Note: You'll forgive the long update gap, won't you? (ducks tomatoes) This chapter is LONG and loaded with DRAMA. (I would've named it "Shit Goes Down", but…) It's a juicy piece of literary steak, worth the extra wait, I think. Read on!
Chapter Twenty-One
Things Fall Apart
(Miss Fleck picks up the story.)
I should've known by then that the dark Ayrie garage was a bad idea. All the major improprieties I'd ever committed thus far had all occurred when myself, darkness, emotional vulnerability, and secluded locations all came together: Genny in the bathing machine, Mr. Y in the Ayrie, and now Gregory in the glass carriage, in what was arguably the most foolish thing I'd ever done in my life.
Yet, if I could've gone back in time, would I have done anything different? At the time it didn't feel wrong. I was a girl who'd just had the most romantic evening of her life with a man whom she loved, and who was loved back just as intensely. The twilight fantasies of Luna Park had set the stage; Gregory and I were like star-struck lovers caught in the most delicious roles ever written, the world set aside as our stage, the moment in the spotlight ours. It was incredible. Even so, I never expected for things to go as far as they did. Even while dreaming the dream, I was grounded enough in reality to know that some things must be saved for after the wedding. I'd made some mistakes, but I was still Ariel Fleck, a pure virgin.
Then came the cloak of darkness.
Now, I'm sure Gregory has told you that I sat in his lap, which caused everything to spiral out of control. Now, first of all, the man was so drunk that I find it highly doubtful that he can remember anything, especially fifteen years later. Second of all, that's not what happened. We kissed intensely, and he actually grabbed me and sat me in his lap himself. Then it spiraled out of control. So there.
(I'm not blaming him, mind you. After all, those who lose their virginity in glass carriages shouldn't throw rocks. )
It was an amazing experience. I screamed the whole time. I started crying when my dashing Signor broke my maidenly barrier (necessitating a brief stop), sniveled through the ascent, and sobbed through the climax. Oscar slipped off his seat and slumped into the foot-well as a result of the rather invigorating rhythm the two of us got into, poor skeleton.
We parted ways not long after we were through. Our eyes never met. The dark night world around me prevented me from truly feeling the gravity of what I had just done. It was not until the dim light of Fleck Manor's parlor illuminated my hands that the shock began to sink in. Dimly, I knew I could not lie down next to Daddy, so I drooped onto the parlor couch, amazed, and fell into a strange but deep slumber.
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I awoke to the sunlight striking me in the eyes, a golden, fiery ray that seemed a messenger of divine retribution, and when I scooted away from it, trembling, I became aware of a burning pain down right where you'd imagine. It felt raw, rubbed, and although I could feel it constantly, it felt the worst whenever I sat down. The previous night had not been a dream. This burning would not let me forget. Slumped over on our parlor couch, still wearing the dress I'd worn yesterday, I at looked at my hands, my feet, my reflection in a glass frame. I looked around the light-filled parlor. In the bedroom, I heard Daddy coughing and getting up, and for the first time in my life the thought of him filled me with horror.
What had I done? More importantly, how could I have done it?
"Baby Fleck!" His friendly face of tattoos poked around the doorframe. "You fell asleep on the couch?"
There I sat, a fallen woman, transfixed under her father's gaze. "Yes. I was reading last night..." A complete and utter lie-"and now, here I am."
"Must have been a boring book," Daddy chuckled. "Why, you're still in your clothes. No matter. Let's dress up and get to breakfast."
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The face of Ariel Fleck looking back at me in the mirror made me nauseous, so I hastened to conceal it with the usual cosmetics. At last, that familiar and strange woman with her smoky eyes and scarlet lips appeared in the glass. I could hide behind her for a while. All around me, the ladies were having giddy little conversations about the end of the season and what things they would likely do, the picnics they'd have, the knitting circles they'd like to organize. I was confined to my self-inflicted misery. What would I do over the off-season? What indeed? I could scarcely imagine how I was going to get through this day, let alone the off-season...
"Ariel," greeted Genevieve, her traditional lollipop bobbing in her mouth. "Good morning, cutie. Say, later on, how about..."
"No." The word flew out of my mouth like a slap, almost without my knowing, but I knew in my heart that I had to pull myself together. Enough was enough. This secretive business was hurtful to both myself and Genny, and on top of it all, it was a lie. It had to stop.
Genny blinked. "No? I haven't even said..."
I rose from the vanity and gestured for her to follow me out of the dressing room, and we both went into a little nook near the back fence, near the side of one of the roller coasters, where it was unlikely we'd be seen or overheard.
"Ariel, what's wrong?" Genny asked, smoothing her hair as she tiptoed through the overgrown grass. "Why this seclusion?"
I concentrated miserably on a broken old Coke bottle, knowing I'd have to hurt her. "Genny, I've been very unfair to you. It can't go on anymore."
"What are you talking about?"
"This..." I cast about for a word. "This whole secret thing between the two of us has got to stop. It's wrong. It's not even real. I've got to tell the truth, Genny, and the truth is that I'm not in love with you. I never have been. I only loved the way we made each other feel. It's been just terrible and selfish of me to let this go on for as long as I have, and it's got to stop. I'm very sorry. Things have changed now."
Genny's poor face was like a vase being broke to pieces. "Ariel," she trembled, "I..."
"I still care about you," I told her, "But not in the way I've been acting. This whole thing was a mistake."
"You're worried about what your father would say..." she started to protest desperately, tears in her eyes, but I shook my head.
"He has nothing to do with this. It's a matter of being truthful. I can't go on living a lie."
"But..."
"Please. Let's just go our separate ways and forget it."
I tore my eyes away from her and hurried off, perhaps too abruptly, but I knew that she would only carry on, and I would not be able to stand it anymore if she did. Off I went through the tall grass, around the building, back to the dressing-room sidewalk.
