CH 29
"Erik, what on earth happened today?" Annie asked as soon as they had entered the cottage, hands firmly placed on her hips.
The question had been burning in her mind all during the walk home from the opera house, but she dared not ask until they were behind closed doors.
"Annie," Erik asked, trying to seem innocent as he hung their cloaks on the hooks. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean, Erik!" She insisted, not believing his innocent routine for a minute. "At the opera house. You were there—in Monsieur Giry's office. Don't even try to deny it. All of the girls heard, and they are in an uproar over this… this…" Annie threw her hands up in exasperation finally blurting, "opera ghost!"
Erik regarded her for a moment before gently taking her hands in his. "Come," he bid her, as he guided her toward the settee. Once they were seated facing one another, Erik began, "I have a lot to tell you."
"Yes," Annie agreed, "I think you do."
With a sigh, Erik began his tale. "The other day—when I was in Box 5 and the curtain fell…"
"Oh yes," Annie interjected, remembering that he'd never quite explained how he'd managed to make it fall. "And how did that happen?"
"That is rather irrelevant," Erik answered, still not quite ready to tell her how he'd managed to pull the curtain down. "A bit of clumsiness on my part. Regardless, when I heard footsteps in the hall, I knew I had to disappear. I remembered the lever, Annie, above the mirror in the antechamber, and I knew it was my only way to keep from being discovered. I quickly tripped it and stepped into the tunnels that you and I had fallen into after your audition, and my sense of adventure getting the best of me, I decided to have a look around.
"What I found was incredible, Annie. Charles Garnier was a true mastermind—and the extent of his brilliance is not even known by most. Beyond the walls of the opera house, Annie, lies a true labyrinth—a secret world of tunnels and passageways hewn from stone. There is even an underground lake!" Grabbing her hand, Erik's eyes softened a moment when he said, "The deepest cellar reminded me of our cave, Annie. I felt like I was home."
Annie's eyes shone a moment when she remembered the serene beauty of their former home in the forest, and in truth, she was incredibly intrigued by all that Erik said. It still did not explain, however, what had happened in Giles Giry's office.
"This is all amazing, Erik," Annie told him, "But I still do not understand how you managed to be in the office today—and how you managed to scare Babette."
"Well, I have not told you everything yet, Annie," he said, excited now to finish his tale. "All around this hidden world, there are windows and entrances into the main parts of the opera house—which appear to be linked to mirrors. While in the building one would look into the mirror and only see one's reflection, while an observer in the tunnels can take a glimpse into the daily events of the Opera Garnier quite undetected. I discovered these portals completely by accident," Erik admitted, remembering the rather distasteful encounter he had had with the manager tending to his appearance.
Annie looked back at him, her face twisted a bit in confusion. "Why on earth would someone build such a thing?"
Shaking his head, Erik said, "I admit, I do not know, Annie. But today, after I tried," Erik lowered his eyes from hers for a moment, "and failed, again, to find employment, I needed a place to consider my situation. My intention was to go sit by the lake and think—but I started exploring the tunnels, and got carried away. When I heard your voice behind the wall of Giry's office, I found the opening to the secret observation point in the room, and I watched.
"I must admit, I was rather proud of you, Annie, when you slapped that awful girl in the face!" Erik said with a smirk.
"It was quite satisfying," Annie answered, though she looked more aggravated than satisfied.
"I continued to watch her after you left—and she was about to unwrap the package to see what you had left on Giry's desk. It was none of her business, so I merely suggested she go. Rather forcefully."
"I'll say," Annie chuckled a bit to herself. "She looked scared to death when she emerged from that office!"
"She…was awful to you," Erik said, squeezing her hand sympathetically. "I am so sorry to have put you in the position of being mistrusted and ridiculed by your peers."
Annie looked at Erik in surprise. "Erik, how could you possibly blame yourself for what Babette said?"
