eyes.

It had been a long day. She'd started out early that morning, driving up to the capital city and meeting with the family lawyer, renewing the Jeffries' lease and another year on the storage locker that held her parents' belongings. Her parents had loved the frontier roots and Victorian buildings of the historic town they'd chosen for retirement and never really had to chance to explore.

Three and a half hours of driving later had put Christine at Meg's apartment, dropping bags in the small spare room her friend kept for visitors. They'd had a couple hours to talk and make plans before the willowy dancer had departed for afternoon rehearsals and Christine to meet Raoul.

She cut a bite, dragging it slowly through the sauce. "No, it wasn't my childhood home. Mom and Dad sold it about three or four years back, downsizing, you know. But it's like my last link with them, like I'll really truly be an orphan when it's gone."

He frowned. "I know you don't need the money, but it's so far away, and it's just one more thing on your list."

"It really doesn't take any of my time, you know, Raoul. The lawyer takes care of all the paperwork and that company does any needed maintenance."

"Then why mess with it?" he said practically. "Sell it, go through that storage locker, and be," he caught himself. He'd almost said be done with it. He changed thoughts. "Be able to move on a bit. It can't be healthy for you to always have to drive up there and take care of your parents' things."

She changed the subject. "Speaking of, when do you fly out?"

He grimaced. "8:00. Hence the steak. Got to fortify myself before returning to the bosom of the family."

"Will it really be that bad?" she asked sympathetically.

Raoul turned the plate and savaged his baked potato. "Well, it won't be fun."


Meg had the next day off and soon made good on her threat to take Christine shopping. She zipped the little Fiat into a parking place, shut off the engine, and turned to grin at Christine. "Are you ready, girlfriend? Because we have some serious shopping to do."

Rothschild's was a small specialty store, all French blue and mahogany, cream and gold, deep carpets and subtly scented air. Christine felt very much out of her depth, but Meg sailed in, head high, and swooped toward the service desk.

"Meghan Giry…Charlotte should be waiting for me," she said smoothly, tapping pale lacquered fingernails on the counter. A minute later a slim woman with an engaging smile and sleek dark chignon approached.

"Ms. Giry." She nodded a greeting. "How may I help you today?" she murmured, and Meg gestured toward Christine.

"My friend is in need of an evening gown. Blue, we think. For a formal dinner and concert."

The slim woman swept Christine up and down with her dark eyes and nodded. "Yes, definitely blue. Follow me, please."

"Who on Earth is she?" Christine whispered frantically to Meg as they walked.

"Charlotte Reaves. My personal shopper. She is the best, let me assure you."

"You have a personal shopper?" Christine hissed, and Meg laughed.

"But of course. She knows everything…I can trust her to pick up what I need."

Christine rolled her eyes. "I keep forgetting you have money."

"Not just money, dear; oil money, even better."

Christine smothered a laugh. Meg's great-grandfather had been a French immigrant whose son became a Western oil baron, a land investor, and cattle king. He'd even briefly owned a railroad, seemingly possessed of a genius for knowing in what to invest and when to sell. His daughter Adele was heavily involved in theater, and Meg, the only granddaughter, had been free to pursue her own career as a dancer. Meg had inherited the hard business sense of the family, and very few knew her secret.

After ascertaining Christine's size and preferences, Charlotte Reaves brought out a series of stunning evening dresses. Meg made her try them all on, but only one had caught Christine's heart. Flowing and floor-length, with a fitted ruched bodice with asymmetrical sequined appliqués and mesh from the décolletage to cap sleeves, the gown was a dark smoky blue that made her skin look creamy and eyes darker. Christine spun around in it, eyes shining, and Charlotte Reaves nodded approvingly.

"That one, yes. Because you feel beautiful in it, don't you?" she smiled.

"Yes." Christine ducked her head bashfully. "What about shoes?"

"Gold lamé," said Meg wickedly from the chair where she'd been watching.

"God no," Christine burst out, and Meg grinned. "Black, please," she said firmly.

Charlotte Reaves tilted her head, thinking, and returned a few minutes later with a dark blue velvet/taffeta wrap, a tiny clutch purse of black velvet and gold filigree, and several possible pairs of shoes.