I was early. Against the throbbing pain, I slowly lowered myself to the ground and sat down. The cool-scented September air blew, people passed me by, the world at large carried on. I was Miss Fleck, the bad girl, alone, trapped in my misery, and nobody knew it but me.
"Ariel."
Standing a few feet away, not yet costumed, was Gregory. Not twelve hours ago, this was the man whose arms had been wrapped around me, whose body had entwined so intimately with mine, in whose ear I had cried the most obscene things. Here he was, before me, in the daylight, a look of unspeakable mortification on his face.
"Gregory," I replied, at a loss for anything else.
It was incredible. In one night, all of a sudden, all at once, everything between us was changed irrevocably. We could never go back to how we were before. The things we'd cried to each other, the way we'd entwined so intimately, the knowledge we had of the other's body!
And yet, here we were in the daylight, dressed respectably in our clothes, standing before each other, outwardly as decent as could be, calling each other "Ariel" and "Gregory". It was utterly ridiculous.
"Ariel," Gregory almost whispered, pale as a sheet. "Ariel, last night, I…don't…are you okay?"
I didn't know. "Yes."
"I only remember some of it. I drank too much wine; that much is true. But, Ariel, I must know something very important. You don't remember if the whole thing was finished inside, right?"
"Finished inside?"
He blushed. "Inside your body."
Despite my new non-virgin status, I was still surprisingly obtuse. "Well, naturally, you had to be in my body, that's the only way to…"
"No, no, you are not understanding." He took a deep breath. "I must know if, at the time, I thought enough to…ah…"
He started doing squeamish little hand gestures, trying to explain what he meant that way, which only served to confuse me more.
"Gregory dear," I sighed. "We've done it. There's nothing we can't discuss. We've reached that point."
When I put it that way, he at last felt free to be open, and he asked me, in hushed tones, if it seemed like he spilled his seed (so to speak) inside or outside of my body.
"Because," he concluded anxiously, "If I did, you could be having a baby."
Oh! Me, Miss Fleck, having a baby. The concept was so incredible as to almost be ridiculous, but I knew my human biology; I had simply never dreamed of myself as the female variable. My mind's eye was suddenly accosted by images of myself with a big belly swelling under my dress, myself knitting little hats and blankets, myself waddling around in labor and giving birth. It was amazing, sobering, and it could be real.
And I was unmarried. And nobody but Gregory and I knew. And Daddy…!
I desperately wracked my brains for an answer to his question.
"I can't say I'm certain," I admitted, "But if you were so drunk that you can't remember if you did, surely you weren't in a frame of mind to do so at all."
He couldn't beat that logic, although he certainly looked as though he wished he could.
"That's an excellent point," he croaked. Then he struck upon another idea. "Wait. Er, tell me, when is the last time you, ah…"
More squeamish hand gestures, although it seemed he didn't know the term in English.
"It's, ah…when you bleed…"
"Menstruated? Well, I ought to begin again in about two weeks, I think."
"Ohhh…" His eyes widened, his head slumped over with a moan, and then he began thumping it with his fists.
"Is that bad?" I asked, hoping that this was the way Italians expressed relief.
"If you want to have a baby, no, but if you don't…" His miserable face reappeared. "That's when a lady is most fur-tie-ill, two weeks before she bleeds. Oh, Ariel, the chances are good that I've put a baby in you."
The earth felt as though it was spinning under my feet. I felt unreal. A baby inside of me. Trembling, I looked down at my belly and cupped it in my palms, imagining a tiny baby growing deep inside my womb.
"Please, Ariel, don't touch your belly like that," Gregory groaned in distress. "This is terrible. How could I do this to you?"
I was speechless. I couldn't believe it.
"I'm so sorry." He pulled me into his arms. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault, Ariel, all of it."
"What are we going to do?" I asked feebly, and the words felt completely alien on my tongue as I went on, "If I'm…having a baby?"
"Only two choices. Don't tell, take our chances, and wait to see if there's really a baby, or…" His voice dropped. "Tell your Daddy, and see what he does."
I heard Daddy's voice in my mind. "I'd take any man who violated your chastity to the cleaners, Baby Fleck," he said with conviction, and then he added, whimsically, "Yes, and iron him for free."
Gulping, I saw a vision of Gregory hanging limply on a coat hanger, being ironed, or, more realistically, having his person beaten into oblivion. Daddy liked him, but a transgression of this magnitude would be more than enough to merit a spot on his "unreasonable" list, if not the "contemptible" one.
"I don't want you to get in trouble, dear," I said. "And if Daddy hears of this, he'll be absolutely furious with you."
I felt his chest tremble. "I know," he replied. "But, but if we wait until your belly is big, he will be even more angry."
"There's no guarantee that it will."
"But the chance that it will is very good."
Aggie-Ann went strolling by, finished with her makeup, and we bolted upright. "G'mornin' to y'all, Air-yull, an' you, De Rossi," they drawled. "Las' day o' the season tomorrer!"
"Last day," I echoed.
"Sure is!" Out of the dressing room strolled little Mr. Geddes. "You two and Alf finally get to put your hot ballooning skills to the test, lucky Trio!" His gnome-like face was wrinkled with a carefree grin. "Say, Ariel, where's your pa at?"
"Breakfast, likely."
"Ah. Alright, dear, I'll see you there."
Another wave of newly dressed freaks passed us by, and then my lover and I were alone again. We were silent. It was time to get on with our day, but we were trapped in our crisis, almost like an alternate world.
"We have to decide what we are going to do as soon as possible," I resolved, although I hadn't faintest idea how. "By tonight, if we can."
Gregory didn't respond for a while, but then his head slowly began to nod. "Tonight."
More silence.
"Gregory?"
"Yes?"
