CH 36

Erik did his best to fade into the darkness as he walked the short distance from the rail yards to the hotel where Charles Garnier kept a room. Although there appeared to be a bustling nightlife in Monaco, the dim light provided plentiful shadows in which he could escape the revelers' attentions. Taking in a deep whiff of the salty breeze blowing off the sea, he kept his head low as he silently pressed on his way.

Annie's absence was a constant emptiness in his chest that he knew only she could fill. Nevertheless, traces of anticipation were beginning to build inside him as he drew closer to his destination. Charles Garnier was an architectural genius with whose work Erik had an intimate acquaintance. He could hardly contain his excitement at the thought of meeting the man, and working beside him—and perhaps being afforded the chance to discuss with him his rather unconventional design for the opera house where Annie, even now, should be dancing.

As he walked, Erik's excitement transformed into nerves. Was the kindly foreman right about Garnier? Would the man truly be able to look past Erik's appearance and lack of experience and offer him employment? Since completing the Paris Opera House, Garnier had become a very well known name in Parisian architecture. He could command any crew he wished. Why would he care to take a chance on a boy with no background in the business—one with a hideous face to make matters worse?

Oh, Annie, he thought, wishing with all his heart that she were there right then, since she was the only one with the ability to calm his troubled soul. I may have caused us all this grief of separation for nothing. What if he won't have me?

By the time Erik finally reached the hotel, he had halfway convinced himself that the best course of action would be to buy a return ticket to Paris immediately. To his right, however, he was met with the very building upon which he hoped to work, and thoughts of leaving slipped from his mind. The Monte Carlo Casino was a beautiful and elegant structure built atop a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. It was here that the well-to-do of Europe flocked to when they wished to part with their money. Monte Carlo had been largely responsible for revitalizing Monaco's floundering economy, some fifteen years back when Homburg Casino owner, Francois Blanc, purchased the business from Prince Charles III. He turned it into a thriving vacation spot, and now, to increase the already large draw, Charles Garnier had been commissioned to add an opera house.

Erik stood in front of the building for a few moments more, caught up in its stately grandeur when he heard a voice remark, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Startled a bit, and irritated with himself that he would lower his guard enough to be caught unawares, Erik made no answer except to turn slightly and glance at the man now standing beside him. Much shorter than himself, the man's gaze was trained upon the building before them. His hair was an unruly cloud of brown curls atop his head, and a mustache curved from beneath his nose, to the sides of his mouth, extending below his bottom lip.

"Such pomp and regality!" The man continued, still staring ahead at the grandiose structure. "And to think! I have been asked to add an opera hall!" Pausing briefly to shake his head a bit in wonderment, the man added, "It can only add to its grandeur."

Erik's eyes widened at his words. He had been asked to add an opera hall—this eccentric looking man with the wild curls who had just happened upon him in the street? This was Charles Garnier?

"Monsieur Garnier?" Erik questioned softly.

Erik saw the man's mouth turn up in a smile as he began to turn his head, answering, "Ah, so you know my name. Well, sir, that puts me at a disadvantage as I do not…" Garnier's voice faltered as his cool grey eyes caught sight of Erik's golden ones peering out from behind his mask. For a moment, the older man seemed taken aback, but he quickly recovered and finished his sentence, "know yours."

Swallowing his nerves, Erik said, "I am Erik sir."

Garnier cocked his head to the side and his eyes narrowed a bit in recognition. "Are you the boy Pierre sent?" he asked.

Knowing Garnier was referring to the foreman who had forwarded his recommendation, Erik nodded. "Yes, Monsieur."

The smile on Garnier's face broadened, and Erik suddenly felt Garnier's palm on his upper arm—the man's other hand grasping Erik's right hand and pumping it up and down enthusiastically. "Welcome, son," Garnier said kindly. "Pierre said very good things about your character. I am happy to have you on my crew."

"I…" Erik began, a bit startled by Garnier's warm welcome, having been the recipient of precious few of them in his life. "I do not have much experience in construction, sir."

"Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?" Garnier remarked. "Are you just getting into town?"

"Y…yes sir," Erik answered. "I just arrived from Paris."