Two hours later, Christine and Meg emerged. Meg had acquired a raspberry colored dress, a confection of frothy ruffles that should not have worked for her but somehow did, and showed off her impossibly long legs. Christine had added a pair of tan linen trousers and an ivory blouse, and a black severely tailored cocktail dress. Both young women had splurged on indulgent silky undergarments and felt like princesses.

Stowing their boxes in the back of the tiny Fiat, the two returned to Meg's ivy-covered red brick building and climbed the steps up to the private balcony. "How do you keep this so neat?" Christine wondered aloud, looking around the ultra-modern, glossy apartment, and Meg laughed.

"I'm never home, you know that. Now, what about dinner?"

Christine made a face. "I'll bet you have nothing in that refrigerator besides olives and white wine."

"Wrong again, dear, I believe there is also a can of iced coffee in there." She picked up a tablet from the countertop and rubbed her thumbs over it, nails clicking. "How about we get delivery?"

An hour later, they were both slumped down on the suede sofa in comfy sweat pants and t-shirts, watching an old Cary Grant movie, just like old times.


A black and silver Mercedes Benz E300 sat waiting in the driveway. Christine pulled up next to it and parked, just as the garage door began to rise. Erik gestured toward her and she rolled down the window. "If you'd like, you're welcome to put your car in my garage for the weekend."

"Thanks!" she called back, and pulled into the spot as he moved away. He triggered the trunk latch with a remote as she hopped out, opening the Honda's back hatch.

"Just one suitcase?" he said approvingly, and she nodded. "And the dress bag. I didn't dare fold that dress into the suitcase. Not after what I paid for it." She grinned.

He looked pained. "I did not intend for you to undergo any expense for this trip, Ms Daae."

She tucked the case and dress bag inside the trunk carefully, and turned to him. "Now stop that. I don't mind at all, and there was no way I was going to let you buy me a dress on top of everything else you're doing. It's fine, don't worry about it. I can well afford a dress."

"If you say so." He closed the lid smoothly and looked down at her. "Do you need to go inside for anything before we depart? I must set the house alarm."

"I'm good." Christine tucked her purse under the driver's seat and busied herself adjusting it. Mercy, the man had long legs. And what a terrifying car. Please, God, don't let me scratch it. She had just buckled in when he opened the door and settled into the seat beside her, tossing the cane contemptuously into the back. He placed two water bottles in the console and pushed a black leather satchel under his own seat.

"Ready, Ms Daae?"

She smiled at him. "Please, if we're going to be in a car together for the next twelve hours, you're going to have to call me Christine."

"Christine." He nodded. "Then you must call me Erik."

"Pleased to meet you, Erik," she laughed. "Let's get this road trip going. I assume you'll be DJ. I like just about everything, so whatever you want to listen to is fine with me." She pressed the ignition button and Erik selected a classical station from the satellite radio, adjusting the volume low enough for pleasant conversation.

Erik proved to be a good travel companion, keeping an eye on the route via his phone's GPS. The route along Highway 191 was beautiful, all mountains and winding roads. He was pleasantly surprised to find that she was able to go for long periods of time in comfortable silence, not feeling the need to insert needless chatter as the miles passed. One or the other would point out wildlife or some distant object on the horizon, and he would note her fingers waving along with the music occasionally as they drove.

They took the route through Yellowstone National Park, discussing the consequences of a supervolcanic eruption and pausing for bison. "I'd love to come back here again," Christine mused. "I haven't been since my parents brought me and Meg—my best friend—down here when we were teenagers."

They stopped in Teton Village for a brief break. Christine had been watching Erik lean over and rub his knee, and wondered if the leg was getting stiff and painful from being in the same position for so long. She drove out along the lake drive and found a semi-vacant parking area and stopped. Gratefully, Erik walked around the car several times, stretching and flexing his bad leg. She'd chosen a spot with no one around, and he was touched at her concern.

They'd passed through Jackson Hole when she glanced over at him. Erik had propped one elbow up on the car door and was leaning on his chin, long fingers aligned next to the stark white mask.

"So, if I can ask, what did you do to your leg, Erik?"