"I am the reason, Annie, that you are not living in the dormitories. I am the reason that you were late this morning. Perhaps it would be better for you if you did board at the Opera Garnier…"
"Don't even say it, Erik." Annie warned, lifting a finger to his mouth. "I do not want this job if it means having to be separated from you." But with a sigh, she added, "Still, if I am to dance at the Garnier, I need to be there on time in the mornings—and all of the girls need to be able to concentrate. Opening night will be here soon, and we have a full company rehearsal on Friday for the Count and his two sons."
"The Count de Chagny?" Erik asked in surprise. "Why would you be rehearsing for them?"
"The Count is the major patron for the opera house. His elder son Philippe spends quite a bit of time at the opera house, actually, since he is involved with one of the dancers."
"Philippe?" Erik asked, eyebrow raised, his cheeks turning a bit red at the memory of what he had witnessed between Philippe and Babette. "Why would the son of a Count be involved with that vile, disgusting girl?"
"Erik!" Annie scolded him. "Giselle may not be my friend, but she is not vile or disgusting. I rather take pity on her. Babette teases her—quite harshly—all the time."
Erik nodded slowly, as the situation began to make itself clear. "I see."
"I hope you also see that we cannot have any more distractions from the 'ghost,'" she added. "If we are to do well at this rehearsal and if we are to be successful on opening night, the company needs to focus."
"I see that, my love," Erik said with a smile and a quick kiss. Annie was just about to wrap her arms around his neck, when he stood up from the couch and began to make his way to the kitchen.
"Erik," she called after him. "What are you doing?"
"I am going to make you a quick dinner, and then I am going to tuck you into bed. You have to be at work early tomorrow, my little Prima Ballerina."
Erik strolled the marketplace once again, daring to hope that he might find some opportunity for work among the many shopkeepers there who endlessly hawked their wares. He soon discovered, however, that though merchants were happy to interact with him when he was handing them his money in exchanges for goods, they were swift to shake their heads at his request for employment.
No closer to his goal of finding a job, Erik wandered the market, hands in his pockets, head hung low, as he considered his situation. People's minds in other places might not be as closed as they are here. The foreman's words came back to him once more, still, the idea of leaving—of ever living apart from Annie—was something he could not even consider. He needed her, like he needed air to fill his lungs, and even if he were willing, he knew she would never agree to the idea. There had to be some other way. It was then when Erik was lost in his thoughts, desperate to find some way to better his situation, that a flash of color in the window of a cobbler's shop caught his eye.
There it lay, among the line of men's leather dress shoes and women's lace up boots—a ballet pointe shoe made of the palest pink, satin ribbons falling from it in a shimmery trail. Erik's mind immediately went to Annie, and to the package she had lain on Giles Giry's desk. She had refused to keep the ballet slippers, for she knew how the gift wounded Erik's pride. But he had noticed how she rubbed her feet at night after a day of dancing in ill-fitting shoes. She had need of a good pair of dance shoes that fit her well—especially with opening night quickly approaching.
Erik stepped inside the store, and examined the delicate slipper more closely. He knew that the size was perfect for Annie, and he would love nothing more than to present her with the pair for her debut performance. But when he saw the price quoted on the little white tag pinned to the back of the shoe, Erik's face crumbled in disappointment. They still had some savings from their days at the market in Toulouse, but that money was quickly dwindling. He could not afford to spend this price on the shoes when he had the following month's rent on the cottage to consider.
No, Erik thought as he exited the store before the cobbler could approach with the gleam of a potential sale in his eyes, I will never be able to give Annie the things she needs if I do not first find a job.
Erik found himself standing at the base of the de Chagny site. He had almost cost the foreman his crew when the kindly man had taken a chance on Erik and given him an opportunity to work. It had not worked out, because of the prejudice of others, and Erik truly did not wish to cause the kindly man any more trouble. He wished only to talk to him again. The foreman had been the one to suggest Erik seek experience elsewhere, but Erik did not know where. He had to ask the man if he had any suggestions. Certainly there must be somewhere in Paris he could turn.