Putting what I felt into words was difficult. "Even if something…not good comes out of this, I want you to know that I love you." I took his hands, a blushing shyness warming my cheeks. "And, um, last night…I really liked being with you."
"Oh, Signori…" He seemed to realize halfway through that he could never call me 'little girl' ever again, and moisture glimmered in his eyes as he hugged me. "Ariel."
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When we went up to the Ayrie, Mr. Y was tinkering with his automatons, much calmer than he had been yesterday.
"Last night," he said, "I promised Christine Daae's son that I would show him about Phantasma. You needn't search for him, but if you happen to encounter the child as you go about today, please bring him up here to me. His mother is already informed."
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The three of us were actually passing the barn where Meg Giry liked to rehearse when we ran into my little poetry buddy himself. He was lingering just beyond the door, sitting cross-legged on the ground, poking the dirt with a stick, an expression of unspeakable boredom on his face. That is, until he noticed us.
"Bonjour!" he sighed gratefully, as though we were coming to rescue him from Tedious Island, and he rushed straight to me. "Hello again, Miss Raven. Do you know where Mr. Y is? I'm supposed to see him. He wants to show me around!"
"We know," I replied, and I gently pried his fingers off my skirt of feathers. "Mr. Y sent us to find you."
He beamed. "Wonderful! Take me to him, please!"
But Daddy had been around too long to immediately consent. "Where are your parents, young man?"
That seemed to trip him up, but he quickly replied, with every appearance of honesty, "Elsewhere. They're letting me explore by myself."
Neither Christine nor her husband could be seen in any direction we looked, so it seemed good to take him along; at any rate, he was safer with Mr. Y than wandering about in Phantasma unattended. Off we went together, away from the barn and onto the main stretch.
Gustave took my hand, the one with the emerald ring, and upon feeling the coldness of the stone he examined it. "You have a lovely ring, Miss Raven," he told me admiringly. "Are you going to get married?"
Daddy looked like he wanted to make a comment, but didn't. Gregory's mouth tightened. Something between a giggle and a sob choked me. No, kid, I'm a tramp.
"It's... not a wedding ring," I replied; what little virtue I still had would not allow me to untruthfully confirm or deny an impending wedding. "My mother gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday."
"Does she work here too?"
"She's not alive anymore, son," Daddy answered gently for me.
Gustave's childish face became stricken; it was clear that the death of a child's mother was a subject he rarely thought about. "That's sad," he murmured. "But at least you have that nice ring she gave you."
"Yes." I looked at that familiar emerald, and then allowed the kid to take my hand again. "Every time I look at it, I remember what a wonderful mother I had. I would be so sad if anything happened to it."
"She must have been wonderful, to buy it for you."
My eyes burned. Every force on earth was trying to destroy me today; I just knew it.
Daddy gave my shoulder a quick pat and quickly changed the subject. "She certainly was. So, young man, you're from France, are you?"
"Paris!" Gustave clarified proudly.
"Paris." The tattoos on Daddy's cheeks stretched with the chipper smile he reserved for children. "Is it very different from the United States?"
"Yes!"
He fearlessly grabbed hold of Daddy's big hand and swung it as he told him about the Boutiques and the Pâtisseries, the Musées and the Conservatoires, the grand Tour Eiffel and the morning mist hanging over the Seine. He also told us about the Opera Populaire, and how his mother first rose to fame there, singing as an understudy in the 1896 production of Hannibal. Little did he know that I had researched that long in advance.
The Ayrie soon loomed ahead. It had become old hat for us, but Gustave cried aloud in amazement, just as thrilled with it as we had been on the very first opening day. He craned his neck all the way back to see the very top.
"Is that where Mr. Y lives?" he breathed.
"Ah, that is where he works," Gregory replied a bit stupidly, as though he had felt compelled to finally break his all-day silence, and when we reached the base he opened the door.
"There are a lot of stairs, as you can see," I told him. "So step lively, child!"
Daddy told his hand. "Indeed. Mr. Y is waiting."
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The Ayrie door was unlocked, so we simply let ourselves in. To say Gustave was amazed doesn't do the emotion justice; the kid just stood still for a minute, slack-jawed, taking in all the automatons, the golden angel, the stained glass, letting it all sink into his memory. I remembered my first time in the Ayrie. It felt as though it had been years. Now, a very different Miss Fleck was standing on the threshold, feeling something like nostalgia for the innocent wonder of the past.
"Mr. Y!" cried Gustave.
But Mr. Y, strangely enough, didn't seem to hear. He was hunched over his mechanical organ, tools in hand, back turned to us. I went over and tapped him.
"Ah!" he said, smiling at Gustave. "Bienvenue, jeune vicomte. Regardez autour de vous. Je vais en finir avec cela dans un instant."
He must have said something along the lines of look around, because Gustave immediately went tripping around to all the automatons.
"Thank you," Mr. Y said to us, but before he returned to his work, he went to the piano. "But before you go, Mr. Fleck, there are a couple letters here for you."
Daddy's forehead crinkled. "Letters?"
"Yes. I found them in my letter-box this morning. It seems the mailers didn't know where to send them to reach you, so they gave them to me. The return addresses are all from Luna Park."
Holy Mackerel. Luna Park. Gregory and me looked at each other in utter horror as Daddy accepted the letters into his hand.
"Thank you, sir," he grumbled, examining the envelopes. "Do you need anything else?"
He didn't, and so we were dismissed, and as we descended, curiosity overcame Daddy. When he started ripping open the first envelope, my inner voice started shrieking, This is it, Ariel, you slob! It's over! Gregory looked as though he were going to faint down the stairs.
The first card was tasteful, with a pretty black-and-white border of roses. Daddy read aloud.
"Dear Mr. Fleck, I hope this letter finds you in good health and good humor. This is just a note of congratulations regarding…" He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing in disbelief, and his voice continued slowly. "Regarding the impending marriage of your daughter. Sincerely, Malachi Jones, bassist at the Luna Park Dance Hall."
