Author's Note: Special Treat--a mid-week post. It's late Tuesday evening, almost Wednesday, so I'm calling this a reversion to my Wednesday-posting that I used to do. We hit 10 reviews and sort of dwindled off, so I figured that meant that most of you had either read and commented or else read and not commented this round. So here's the next chapter. As I warned you previously, even comedy can't stay all fun all the time, as we learned in part 14 when Erik's friend and coworker Joseph Buquet took his own life. But don't worry too much. It's still ultimately going to stay a comedy.
Warnings: This gets a little dark. No, not dark. Not like the Buquet chapter, anyway. Just a bit serious. Nothing funny about the dilemma that arises here, so I poked fun at the situation anyway. Hope to offend none, of course. And meanwhile, in case your sense of humor is a little sick, eating and drinking is still not recommended.
Disclaimer: Ah, what's to disclaim? I totally own everything in this chapter. (Okay... except the Persian and Sorelli as they were originally written, anyway.)
I hurried most immediately to Christine's dressing room. I had once overheard Christine telling Raoul that it was entirely safe to talk there as Erik had once promised her he would never spy on her in her dressing room. Undoubtedly, that meant he spied there regularly, but I digress. I went most immediately to the dressing room but found it vacant of both singer and vicomte. I wandered aimlessly about wondering where else the couple might go and eventually deciding that they had probably each gone home for the evening. I was a bit disappointed that I did not get to tell my lovely Persia story, but I was not particularly worried. Raoul would surely take Christine away the following night unless his brother prevented it.
Then I was seized with a sudden wave of despair. Philippe would most definitely attempt to prevent Raoul's running off with Christine, and it would drive her right back to Erik's "home" in tears, no doubt. I was standing against a wall chewing my lip and considering what to do when Philippe appeared in the corridor. I slipped into a doorway and faded into the shadows, Erik-fashion. Philippe bustled past me an expression of such consternation on his face that I felt he probably would not have noticed me had I stood out in plain view.
As soon as he departed, I headed up the corridor without any real thought as to where I was going. I followed a familiar route out of habit, it would seem, however, for the hallway led to the dressing room of La Sorelli.
I reached the door with mixed emotions. I had been unsuccessful in my search for Raoul and should report back to Erik at once, and yet I lingered there. Perhaps the dancer remained. I was feeling very low, to be honest, and I entertained the thought that perhaps a brief encounter with my frequent companion would brighten my spirits a bit. On the other hand, I would no doubt feel worse for it later, when I returned to Erik late and saw the disappointment on his face. I turned away, but the flesh is weak. I turned back.
I was just resolving to leave again when the door opened suddenly and the usually-radiant dancer appeared in the doorway dressed to depart for home, complete in her fur coat and hat. Something was amiss, however, for her eyes were red and puffy and she wore no makeup at all.
She startled when she saw me, then recognized me and put her arms around me at once. "Oh, Rasheed!" she whispered. "The answer to my prayers. Thank you for coming. Thank God for sending you!" I wondered at her seeming desperation, despite a number of beaux and congratulated myself on my wondrous timing.
She drew me inside at once and closed the door and locked it, but when I reached for her she embraced me clumsily then drew back once again.
"Rasheed, I'm in such trouble," she continued, twisting her fingers together tightly. I said nothing. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I need help. I don't know where to turn. I haven't many friends here at the Opera, Rasheed." I cringed. She was using my given name far too often. I reflected: had she never used it before, other than when she cried out, clutching my back? Not that I could recall. Why the sudden change? "But you are my friend, are you not, Rasheed? A true friend to me, are you not?"
Was I? "Of course, my darling. Though I thought we were so much more than friends." I took her hands. After all, my errand for Erik could certainly wait ten minutes, could it not? Finding Raoul de Chagny and reporting back to Erik could wait, certainly twenty minutes, yes? Oh Sorelli! My heart pounded and the familiar throbbing filled my body. But she held me at a distance by my hands.
"Then you'll help me?" she whispered harshly. "Say you will."
I managed to pull her close enough to put my hands upon her hips. "I think there is certainly a fair chance of that," I told her enticingly. "What sort of help do you need?" My hands began to rove about her.
"Oh, please, Rasheed, please not now!" was her reply, and she slapped my hands away. I blinked. Not now? If not now, when? "Don't look so hurt," she snapped. "You should know it's nothing personal. It is only.... I must tell you...."
Sometimes, it is necessary to behave in a certain way to get what one desires. I nodded as understandingly as I could and moved toward the chaise. "Sit down, darling, and tell me whatever it is."
She sat, and I crouched before her.
"Rasheed, you know it has been some three weeks since you and I...." she struggled for a word. "Since you and I... since I saw you last," she finished weakly. I nodded. There was no need to put a word to it. We both knew what we had done that night that Erik's music overwhelmed me and sent me above searching for the first willing lady I could find.
She twisted her fingers together. "Since that time," she began again, awkwardly. She twisted her coral ring around and around and around her finger. "Well, to begin with, I have been ill most every day."