It was impossible to miss the suspicious glares that were thrown in his direction as he made his way up the hill. Without a wheelbarrow full of bricks, the climb was physically much easier than it had been on his last ascent, but his anxiety grew with every step he took. Still, he forced himself to continue to the foreman's tent, and clearing his throat at the entrance, he called out, "May I come in, Sir?"
"Who is it and what do you want?" The foreman's gruff voice replied.
Erik smirked at hearing the irritated tone that belied the man's kind nature. "It is Erik, sir."
After a brief pause, the foreman's voice rang again, although this time it was less brusque. "Come in, son."
Erik pushed the flap of the tent aside and entered. The foreman was seated at his desk, looking up at him quizzically. "Please…Erik," he said, with a gesture to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Take a seat."
Unlike the last time the foreman had made that request, Erik did as the man bade. After a moment of silently studying his fingers, while the older man looked at him expectantly, Erik simply asked, "Where?"
The foreman's eyes narrowed, "Excuse me, son?"
"Where do I get this experience of which you spoke?" Erik reiterated. "I have been all through Paris—nobody, anywhere, is willing to hire a man wearing a mask. How can I get experience if I cannot be hired?"
The foreman looked at Erik sympathetically. Shaking his head, he answered, "I'm sorry, son, but I doubt that you will find a job here in Paris. The builders here—they are used to working with the cream of the crop. And while I can recognize your potential, the fact that you did not have an apprenticeship and have not built anywhere before is going to work against you. That and…" the builder's voice trailed off, not wanting to complete his sentence.
"My mask." Erik huffed, knowing that the cursed necessity was a great inhibitor to his success—in his eyes, an even greater one than his lack of experience.
"It's a shame, son," the foreman nodded grimly. "But that's how these people are. Perhaps in another city —another country…"
"But sir," Erik interrupted. "My fiance'—she is a dancer with the opera. I cannot ask her to give up her dreams. And I cannot leave her."
The foreman's eyes lit with interest, "A dancer, you say? At the Opera Garnier?"
"Yes," Erik confirmed, a bit confused why this information had obviously struck a chord with the man.
"Then you have been to the building?" The foreman asked.
"Of course," Erik nodded, wondering where this conversation was headed.
"It's fascinating, isn't it?" The foreman asked once again, in excitement.
Still a bit puzzled, Erik could not hide his own enthusiasm when he answered, "Indeed, it is, sir."
"That building," he said, shaking his head, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, "is truly state of the art, with features most people could never dream."
Erik remained quiet, but inwardly thought, if you only knew….
"The reason I mention it," the foreman continued, "is because I know Charles Garnier. He's a personal friend of mine."
"Indeed?" Erik asked, his interest now most definitely piqued.
"Yes," the foreman nodded, "and if there's one thing I know about Charles, is that he appreciates potential—no matter its form. He's about to start a new job, you know."
Erik's eyes lit up, "No, I was not aware of that!" Erik answered. "I admire Monsieur Garnier's work greatly and if you think he would accept me as an employee…"
"Oh, I have no doubt of it," the foreman answered, "especially if I write him a letter of recommendation."
Erik looked back at the foreman overjoyed. "In truth, sir, you would do that for me?"
"Yes, son," the foreman nodded. "I can tell you would not squander the opportunity—and I know how motivated you are to do well by your future bride."
Erik's heart leapt at the mention of Annie, as the image of her in a wedding dress flashed in his mind. "Oh, I definitely would not, sir. I would make you proud for having recommended me—and I would consider working with Monsieur Garnier to be a great honor."
"Then it's settled," the foreman grinned. "I'll write to Charles and tell him to expect you."
Smiling broadly at the great feeling of relief that filled his chest, Erik asked, "If I may inquire, sir, what is Monsieur Garnier's next project? And where, sir?"