I blushed from the tips of my toes to the feather on my hat as Daddy stared at me.
"Why on earth would this Mr. Jones think such a thing?" he asked, bewildered, although it was less of a demand and more of a rhetorical question. "Why, it's complete nonsense."
He sat down on the step and reached for another envelope. Oh, if only I could have grabbed them and dashed them into a stream!
The second card was also very tasteful, with a spray of violets tied with a bow.
"Dear Mr. Alfred Fleck, on behalf of myself and the other gentlemen here at the Cupid's Bow Restaurant in Luna Park, I would like to congratulate you…" Daddy's voice rose in astonishment…"On the engagement of your daughter!"
Without even stopping to question it, Daddy quickly ripped open the third envelope, a half-crazy gleam in his eyes.
The third card was the most tasteful of all, I must say: a little dove sitting upon a branch, chirping out the cursive words: From All Of Us.
"My dear Mr. Fleck, me, the guys, and the ladies here at the Luna Park Coconut Shy would like to extend a hearty congratulations to you…" Daddy almost yelled the rest…"As your daughter becomes a wife!"
He looked rapidly around at the cards, me, Gregory, then back at the cards again, as though he were going insane. "Why…this…is unbelievable!" he cried. "Three people, and all of them seem to think you're going to be married, Ariel! Who would have told them such a thing?"
"It is unbelievable," croaked Gregory.
"This has got to be a mistake. They must be confusing me with someone else. And still…how could all these people make the same mistake? At any rate, I must write them at once, and tell them they're mistaken, before they start spreading this news!"
Gregory took my hand as we continued going down, desperately mouthing, He's going to find out!
What are we going to do? I silently screamed back.
I wish I knew, he communicated with a frightened shrug.
"If life," sighed Daddy aloud, "Isn't just one thing after another!"
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He was right. No sooner did we attempt to resume our duties than we encountered Christine Daae herself, who, despite her obvious unhappiness, looked like a princess in an ensemble of white. She was looking all about her, wildly, as though she had lost something, and when her eyes fell upon us (we were hard to forget), she signaled her distress with a wave.
"Yes?" inquired Daddy politely.
"My son has gone off by himself," she told us, blushing, "And I believe he has gone looking for Mr. Y. He promised that he would show him around this place, and I told him to wait until he was called for…"
A grin, such as only a parent can make, spread across Daddy's face. "Ah, but he told us that you knew." he chuckled. "We found him and took him right to Mr. Y, ma'am, up in the Ayrie. Come, we'll take you right to him."
And so the Trio momentarily became a Quartet with the addition of Christine Daae, a white swan among our snakes, feathers, and trench coats. Once more, we ascended in circles, and at last we reached the Ayrie door.
"Now," said Daddy, "We'll…"
But suddenly a scream sounded inside the Ayrie, a child's scream, and before we could even react, the door was flung open, and Gustave came bolting out.
"Gustave!" Christine screamed as he burrowed, weeping, into her dress. "Ce n'est pas grave! C'est moi!"
The kid that had been so excited minutes ago was completely horrified. "Il est si terrible!" he cried. "Terrible!"
Within, Mr. Y was hunched near his piano, his wig and mask on the floor. His hand was clamped over his deformity.
"Terrible," Gustave wept on.
Christine went pale as she looked from Gustave to Mr. Y, and she made a sharp move forward, looking desperately at us. "S'il vous plaît, emmenez-le…" She shook her head, remembering that we didn't speak French. "Ah, please, take him downstairs."
Off she hurried into the Ayrie, leaving Gustave with us, and when the door slammed shut we could hear her groaning within: "Erik! Pardonnez-lui. Il voulait faire aucun mal!"
Erik. That was Mr. Y's name? He told me he never had a name.
But we, the Trio, had little time to be amazed at this, for we were now in charge of a deeply shaken Gustave.
"We were playing music together," sniffed the child on the way down. "Mr. Y and me like the same kind of music. We like a lot of the same things. And all of a sudden, after we looked at a lot of things, he wanted to show me his face, and he suddenly pulled off his mask." He shuddered. "Mr. Y looks like the ugliest monster I ever saw."
As bizarre as it was for Mr. Y to de-mask in front of anyone, especially the child of a woman he loved, I felt sad for him. I wonder how I'd feel if people ran screaming away from me.
"He's really quite…kind," I defended him, though the eerie image of the Phantom of the Opera prevented me from being too lavish with the praise. "Perhaps you'll like him better next time."
He did not look as though there would ever be a next time.
"I'd sooner play with you, Miss Raven." He mumbled, huddling close to my feathers. "Do you want to say the poem again?"
My heart melted. Now, how do you refuse an offer like that?
"Once upon a midnight dreary, as I pondered, weak and weary…"
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My unexpected role of babysitter prevented me from giving my "potential pregnancy" crisis any deep thought, and it wasn't until Gustave was sent home with his parents that it occurred to me again. The dinner bell rang, and I still had not come to a decision. Perhaps Gregory had.
I didn't even care that we were having fried cube steak, I was so nervous, and I hastened to my seat with Gregory while Daddy was still shoveling food on his plate.
"So what have we decided to do?" I whispered desperately to him.
But instead of an answer, I got a pained expression. "That's what I was going to ask you," he whispered back, just as unhappy. "All these cards your Dad is getting, it won't be long before he…"
Suddenly Damien's voice, strident and angry, rang out nearby. "Fleck!"
We looked up to see him, scarred mouth tight, eyes cold as flint, approaching Daddy, who was on his way to sit down with his dinner plate.
He frowned. "I'll thank you to ask my attention politely," he replied, and continued on his way, sitting down opposite me. "Or not at all."