I nodded. The weather had gotten colder still since Erik and I made our costumes for the masquerade and showed no signs of improving. I said as much and warned her to avoid drafts.
"No, Rasheed! No! Not like that."
I can only imagine the expression that must have crossed my features. I held out my hands to her imploringly: then how?
"I am in quite an unhappy condition."
I wrapped an arm about her. "What has you unhappy, my dear?"
She pushed me away.
"I am only sick in the mornings, Rasheed," she said meaningfully.
Imagine my absolute befuddlement! I surrendered. "I don't know what we're talking about," I admitted.
She collapsed into a little heap on a wicker chair and sobbed into her hands while I desperately struggled to think of an illness that might go into remission by evening and but return every morning.
An eternity passed in this fashion before a brief memory surfaced of my mother's strange behavior in the months before I was presented with my younger brother. I am sure I blanched. My legs felt weak. I backed up and found a conveniently-placed chair behind me, into which I immediately sank. "It isn't possible," I murmured. "I never even touched that figurine!"
"Yes, you-- what? Did you say 'figurine'? What figurine? Rasheed, do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Sorelli blurred before me. A fine end this was for me--for us!--then. In my horrified imagination I could visualize it: Erik married to Daae and I to Sorelli, both women growing tiresome with the nagging and complaining that somehow wives do that other ladies do not. Only now did I truly understand Erik's predicament, and yet my situation was far worse, was it not? Silently I cursed my brother and that damnable fertility statue. After all, I had lived this life for so long with nary a problem until now, had I not?
No. No, this could not be. Sorelli sat, red-faced and sniffling before me, waiting for me to respond, but I could not catch my breath to reply to her for many moments. When I did, what I said was something about which I could not be proud later.
"It's not my fault," I said when I could speak again. "Who says it has anything to do with me?"
She simply regarded me with horror a moment.
"At least," I amended, already feeling guilty, "Don't pretend I'm the only one. I know of at least one other." In desperation I added what I should not have: "Maybe dozens."
She cried harder but nodded heroically.
"There's at least as much chance this is Philippe de Chagny's fault, anyway," I said carelessly.
Sorelli's head nodded eternally in agreement.
"Well, why are you coming to me about it, then?" I asked, a little less kindly than I intended. Truth be told, I was in a state of panic and found it quite impossible to behave at all appropriately. "Why, oughtn't you go and tell Philippe then?"
Her answer was scarcely audible, but I believe she whispered, "He can't help me." Then she dissolved in still heavier sobs.
I remembered the unpleasant look upon Philippe's face in the corridor, how quickly he'd been walking, how unhappy he seemed. Sorelli seemed to cry harder still as though she read my thoughts.
"Oh God," I managed. Ridiculously, I put my arms around her. "Well, never mind. It'll turn out all right," I said nonsensically.
She squeezed me quite suddenly. "Then we shall be married?"
"No!" I cried, louder than I intended. Conceive of it! Me! With a wife and a child! And what? Still living in Erik's flat? For a moment I tried to visualize Erik's reaction to such a thought but found I had not the mental faculties for such an imagination. "I have a better idea," I said, nonsensically, for in reality I had no idea at all.
"A better idea?" she echoed faintly.
I stood and backed away from her. I needed a few moments to myself for I was suddenly nauseous. I slipped out the door and down the hall in the direction from which I had come, my mind a blank except for the desperate desire not to empty the contents of my stomach into the corridor.
Author's Note: Yeah, I know it got a bit deep, but I tried to keep it light all the same. How did I do? (Is this too predictable? Is it too obvious where this is going?)
Oooh! And a quick PLUSH PROJECT UPDATE!!
Talked to our factory contact today. Told him I am a teacher and the designer is a teacher too and asked for some factory pics. He said he'd work on it. Asked me who/what Erik was. Thought the project was different from what teachers usually ask for--school mascots and such. I laughed and told him. Amazing that he didn't ask until now, when they are almost done.
His ship-date is next Monday, less than 1 week away. He says that because of my software issues with designing the glossy hang tag they might not ship ON Monday. Shouldn't be more than a couple day delay, though, and he's going to ask the factory if they can make it on schedule anyway. According to all my paperwork, it's 2-3 days by air to get the Eriks here, but I keep telling myself a week so that if they take a little longer than they are supposed to, I'm not disappointed.
So, if things come together as we hope they will, I may still have all the Eriks by the week of Thanksgiving. As a teacher, I have that week off. And my husband just quit his job (don't worry... that's actually /good/ news!!) so he might have that week off as well if his new job doesn't need him already. And so.... we will spend the ENTIRE week packaging up all the Eriks for shipment and mailing out the Eriks that were pre-ordered and paid for. (Right after I spread them all over my living room and get my picture taken in the midst of them. Heck, what's the use of making a plush of your favorite character if you can't have a little fun with it?
Translation: If you want an Erik and you haven't placed an order yet, try to do so this week so that I can ship one to you NEXT week. If you're planning to give Erik as a Christmas present, order early because you now how the holiday mail rush gets with all the holiday cards.
I just can't believe we're finally at this point. This is actually going to happen!!