"Ahhh yes," Garnier remarked, with a shake of the head, "I am from Paris myself. Worked a very long time there too. I am very happy to now be here," he chuckled.

Erik smiled vaguely and nodded. "Why, yes sir. I am well acquainted with your work there."

"Yes? Tell me, then," Garnier's eyes glistened with excitement. "Have you been by the

Opera House?"

Erik's own mouth turned up into a grin. "In fact, I have, sir. Many times."

"Oh, splendid!" Garnier effused. "What do you think of it?"

"It is magnificent, sir," Erik insisted with whole-hearted sincerity. "With many…remarkable features."

Charles Garnier let out a hearty laugh, "Oh, Erik," he said, patting him jovially on the shoulder, as he began to lead him in the direction of the hotel. "You don't know the half of it!"

"All right, ladies," Madame Delacroix called out, with a tap of her baton, as the music stopped. "I do believe that is enough for today. You may go back to the dorms for a few hours. I want you all fresh for tonight's performance."

Annie released a heavy sigh and ran the back of her hand across her forehead. It had been a demanding rehearsal, but one that she knew had been sorely needed. Now that regular performances were running in the opera house, it would not do for the dancers to become complacent in their roles, and Madame Delacroix made certain that it would never happen. So they continued, every afternoon, to temper and hone every nuance of the routine they would perform at night.

The hours were long and they were grueling, but Annie relished the hard work, for when she was dancing she was able to forget. Forget the two rows of cots in the long bare room that was filled constantly with the chatter and giggles of girls she barely knew. Forget the eternal loneliness she felt, despite the fact that she could never find a moment alone. Forget the long, cold nights she lay awake in her bed, unable to sleep for want of a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, and lips that would whisper a lullaby with gentle kisses to the top of her head, her nose, her cheeks.

It had been a week since Erik had gone—seven days of exhausting rehearsals and fatiguing performances. Annie had immersed herself in the physical grind, finding that it was the only thing that could help her combat the hollow ache she felt inside. While the other girls groaned at what they thought were Madame Delacroix's unreasonable demands, Annie only pushed herself harder. While most of the ballerinas could not wait to return to the comforts of their cots, Annie often remained in the practice rooms long beyond what was required of her, in an effort to keep her sadness at bay. This was exactly her intention, as she lowered her body into a split , when she was met with the tip of Madame Delacroix's baton.

"I said it was enough," the demanding, but fair ballet mistress reminded when Annie lifted her head slowly along the line of the cane to meet her firm gaze.

"But Madame," Annie protested. "I am not tired. I…"

"They will be serving supper in the dining hall shortly, Mademoiselle," Delacroix interjected in an unyielding tone. "You will be there. No more skipping meals."

"I am not hungry, Madame," Annie tried once more, knowing her argument would be futile.

"You must eat, Mademoiselle Laramie," Delacroix repeated. But then, with her eyes softening, she reached out her hand to help Annie up adding, "Your mother would always skip meals too, when there was something troubling her heart. But you are my charge now, and you must keep up your strength."

Grasping the mistress's palm, Annie nodded, and said, "Yes, Madame. Thank you."

Annie dutifully left the rehearsal room, and began her reluctant journey to the private living quarters of the Garnier, still feeling too drained to have any interest in food. She did not fancy spending the next several hours in the company of the other ballerinas. While none of the girls had been outright rude to her—not the way Babette had been—they still barely acknowledged her presence. She had no illusions of ever being a closely-knit member of the group, and as far as she was concerned, that was just fine. She had been on her own from a very young age—except for Erik, whose absence she was feeling more and more keenly with every step away from the rehearsal area. She wondered if she could sneak back in once Madame Delacroix had slipped away…

"Mademoiselle Laramie," she heard the genial voice call out from the adjacent manager's wing.

Annie glanced down the hall to see Giles Giry waving to her with a smile on his face. Still wearing his long tan overcoat, he held his gloves and top hat in his hand, indicating that he had recently returned from business outside the opera house.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Giry," she called, stopping to wait as he hurried to catch up to her. She was truly grateful for the temporary distraction his sunny presence would provide, for unlike the other dancers, Giles Giry's never-ending kindness rarely failed to make her smile. He had been a constant benefactor since she'd arrived in Paris, and she appreciated his support greatly now that Erik was gone.