"Listen here," the other went on. "Genny's completely beside herself, almost hysterical with nerves, she won't say a thing to me but 'Ariel'."
My heart plummeted. Oh no.
"Ariel?" Daddy sprinkled salt on his cube steak, unconcerned. "What in the world would she want with Ariel?"
"That's what I'm here to find out, and I ain't leaving without an answer."
Three pairs of eyes fell on me: Damien's angry eyes, Gregory's confused eyes, and Daddy's disgruntled eyes, which swiftly returned to Damien.
"I'm sure she hasn't done anything," he growled. "Your sister is ever one for notions. Go eat; you're embarrassing Ariel."
Daddy's lack of concern brought a renewed vigor to Damien's accusations. "I say she has! I don't know what sort of a grudge you're holding against Genny, but I'm…"
"Wait a minute!" Daddy cried; all at once an idea flashed in his eyes, and he sat up indignantly. "Why...it was you, then!"
Damien stopped short, flabbergasted. "Me?" he spat. "What are you talking about?"
"These cards I've been getting all day!"
For in his eternal prejudice against the Pennysworths and his faith in my goodness, Daddy had drawn the seemingly reasonable connection that Damien, in some act of vengeance against a perceived wrongdoing on my part, had decided to vindictively embarrass us by telling folks in Luna Park that I was getting married, thus prompting an avalanche of congratulatory cards. I knew, of course, that he was wrong.
As I expected, Damien was completely confused. "Cards?"
"Yes! The ones from all those people in Luna Park, congratulating me on Ariel getting married...which of course is a complete lie, and you know it!"
Beside me, Gregory went pale and moaned. By now, most of the people in the dining tent were staring at us.
"I don't know what the hell you're blathering about," growled Damien.
But Daddy went back to his coffee, convinced that his theory was true and that he had the moral high ground. "You, sir," he chuckled darkly, "Are the most spiteful human being I've ever seen, and you are also a liar. Go sit down..." (Here he waved his hand dismissively) "And I may decide not to tell Mr. Y about how you see fit to make a mockery of his better employees."
There was a long, seething silence, and then Damien's voice dropped to a deadly hiss. "Better employees, huh?" he said, clenching his fists. "So that's what this is. You think you and your daughter are better than me and Genny."
Daddy kept on sipping, ignoring him.
"You think just because Mr. Y gives you and Ariel and De Rossi special jobs and lets you jerk off in his Ayrie twice a day, that you've got...!"
"Watch your disgusting mouth around my daughter!" shouted Daddy, slamming down his coffee.
"...Some kind of special right to push the rest of us around!" Damien shouted right over him. "Well, mighty Mr. Squelch, I've got some news for you! If it weren't for Mr. Y cleaning you up, both you and her would be sitting in cages, not amounting to shit!"
Daddy's fists clenched.
"Please!" cried Mrs. Beardsley in distress.
"Y'all best stop this," Aggie said angrily as Ann nodded. "Ah ain't gon' listen t' this no more!"
Damien pointed at me and demanded, "You tell me what you've done to her."
The prospect of confessing what I'd done made me nauseous, and all at once a terrible dizziness made his angry face blend and smear with the colors of the room. It was too much. All at once, the terror and secrets of the past came stabbing at me in all directions, threatening to destroy me all at once. I felt like I was going to scream. Gregory wrapped his arm around my back.
"That's enough, Pennysworth," he said sternly. "I don't know what's going on, but I won't stand to have Ariel scared like this. We'll explain this calmly, or not at all!"
Daddy waved his hand. "This whole discussion is irrelevant. There is nothing to explain. Genevieve likely has some strange notion, in addition to the many strange notions she already seems to have."
"You...you!"
"Now get away from Ariel."
"Who are you? Jesus Christ?" Damien snarled, and he went on, coming closer, angrier than ever. "Well, go on, you! Tell me!"
"Back off," warned Gregory.
"I will warn you one last time," growled Daddy, slow and dangerous. "Get away from Ariel. Now."
"The heck's the matter with you?" Damien half-yelled, half-jeered at me. "You can speak for yourself, can't you? You're not like your dazed, idiot mother..."
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
The table rocked and the dishes crashed as Daddy leapt to his feet, bellowing that shocking word like a beast. In one swift, fluid motion, he grabbed Damien with one arm and hoisted him a whole four feet off the ground, as though he were a stuffed animal, crushing his throat in his fist. The whole dining tent went into pandemonium. The ladies shrieked and scrambled out of their seats. The men gathered about, yelling for him to call it off, but none dared approach Daddy, not even for Damien's sake.
Gregory pulled me to my feet, yelling, "Alf! No!"
But he did not stop. There, dangling like a trout on a hook, was Damien, choking for air, and Daddy was staring at him wildly, silently, his eyes wide, his face red and apoplectic with rage, the corners of his mouth curling, his muscles shaking. I never knew he could look so terrible.
His voice rattled, as though he had to force out the words." Call...her...an idiot, will you?"
Even if Damien wanted to defend himself, he couldn't; all he could do was choke and struggle, terror in his eyes, his scarred lips growing pale, and then Daddy's grip around his neck grew ever tighter. I could practically hear it cracking.
"Put him down, man!" yelled Mr. Geddes. "Put him down! You're going to kill him!"
"Alfred, dear, no! No! Stop!"
"Y'all gon' kill him!"
This was all my fault! All of it! Daddy would surely hurt Damien, and it was all because of me! I couldn't stand it anymore. "Please, Daddy!" I screamed. "Stop, STOP!"
For a moment it seemed that he would not listen, but then, all at once, he opened his fist, and Damien collapsed onto the floor in a heap. He lay there as though struck, unable to do anything but feel his throat and choke. Everyone in the tent just stood, staring.
"Now," said Daddy, still dangerous, pointing to the tent flap. "Get out."