He sighed and turned away from the mountain view. "Some years ago I was in a rather bad accident. That's where"—he gestured vaguely at his face—"this happened as well. Among other things, my leg was crushed…the doctors put it back together with plates and screws. It took forever to heal. For a while I didn't think I'd ever walk again, but it got better eventually. Then—do you remember that last snowstorm we had last spring? The one with all the ice?" She nodded, and he continued. "I'd been up to the university to see a colleague and slipped, going out the door. Caught my foot on something and twisted going down. Spiral fractured the tibia, cracked the patella, tore my ACL wrenched the metal about in the femur, and a couple other things. God, what a mess. More surgery, then a cast, then therapy all over again." He shook his head, his mouth in a thin bitter line. "It aches like the very devil with every weather change. I suppose I should move to Sedona or something, but this is home."

"Lord. I'm so sorry," she said with genuine sympathy. "Have you any idea when you'll be allowed to drive?"

"Ready to be away from me so soon?" he asked, but there was an edge to the bantering tone.

"No, of course not," she said, glancing at him. "It's just that it must be so frustrating for you."

"In a word, yes." He was drumming fingers along the edge of the window, and turned back to the view. He sighed. "I really don't know. It should be soon; obviously I was able to back the car out of the garage without injuring myself, but the doctor doesn't want me twisting it at all. I have an appointment right after we get back. Hopefully he'll clear me then."

"And then you won't need me any more," Christine said, and was surprised at the sudden twinge of hurt.

His dark eyes flickered toward her. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

After lunch in Rock Springs, they decided to just press on into Boulder. "Let me know if your leg gets to hurting," she'd ordered and he'd given her an irritated look. She decided not to press the issue; if he wanted to stiffen up and ache it was, after all, his business.

They pulled into the long curved driveway of the hotel as dusk was falling. A valet hurried toward them and Christine stepped out, arching her back and lifting her hands overhead in a ballet stretch. Erik walked around to the rear of the car, removing suitcases and a hat, which he pulled low over the masked side of his face. He slung her dress bag over his shoulder, ignoring her protests, and they headed up the walkway and into the main lobby.

"Wow," she commented softly, looking at the arched ceiling and heavy columns. She could feel his rising tension as they approached the desk, and after a quick glance at his set face, Christine stepped in front and smiled brightly at the concierge. "Dr Erik Martin and Ms Christine Daae, please. We're checking in. Two rooms. We should have reservations," she said firmly. Behind her Erik tucked the two rolling bags against a column and waited, his face turned away from the desk, while the attendant tapped on her computer screen and then swiped electronic keys.

"Here you are, rooms 418 and 420. Up those elevators to your right. Have a wonderful stay!"

Christine took the card keys and flashed her another polite smile. She passed a key envelope to Erik, who took it in silence. When they were safely in the elevator, he turned to her, looking down with a combination of curiosity and some other, warmer emotion.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "That was very kind of you, but I can manage…I'm used to the stares by now."

She gave his arm a quick squeeze. "It's ok…and you shouldn't have to."

Rooms 418 and 420 were the last two located on that side of the building. Her room had a king sized bed with a four-poster framework, a television set tucked into a cabinet, a desk, a comfortable reading chair and lamp, and a slate-tiled bathroom with a deep tub and separate glassed-in shower stall.

Her phone rang a minute or so after the door clicked shut. She scooped it up from the bed and walked to the window, pulling back the curtains and watching the last of the sunset cast shadows on the mountain.

"Hello?"

"Christine. Is your room to your liking?" There was no mistaking that gorgeous deep velvet voice.

"Hi Erik. Yes, it's fine. It's wonderful, in fact. I love the view."

"Good." He sounded pleased. "I will see you tomorrow, then."

"Goodnight," she smiled.

"Sleep well."


Pictures of Christine's blue dress will be up next week on my Tumblr page for this chapter, btw.

Up next week…Dinner and a Concert...and Erik begins to admit to himself he might have more than an employer's interest in this woman.

This week's author spotlight goes to Melancholy's Child. The Choices That Define Us was excellent, a nicely long story, and her current one, Beneath the Shadows, promises lots of angst!

Thank you for reading, and please review!