"Oh, how silly of me!" the foreman responded, rolling his eyes. "He's working on a great concert hall attached to the casino in Monaco."
All of Erik's hopes dashed to the floor. "Monaco?" he asked with a suddenly dry throat.
"Well, yes," the foreman asked. "They will be much more accepting of you there. And even if the other workers are not, Charles Garnier can afford to throw his influence and name around. No one would dare walk off his site."
"But…" Erik felt his chest constricting and the air leaving his lungs at the thought of traveling so far away. "That is so far away. I told you, I cannot leave my fiancé.'"
"Not even for a little while, to secure your future?" The foreman asked sensibly. "Monaco would not be forever. And once you had the experience of working for Charles Garnier under your belt, no one in Paris would turn you away—mask or not."
Erik knew the foreman spoke the truth. He knew it was an opportunity he could not turn down. But in his mind, all he could see was Annie, and her lovely smile and those beautiful brown eyes that had saved his live the moment he had glanced upon them the first time. For so long, it had been just the two of them. And through all their troubles—his torturous imprisonment at the gypsy fair, and her horrific treatment at the hands of her stepfather—they had made it through together. They had forged a bond so strong—built a life that only seemed truly complete when they were at each other's sides. Could he really now live without her?
"I…" Erik said, his voice hollow. "I must consider this." He rose from the chair, not looking the foreman in the eye, still shocked at the possibility that had been laid before him.
"Do not take too long to make your choice," the foreman warned, as Erik started to go. "You do not want Garnier's crew to fill up."
"I…" Erik sighed heavily, knowing that he would have to make his decision soon. "I will give you my answer shortly. And I thank you, sir, for all the kindness you have shown me."
And with a polite nod of his head, Erik turned and was on his way.
Erik walked the tunnels behind the Opera Garnier soundlessly, lost in a world of his own thoughts. For a man who had met rejection at every turn, an incredible opportunity had now been placed in his hands. Erik had the chance to work with Charles Garnier—the very man who had crafted both the unmatched opulence of the opera house that the world got to see, and the stark intricacies of the tunnels Erik now traversed. Garnier had integrated the two so seamlessly, that only a chance occurrence had ever revealed the existence of the hidden labyrinth now lost to the world.
Erik had so many questions. Why did Garnier build the tunnels? Why did he incorporate the two-way mirrors? What purpose were they to serve—especially since the current owners of the building seemed to have no knowledge of their presence? How had it all been accomplished?
He might have the chance to ask all these questions if he agreed to the foreman's gesture of writing him a letter or recommendation—not to mention the invaluable experience he would earn, or the money he would be able to use to give Annie the life she deserved. They could move out of the cottage upon his return and they could marry—living in their own home as man and wife. Annie would make such a beautiful bride…
But a return, by its very nature, first implies a separation, and this is where Erik was uncertain. How could he live without Annie? Erik had never really cared very much about living until the moment he had first looked into her eyes—dark, mysterious, beautiful eyes, that saw him while all others looked away. She was as essential to him as the very air he breathed. She was the force that kept his heart beating. His main reason for opening his eyes in the morning was to look upon her resting there beside him. How could he be expected to go on living without having her near?
And hadn't Annie sworn time and again, that she didn't want this job at the opera house if it meant they would have to be parted? How would she ever let him go off to Monaco. As far as she was concerned, he knew, she would marry him as he was—a pauper. Would she ever see the importance of him finding a way to earn his own living?
Erik shook his head. No, it was absurd to even consider leaving. It could never work. Not even for a little while, to secure your future? The foreman's words haunted him, and Erik groaned out loud. Stay and never have enough money to give Annie the life she deserved—leave and not be able to bear being without her. It was such an impossible circumstance!
He continued on through the tunnels, turning the situation over and over again in his head, until the sound of heated voices caught his attention.