You'd better believe he did. No sooner did he quit the room than the whole place erupted into disturbed murmurs and exclamations. A few people hurried after Damien. Daddy looked at the fist he had just choked Damien with, as though he couldn't quite believe what he had done. He closed his eyes and trembled. Someone hastened to get him a drink.
"For mercy's sake!" cried Mrs. Beardsley, wiping her eyes.
Gregory enfolded me in his arms. "Ariel...what...in the world was that about?"
For not even Gregory knew about Genny and me. He would surely find out soon enough. Everyone would. When Damien got back to Genny, she would be angry, and she would certainly tell everyone in revenge. Then they would all be shocked, disgusted, revolted. Perhaps Damien would even tell Mr. Y. Daddy would be disgraced, having a daughter who was so indecent. Poor, poor Daddy, who was such a hardworking, good man. Perhaps I would be sent away to an institution for bad girls. It was only a matter of time now...
A sick chill churned my stomach. "Greg'ry," I managed to croak. "I'm going to be sick."
We hustled out of the tent and gained the nearest trashcan just in time. Up and out came everything I'd just eaten for dinner, and after I choked out the last of it I began to cry. It was like puncturing a dam; once I started, I couldn't stop, and I remained slumped over on the rim, sobbing, while Gregory wiped my mouth, tears in his eyes.
"Ariel!" I became aware of Daddy's growly voice, filled with remorse, and then I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Ariel, dear, don't cry. I'm sorry."
I had to confess. I had to tell him everything, absolutely everything I had done, from Genny to Mr. Y to Gregory; I just had to. It was destroying me. I snuggled into Daddy's shirt.
"Daddy..." I began, bracing myself for the dreadful consequences, "I have...been...very bad."
"Bad? You mean..." He looked at me in disturbed surprise. "You mean you actually have done something to Genevieve?"
I nodded against his chest, unable to look at him. "And other very bad things."
)
(
)
We hurried back to Fleck Manor, Daddy and me. Gregory came too, but he had to stay outside, and just before the door closed on him he gave me the most terrified, pleading expression I'd ever seen him make. Fresh tears sprang up in my eyes as me and Daddy sat down on the parlor couch.
Daddy put his arm around me, but it was stiff and twitched nervously. "Ariel," he asked. "What are these bad things you've done?"
Oh, I could have died in that moment. Just fallen over and died. As it was, I started at the very beginning of it all and cried as I told him absolutely everything, and I mean everything, sparing no humiliating detail. I started with that night I'd fallen in love with Mr. Y, the way his music made my body feel, all the obscene ways I longed for him, the things I'd done to sublimate my newfound desires, the whole gruesome affair. I could not bring myself to look at his face, but I could feel his embarrassment in the silence.
During a pause, he wiped my eyes. "Mr. Y," he mumbled in amazement. "To think that...Ariel, do you still, ah, feel this way about him?"
He had a way of putting things mildly. I shook my head no.
"There's no point," I said. "He loves that Christine lady. He doesn't care about me."
"Ariel." Daddy made a deep, sympathetic sound in his throat, and kissed my cheek.
"Not even when I kissed him."
"What?"
Yes, I told him all about that, too, making certain to assure him that Mr. Y was a perfect gentlemen in how he handled it. While I was at it, I told him all about the secret research I had done of the man, how I'd snooped into his business, took out newspaper advertisements, everything. I left Gregory out of it, though, but everything else came right out onto the table, including the ultimate discovery that Mr. Y was the Phantom of the Opera, and that he had once known Christine, back in France.
Poor Daddy's face was a tattooed mask of stern disbelief. "Ariel Frances Lavinia Fleck," he said indignantly. "Do you mean to tell me that for the past three months, when I thought you were out looking at books, you were taking out ads in the Times and all manner of secretive business, not to tell of how poorly you've behaved in the presence of what I understand is a potentially volatile man? Supposing he found out about your snooping!"
I hung my head.
"Wait." He remembered something. "Why, none of this has to do with Damien or Genevieve. You haven't yet told me that." He chuckled sadly. "The shock must have made me forget."
If my heart sunk any lower, it would get stuck in my intestines. I closed my eyes and wanted to die. How could I even begin to confess this?
"Daddy," I quavered, "You must promise me that you won't hate me forever."
There was a long moment of silence, laden with dread, in which neither myself nor Daddy spoke, but then he touched my arm, slowly, clearly afraid of what I was going to say.
"I could never hate you, Ariel," he growled gently. "What have you done?"
Out came the shameful tale of Ariel and Genevieve's bathing machine excursion, followed by all the subsequent excursions, and the effect on Daddy was similar to Chinese; he did not seem to even understand, he was so shocked. I explained that I had ended the affair with Genny, and that was why she was so grief-stricken. That was why Damien had been so angry.
And, because I knew it would have to be confessed, I unfolded the absolute worst for last: I told him that I had been with a man. (I did not name Gregory) What was more, I suspected that I was now in a delicate condition as a result.
That just shattered him. It was as though the tattoos on his face had suddenly become cracks on a smashed window. This was the worst possible news I could ever give him, the worst possible disgrace to bring upon him: a daughter who was an unwed mother by an anonymous man off the street, just like a whore. In my day, Daddy could have kicked my rear and thrown me out of his house, without inflicting any shock whatsoever on the public opinion.
As it was, he demanded details: when, how, where, was I forced, was the man drunk? Determined not to incriminate Gregory, I made a bunch of stuff up. Poor Daddy was then forced to ask dreadful questions about the act itself, trying to see if pregnancy could be potentially ruled out, but I just kept on smashing his hopes with every answer. At length, he just sat in devastated silence as I clutched his arm and sobbed my heart out, soaking his sleeve with bitter, frightened tears as I awaited my fate. After a very long time, he put his face in his free hand. He seemed unable to even conjure up anything to say.