"I was hoping our paths might cross today," he said, slightly out of breath, his bright blue eyes glinting in satisfaction at their chance meeting.

"And why is that, Monsieur Giry?" Annie asked pleasantly.

"Well, aside from wanting to inquire as to how you are faring in the dormitories…" he paused, and tilted his head forward, asking, "How are you faring, Mademoiselle?"

"I am fine, Monsieur," she answered with amusement. And then, when he only continued to smile, she asked, "What was your other reason?"

His eyes crinkling a bit at the corners, he asked, "Excuse me, Mademoiselle? Other reason for what?"

"For hoping that our paths might cross," she responded with a little laugh at his absentmindedness.

"Oh, yes," he said, as if he were just then remembering that there was, indeed, another reason. Reaching into the inner breast pocket of his coat, he explained, "I was at the post office today, checking on correspondence for the opera house." He retrieved a white envelope that was a bit wrinkled and battered at the corners. Holding it out to her, he continued, "This was there, addressed to you."

Her breath hitching in her throat, Annie reached her hand out for the missive. Antoinette Laramie she saw printed on the front in the familiar elegant scrawl she recognized so well. Erik had written! Suddenly, her fatigue was gone and she felt energized and rejuvenated.

"I presumed it to be from your brother," Giles said, watching Annie's features light up at the sight of the letter.

"Yes," she nodded, with a smile, still staring at the beloved handwriting on the front of the envelope. "It is from Erik." Then looking up and meeting Giry's eyes, she said, "Thank you." In her excitement, she threw an arm around him in a brief hug. "Thank you so much, Monsieur."

"You…" Giry answered, caught off guard by her sudden show of affection. He brought one hand up to awkwardly pat her back, and said, "You are quite welcome, Mademoiselle. I…" he added, as Annie pulled away. "… assume you have been missing him?"

"Immensely," Annie nodded, trying to contain her excitement.

"Well," he coughed against the sudden dryness in his throat, looking down hoping that she could not see the redness that was currently spreading across his cheeks. "I shall leave you to read it, then."

"Thank you again, Monsieur Giry," Annie said sincerely. "I truly appreciate you collecting this for me."

"Of course, Mademoiselle," Giles nodded with a smile, as he turned and walked back down the hall to his office closing the door behind him.

Annie felt herself on the verge of both joyful tears and uproarious laughter as she stared at the letter in her slightly trembling hands. She could not wait to tear it open but she had to find a private place to do so, where she would not be disturbed by a bevy of curious girls, who excelled at prying into other people's business. She wanted to keep her moments with Erik entirely to herself.

Suddenly, it hit her—the private boxes would be empty for at least another couple of hours, before the attendants came in to prepare them for the evening performance. Erik himself had, several times, found solitude in Box 5 while he waited for her to be done with her day. Certainly it would be the perfect place to sit and read his letter.

She turned, hurriedly, on her heels and ascended the stairs that would lead to the private box. Quickly turning the handle and pulling the door closed behind her, she sat in one of the red cushioned chairs before breaking the seal on the envelope.

My Dearest Annie, she read and felt her heart skip a beat.

Oh how I long to be holding you in my arms, relating to you in person the things I wish to share, instead of pouring my thoughts out onto a lifeless piece of paper. For the ink in the well could never be as true a black as the onyx waves that cascade down your back, and the scratch of the quill could never replace the warm strains of your beautiful voice. The parchment is an unfeeling recipient of my communications, whereas I know you would welcome them with the warmth of your embrace and the press of your lips on my own. And yet, my love, imperfect as this missive may be, it will have to do, until I can once again feel the tickle of your breath against my skin, your beating heart pounding against mine.

Monaco is beautiful, Annie. Nowhere near as beautiful as you, but delightful and charming, none-the-less. The sea is ever present, with the rhythmic crash of the waves providing a steady ostinato for the events of the day. The kiss of salt in the air permeates the nostrils and tickles the back of the throat. The casino is already magnificent, and will surely become only more resplendent when the opera house is complete.

