Rose29
Christine entered the festivities and discovered Raoul and Piangi partaking in a punch drinking contest. La Carlotta stood nearby with a look of disgust on her usually haggard and unpleasant face while Meg stood on the other side of the table bouncing up and down and clapping her hands. Christine had a creeping suspicion that no one noticed her squeals of delight or applause as much as they noticed her jiggling bosom. And, Christine thought, if she hadn't just left her masculine lover's bed she would have questioned herself for falling victim to Meg's neckline.
"Name?" the attendant at the entrance questioned.
"Christine," she replied.
"Christine…"
"Daae."
Had he forgotten her amazing performance which had only taken place months ago? Why, she was practically La Christine.
"Party of two?"
"Yes…well…one for the moment. But there will be another guest."
"A Monsieur Lu'oar?"
Christine beamed. "Yes, Monsieur Erik Lu'oar. He's a composer, a very talented and worthwhile—"
"Please proceed."
Christine entered just as Piangi surrendered to Raoul de Chagny, reigning punch champion. The opera singer clapped the vicomte on the back, hiccupped, and sobbed how much he had always loved the patron.
"First the golden nipples, now this," Raoul muttered as Christine approached. He put his drink down once he noticed her. "Where is your date, Christine? Surely he is attending."
"Surely."
"May I ask where he's at, Little Lotte?"
"He shall be here momentarily," she said, hoping that she was indeed correct. Since it had taken her a mere forty-five minutes to dress and an additional hour to fix her hair, she hoped that he, as a man, could toss on his costume, pull on a pair of boots, and wait for her…somewhere.
Christine stood on the tips of her toes and glanced around.
"Looking for him?"
She felt slightly embarrassed that they hadn't decided where they would meet.
"Perhaps I should search for him."
"Like a wild goose chase," Raoul mumbled.
"Excuse me?"
Raoul sighed. "Christine, are you certain he exists?"
"Oh, yes." Was she ever! Pages 17, 22, and 345 of the Greenberg love manual and a double whammy of delight in the Absinthe guide had her eyes glazed and her heart jumping in delight.
Christine, who had apparently blacked out in bliss, was suddenly jostled by her old childhood companion.
"Stable monkeys," she said loudly enough to garner a look from La Carlotta.
Raoul stared at her a moment. "Would you care to dance while you await your beloved composer?"
Christine bit her lip. "One dance," she agreed.
-o-
"Sir, there are no swords allowed at the Bal Masque celebration this evening. Therefore I must request that your surrender your sword at once."
"I decline," Erik replied firmly yet impatiently.
"Monsieur—"
"No man touches my sword."
The attendant visibly bristled. "I have no desire to handle your weapon unless it's sheathed, good sir." He tapped his list of attendants with his finger and glared at the defiant guest. "Moving on, sir. Your name, if you will be so kind."
"Erik."
The attendant stared at him. "Erik…?"
"Yes."
"No, sir, I'm afraid I need a full name."
Bile rose in the back of Erik's throat as he shifted his leather folder from one arm to the other. "Lu'oar," he coughed.
"My apologies sir. Leroux?"
"No," he said through his teeth. "Lu'oar."
"Amor?"
"Lu-OAR!" Erik shouted. His voice echoed through the marble corridor, making both men and several guests awaiting entrance to cringe.
"Ah. I see it now. Your lady has already arrived," the attendant said, but to no avail.
Erik stalked away before the attendant finished speaking, his every intention set on entering through a different door.
-o-
"How is that you aren't a stumbling drunk, Raoul?" Christine asked as they swept through the ballroom. They'd danced through two songs instead of one since Christine had yet to spot Erik. She was beginning to worry that he had decided to stay in his lakeside lair rather than enjoy an evening of entertainment, drinks, free food, and what would certainly result in a ram versus cock fight between the opera managers once the absinthe was opened.
"Simple," he answered. "I cheated during the drinking contest."
"Cheated?"
"There were two punch bowls. Piangi drank a very different concoction than I did. In fact, I feel as though I could dance all night."
"Ah." Christine really hoped he wouldn't. At least not with her.
"Yes. How I do enjoy a good tango."
"And who doesn't?" She laughed.
"The tango is nothing to mock, Christine," Raoul replied sternly.
The song came to an end, they clapped politely, and Raoul asked Christine if she would like punch, which she declined—given her newfound knowledge. Another song had started when Meg skittered up, her breasts still bouncing and a feather from her mask nestled between her ample cleavage.
"Good evening," Meg said to Raoul.
"Good evening," Raoul replied to Meg's cleavage. It appeared as though a beacon had transfixed his attention and threatened to smother him within the valley of her pert, ample bosom.
Christine fought to stay away from the threat of Meg's breasts by thinking of Erik, her lover, naked as he knelt over her.
"Would you care to dance?" Meg asked Raoul.
"Boy howdy!"
Raoul immediately abandoned Christine and took Meg by the hand. She watched as the pair disappeared down the hall, wondering exactly where the vicomte planned to take her for a night of dancing.
With a sigh, Christine resorted to walking around alone. She spotted Madame Giry—who looked less drunk than Piangi—and decided to say hello to her ballet mistress when her way was blocked.
"Joseph," she said to the stage hand looming over her. "You startled me."
"Mademoiselle," he said with a lusty grin.
Christine shifted her weight and glanced around again, searching desperately for an exit. "How are you?"
"Very well. And you?"
"I'm searching for someone, actually."
"Ah. Would you care to dance while you wait?"
"I'm afraid I've already danced," she said lamely.
He grabbed her hand and grinned again as he pulled her onto the dance floor and placed his hand on the small of her back. "But not with me, my dear."