Suddenly he sat up, eyes widening. "Pennysworth!" he cried. "Dear Lord, I've done wrong by him! And…" Here he leapt up, even more horrified. "And if this gets to Mr. Y…!"
My blood went cold. I had not even thought of that.
"I've got to see the man at once!" He hurried to the door. "Ariel, you stay right where you are!"
)
(
)
As it turned out, Damien had also gone searching for Daddy, for Genny had confessed the nature of our secret relations to him, and he too was afraid of the affair reaching the attentions of Mr. Y. They very nearly crashed into each other in the hallway.
"Fleck!" Damien cried hoarsely, his throat visibly bruised. "Genny's just told me the whole thing…you ain't going to Mr. Y, are you?"
Daddy steadied him. "Ariel has just told me as well, and I won't go to Mr. Y if you won't. Pennysworth, I owe you and your sister an apology, a tremendous apology. She may be wrong, but Ariel is just as much to blame. I have been a fool, and what's more, I have been completely unreasonable…"
"I shouldn't have called your old lady an idiot," admitted Damien.
"Indeed, but that is no excuse for my behavior, and if the situation is to be judged fairly, my prejudice against you was contemptible. I did not even consider that you had been wronged. Forgive me, please, and do tell me if there is anything I can do to make amends for this."
Damien bowed his head, softened by Daddy's forgiveness. "I forgive you. As for what to do…well, I guess you could, you know, clear my reputation with the others. You sort of accused me of some untrue things back there…"
"Yes, yes," Daddy agreed immediately. "I will be certain of it."
"And you'll forgive Genny, won't you? She's just…" He struggled for words. "She's not right in the head. She got banged around a lot as a child. Maybe I shouldn't, but if I tell you, you'll understand."
"Do tell me," consented Daddy, walking along with him
)
(
)
While Daddy was gone, Gregory came in. It was as though someone had put a straw in him and sucked out every last vestige of pride, reducing him to a meek, sad shell of his usual self. He did not sit on the couch. Instead, he knelt on the floor next to me, as if he felt he was unworthy to sit at my level.
"I told Daddy everything," I said, "But I didn't say it was you who I slept with. I said I didn't know who the man was."
"But-a the cards," he moaned into a cushion, and his voice became heavily accented with fear. "From Luna Park, all-a those people who saw us together! And who knows how many are still coming. No, I must tell-a the truth. I have done the wrong thing, and I must be the one to set it straight. And if he sends me away, that is his right."
I grabbed him, tears welling in my eyes anew. "No, no! No, dear, I couldn't stand that. No, there must be some other way!"
He shook his head hopelessly as if it were already decided. "I no deserve you anyway," he murmured.
"Stop that!" I cried. "Please, don't…"
"I took ah-van-tige of you." Gregory took my hands, and our sad eyes met in the evening gloom. "That ees the truth. You always so good, and now I hurt you."
"What about me?" I demanded. "I was every bit as wrong. I could have told you no. I could have walked right out of there. We're both crummy human beings, Gregory, you hear? Both of us!"
He still shook his head, but now a particularly strange sort of misery infected his eyes, almost as though he were seeing a monster. His voice was empty as he went on, "Not like me." He swallowed and calmed back into good English again. "Last night was your first time, yes?"
I nodded.
"Of course it was, I can tell. And as of yesterday, you are my one-hundred-and-sixth girl. My one-hundred-and-fifth is Maria."
My mind boggled. I was speechless. He was completely serious. I tried to imagine 106 women, all of them having had a history with my Gregory, but I couldn't.
"And I have lied to you as well," he continued hollowly, as though he were on his way to be killed. "About the Mafia. I was never in the Mafia. I wanted to join, but they would not let me. The Mafia does not allow you to sleep around, and they do not like you to drink so much alcohol. They said I was too immoral." He gave a miserable laugh. "A bunch of criminals said that I was too immoral to join them. I just ran their errands. An associate, that's what they called me. "
"But…" I was desperately trying to redeem him. "But you don't…I mean, you discovered how wrong you were in time…"
"That is also a lie."
Wait. He wasn't sorry? I saw a frightening darkness creeping into his eyes that I had never seen before. Away went the warmth, and in its place came a glazed, steely glint. The eyes of a criminal.
"Gregory dear." He was upsetting me now. "I don't understand you."
He straightened a bit. "You remember I said that I had a change of heart," he said, using finger quotes, and he shook his head. "That is a lie. I was never sorry. I turned all of them in, but not because I was sorry. It was because there was a very big money reward for whoever could assist in their capture. Very big."
A mixture of captivation and horror prevented me from doing much more than stare at him.
"There was this, ah, high-end kind of a prostitute. A courtesan, more like. I knew her since childhood. You have actually met her. You must have a sixth sense for immorality, because you don't like her very much…"
"Maria?" I gasped, stunned. "That…lady who…"
He nodded. "Yes, Maria. She was getting tired of her job, wanted to actually stay with a man, instead of saying goodbye to them every night. I told her I would get her a diamond ring and take her wherever she wanted, but I needed a lot of money to do this. So, to get the big money reward, I turned all those mafiosos in. The police said I would be anonymous, but they still found out…"
Here he gestured to his scarred throat, and then bowed his head in conclusion.
"So," I reiterated numbly. "You betrayed the Mafia to get money for a ring, so you could marry a prostitute?"
"Yes."
Ten years of friendship, ten years of starry skies and poetry, tomato sauce and baklava, Luna Parks, tears and laughter…all of it just crumpled, like a napkin in a fist, and was gone. If it were not for the couch holding me up, I might have fallen, and fallen forever for all I cared.
"And now, here you are," Gregory murmured. "A notch in the bedpost."
"And you're not even sorry?"