Yes, Annie, I got the job! In fact, I received an exceedingly warm welcome from Charles Garnier himself! Apparently, the foreman, whose name is Pierre, was not entirely upfront about the extent of his friendship with Garnier. However, the man was willing to hire me on Pierre's good word alone—for which I will be eternally grateful.

Garnier himself is a fascinating man. After our chance meeting outside the hotel, he escorted me inside, and showed me his plans for the opera he is to build. It will be very much like the Palais Garnier, Annie, only in miniature. Its smaller scale will not, however, find it lacking in any degree of ornamentation. Lush swaths of crimson and rich shimmers of gold will regale every inch of the premises. There will even be a grand chandelier, Annie—the elegance of which, in my opinion, rivals even the one at the Garnier! The main distinguishing factor will be the row of windows that will allow the patrons a view of the glistening Mediterranean Sea! It will be magnificent Annie, and I am truly humbled that I will have a hand, no matter how small, in erecting it. What a thrill it will be to know I have contributed to its construction.

Not nearly as great as the thrill, however, that will come when I am home with you again. I miss you, Annie—more than I even thought possible. The perpetual ache in my chest is an eternal reminder that a part of me is missing, and I will never be whole until I can once again feel your creamy skin beneath my fingertips, and gaze once more upon your ravishing face. The excitement of the job, Annie—it pales in comparison to the brilliance of your smile, the music of your laughter, the ecstasy of your touch. Thoughts of you take my breath away, my beautiful rose, and I cannot wait until the time comes that you can once again leave me breathless in person.

Until that day, I will dream of you every night, my beloved. And in my dreams, you are in my arms.

I love you, Annie. My heart beats only for you.

Yours,

Erik

Annie closed her misty eyes and let her head fall back, pressing Erik's letter to her chest. How her heart throbbed for want of him. "Oh Erik," she whispered miserably. "Without you, my heart hardly knows how to go on beating."

There was so much in the letter to be happy about. Erik had made it safely to Monaco. His idol, Charles Garnier, had accepted him with open arms. He would have the chance to work on a project he cared very much about. And yet, he was so far away.

She sat there a few moments more, hot tears streaming down her face, her breath leaving her body in quiet, ragged sobs. But then, folding the letter in half, and placing it back into its envelope, Annie rose to her feet and dried her eyes. She knew the box keeper would be in shortly to make certain all was arranged for the ticket-holders, and Annie could not afford to be found here, sobbing her heart out when the woman arrived. She had a performance for which to prepare.

Tucking the letter into her bodice for safekeeping, Annie exited Box 5 and made her way through the now quiet halls back in the direction of the dormitories. She was just about to open the door to the private quarters when the opera physician suddenly appeared, Giles Giry at his side. Brushing past her in a hurry, the doctor pushed open the door and rushed to where one of the dancers was laying passed out on the floor, a throng of girls crowding around her.

"Give her some space," the doctor commanded gruffly, gesturing for the girls to move out of the way. "For God's sake let her get some air!"

Annie looked over at Giles questioningly. With a final glance at the scene unfolding before them, Giles leaned down to whisper to Annie, "I was working in my office when one of the dancers ran in to say that a girl named Giselle had passed out. I fetched Dr. Janvier straight away."

Nodding, Annie looked back to the floor, where it appeared that the doctor had been successful at resuscitating the flame haired dancer. She was now sitting up, her elbows on her knees. Her head rested against one hand, while in the other, she held a glass of water that one of the other girls had procured for her. The doctor was speaking with her quietly, and she was nodding her head, when she suddenly burst into tears. Janvier rose and Marie knelt on the floor beside her, taking the younger ballerina comfortingly into her arms.

Dr. Janvier walked back toward the doorway just as Madame Delacroix appeared.

"I just got word that one of my girls has taken ill," Madame spoke, alarm clear in her voice. "Doctor, what has happened?" she demanded.

With a roll of his eyes, Janvier looked at her. "Not ill, Madame," he told her plainly. "Not ill at all. No, your little dancer has gotten herself with child."

And with a snicker at the horrified woman's look of surprise, Dr. Janvier nodded to Giry as he went merrily on his way.

AN: Well, some of you predicted this would happen to poor Giselle and now it has... Although, I daresay she didn't exactly get HERSELF pregnant, like Dr. Janvier implied. Hmph! Some men!