"I cannot believe Madame Delacroix cast Antoinette Laramie as the principal dancer and not me!" came a caustic voice that Erik knew he would never forget. "You must fix it, Phillipe!"
Erik realized that he was now walking past the same area where he had happened upon that lewd display between the ballerina and the man he knew now to be the count's eldest son. Hoping fervently that the fact that they were talking and not moaning meant that they were not now engaged in just such an activity, Erik shielded his eyes and braced himself as he slid away the opening in the wall.
Philippe was sprawled on the settee at the back of the dressing room, shirt unbuttoned and hair unkempt while Babette fussed with her hair at dressing table mirror. Erik let out a quiet sigh of relief that it appeared their festivities had already concluded.
"Babette," Philippe answered in a voice laced with impatience. "What do you want me to do about it? I'm not the ballet mistress."
"You can talk to your father!" she snapped back, reaching for a tube of lip color.
"Babette, I am publicly involved with Giselle," Philippe reminded her with a roll of his eyes. "Why would I be speaking on your behalf and not hers?"
"Because Giselle is a little girl!" Babette snapped in irritation with a cluck of her tongue. "But even she would be preferable to Antoinette Laramie—the slut of the opera house, who only has this position because she agrees to Giles Giry's favorite positions!"
Erik took a deep breath to keep himself from tearing right through the mirror and strangling Babette for her accusations. As it was, his blood boiled as he continued to listen to the vulgar girl's insinuations.
"I don't know what he sees in her," she wondered, straightening up and adjusting the bodice of her tutu. "Scrawny looking thing! And far too tall to be a proper ballerina! But then, I guess, gentlemen cannot truly appreciate the curves of a real woman." Looking over her shoulder at her paramour, she added, "That must be why you are still with Giselle…you lack true appreciation."
"Babette, I appreciate your womanly assets very much," he answered hungrily, gesturing for her to come over and join him on the settee. "You know I am only with Giselle, because she has the virginal appearance that mother desires. It's the only reason she permits me to spend so much time here at the opera house."
"Ah, yes," Babette cooed, as she slid herself over to Philippe and straddled his lap, running a finger slowly down his chest. "But you stripped her of her virtue, didn't you? Right after you told her you loved her. Isn't that right?"
"Well," Philippe answered, putting his hands on Babette's waist and pulling her more tightly against him, arching his hips upward to make his interest in her attributes very clear. "I had to carry on the ruse. Keep up appearances, if you will. Sometimes these things happen." He tilted his head upward, reaching forward to capture Babette's lips with a kiss.
Babette leaned lower, until her mouth was a breath away from his. "I see. . . Well, perhaps," she whispered seductively, running her finger across his lips. "We will not happen until you fix this thing with that whore Laramie."
Erik's fingers squeezed into fists at Babette's cruel words, his fingernails cutting into his flesh. Babette roughly lifted herself from Philippe's lap, leaving the boy in a very bad way, as she sashayed to the door. "Talk to your father, or we're through!"
"But Babette!" Philippe actually whined as the promise of a repeat performance of their scandalous encounter dissolved in front of his very eyes.
"Oh, don't worry, Philippe," Babette responded. "I'm sure your little Giselle will keep your bed warm while you're awaiting the return of your real woman!" And with that, Babette waltzed out the door, slamming it behind her.
Erik too, slid the opening behind the dressing mirror shut. He was shaking with his anger for the disgusting ballerina who had just left the room. "So you think you are a real woman, Babette Sorelli?" he wondered aloud, through clenched teeth. "Perhaps the opera house should learn who the real slut of the opera is!"
And turning violently, Erik made his way back to Box 5, a plan of revenge already formulating in his mind.
AN: Uh oh! Babette has truly incurred the ghost's wrath! Watch out! But what do you think of what the foreman had to say. Do you think the lure of Charles Garnier will be enough to make Erik leave Paris? If just for a short time? Please review and let me know! :)