"I have tried to be sorry." He stood up, but his posture still communicated miserable humility. "For months, years. It was you who inspired me to want to be sorry, to be entirely good. I see…" He touched my forehead, as though he were approaching a sacrament…"Sacred femininity in you. I never saw it before. And look what I've done. I had heaven in my hands, and I crushed it to pieces."
Behind the desolate form before me, I could just see the tiniest, faintest glimmer of the man I loved, as a star that is obscured behind the clouds.
"Are you sorry or not, Gregory?" I asked.
"I have never felt so sorry in my life."
"Then…"
"But if I were truly sorry, in the spirit, then what happened would not have happened. If someone believes something, then you see the belief worked out, in practical ways, and you know they believe. There is too much bad in me; there is not enough good to stand up against it, and now my badness is rubbing off on you…"
"Please, dear!" I grabbed his jacket and pleaded. "Don't!"
"This is why I must tell your Daddy." He grabbed me back, tears in his eyes. "Or, if you will not let me do that, then I must go. I cannot be trusted with you. There is enough love in me yet, little one, to know that I must save your reputation. There is a way I can do it."
"How?"
"Giovanni and Maria want me to go with them, back to Rome."
I grabbed him harder. "No…"
"And once I am good and gone…" His voice was more broken than I'd ever heard before…"You go to your Daddy and say that I raped you."
"What?" I almost screamed. "Raped…?"
"Yes. See? You say I forced you to tell him that it was a strange man, and that I said I'd kill you if you told before I could get away. Then there will be no shame for you, because you were forced. Everyone will be sorry, and not think any less of you. By the time they call the police, I will be across the Atlantic."
I saw the whole, terrible reality in my mind. Daddy weeping when I told him I was raped, everyone getting together and mourning, myself in bed, a little baby suckling at my breast. What would I tell the child? That his Daddy died in an accident? Got a fever? How would I ever be able to live?
Gregory knelt beside me and kissed my cheeks, fiercely and tenderly, as though he would never do so ever again, mingling his tears with mine.
"Ariel," he whispered, "If there is a ever a baby, tell him that his Daddy was a wonderful man. Tell him that, perhaps, he died protecting you from someone like me."
He left the room, leaving me on the couch, almost slain with grief. All around me were my ancestors, frozen on the wall. Their eyes bore into me, poor, wicked Ariel, who was now lying in the bed of shame she had prepared for herself. I could scarcely remember how it had all began. When had I gone so wrong?
I felt Mama's ring. From where I was, I could see their wedding portrait. There they were, eternally young in the summer of 1884, as they always would be, a beautiful monument to the holy, enduring marriage of Alfred and Apollonia Fleck. I looked into Mama's face and was heartbroken.
The door rattled, and into the gloom came Daddy.
"I've misjudged them," he said absently, sinking onto the couch beside me. "Damien and Genevieve. I've been a fool, and now…" He sort of looked at me, as though from a distance, dimly, his bleary, devastated eyes so different from the Daddy in the picture. He looked very old. "And now, what are we to do?"
I knew what I had to do, at least, and I meant it with all my contrite, broken heart.
"Daddy," I cried, huddling against him, "Please don't send me away. Please, don't. I love you. I'm sorry for being so bad."
He hugged me so tight that I could feel the metal brace through his clothes. "I would never send you away, baby."
"And, and Daddy, I broke my promise to you." I looked at him through my teary eyes. "I promised to take care of you always, in place of Mama, but I haven't. I've loved Mr. Y, and Genevieve, and strange men, but I haven't loved you. I will from now on, I promise. I promise!"
His hug loosened. "Ariel." He looked at me, where I lay against him, disturbed wonderment in his stare. "You took that…as an actual promise?"
"Didn't you, Daddy?"
There was a strange silence for a while, in which Daddy seemed to retreat into himself, contemplating, looking around the room, becoming increasingly unnerved by his thoughts. He looked across to the bedroom, where he and I slept. All at once he shuddered.
"Daddy?"
He swallowed and turned to me, shaking his head. "Ariel, when you first realized how you felt for Mr. Y, why didn't you tell me?"
I didn't quite know why. I was speechless, trying to understand what I had been thinking.
"Did you think," he went on, "That I would be upset?"
It wasn't what I had been thinking exactly, not in those words, but I never had felt free, at any time, to confess such a thing; I had never once challenged the rationale behind that inkling, either. I could not answer the question.
He didn't seem to need an answer, anyway, for it seemed he had found his answer.
"I've hurt you, Ariel," he moaned, hugging me and suddenly becoming emotional. "I've been hurting you, and I was too much of an unreasonable fool to even see it."
"What?"
"The day Mama died, you came and slept next to me," he continued, "And for two years, with the exception of last night, you've never left. I never even thought of it. It was comforting having you near me, comforting to know that I would never…have to see your Mama's place unoccupied."
We had never once discussed the fact that we slept in the same bed, no, not ever. It was strange, hearing him admit something that was usually left unspoken.
"And that's what happened. Mama died, you lay down in her place, and that's what you became." Daddy closed his eyes and trembled. "You stopped being my adult daughter and became Mama's replacement."
"I always thought…" (This whole concept was absolutely staggering to me) "I always felt as though you would be so lonely without me…"
He nodded, eyes moistening. "Exactly. I've been too busy sitting about, feeling sorry for myself, grieving for the past, never thinking that my little Ariel was becoming a woman, a sexual being, and she had no mother to help her understand it." The first tear slid into his tattoos. "Just a father who isn't courageous enough to do right by her."
"Daddy!" I cried, but he took my hands and brought them to his lips, kissing them and weeping, letting the full weight of the blame shift from me onto him.
That was a terrible night. It was, in many ways, like the night Mama died, for me and Daddy were once again trapped in a crisis, and could do little more than grieve. The fact that tomorrow was the last day of the season was nearly forgotten.
(Miss Fleck stops here for now.)