Chapter 52 The Premiere
Meg parted the heavy curtains just enough to peek out into the theatre, astonished by the crowds filling the opera house even up to the highest balconies. Her stomach churned nervously and she was freezing despite the heat from the stage lights. Not only was her costume immodest but skimpy, providing little protection against the drafts flowing across the backstage area toward the wings of the stage. Pulling her cloak tighter, she studied the double lines of military and security men, praying yet doubtful they would be able to control a crowd of this size, should that become necessary. Even from behind the curtain she could feel the anticipation and impatience charging the atmosphere. Everyone waited for the phantom's return, completely unaware of Erik's disappearance only days before. Still, like them, she scanned the crowd and prayed for some sign that he was indeed present tonight. Only they were looking for a masked man, not one bearing a surgically corrected face like Erik's. For once she was grateful that he had undergone the pain and trauma of surgery, only because it meant they would fail to recognize him. He had said she would know he was present, but her hopes fell as she stared out into the crowd, particularly the balcony, finally deciding that he had not come.
Dropping the curtain back in place, she turned away to scan the backstage area, telling herself it was a good sign that not a shred of evidence had been found to indicate his whereabouts. It meant that he was alive and uninjured, yet if he was well and in Paris tonight, why hadn't he contacted her? Battling despair and hope, she had even spent in fasting and prayer, yet she still wondered if she had enough faith to believe that he would come back safely, into her arms.
There was a sudden burst of activity across the stage and she spied Inspector Leger as he arrived, surrounded by at least a dozen policemen to await his orders. With him were the managers, who nodded at his instruction and hurried away to carry out his wishes. Studying him carefully, she noted his grim expression, and when their eyes met across the stage he shook his head and looked away, indicating to her "no news." With a heavy sigh she glanced up at Box 5 and saw the mayor sitting by Judge Miller, their faces set with disapproval. Other distinguished looking gentlemen sat around them, but she focused upon the judge, disliking his calm demeanor. He was to blame for insisting Erik come here and settle things, despite the threats on his life and the unpredictable crowd. She wanted to throw something and scream at him in protest, even though she knew deep down inside that he was right. The only way for Erik to let go of the past was to come here tonight, and she prayed he would find a way to do so, for both their sakes.
A hand touched her shoulder and she gasped, turning to see Ben's hesitant smile. He frowned at her slumped posture when she saw that it was not Erik.
"Are you all right?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders. Winding her arm around his waist she shook her head, tears once again threatening to spill from her eyes. "Don't worry," he said grimly, gazing up at the ropes and catwalks, "he'll be here."
She glanced toward the queue of police opposite them and took a deep, shuddering breath. "That's what worries me."
It had been Ben who found Daniel wandering the hills halfway between the parish and the village, she had discovered. Barging into Leger's office had been a fruitful endeavor until the young rabbi appeared, and then later her brother. Between their accounts detailing the events leading up to Erik's disappearance, she and Leger learned of the new dangers of Daniel's being followed and the importance of the people comprising the latest group of refugees to be escorted to the parish. Angered that Daniel had not informed him of being followed, Leger condemned the risk they had taken by leaving on their own, without police protection. To Ben's credit, he had felt uneasy after Erik and Daniel departed again for Paris, and took it upon himself to go after them. Thankfully Erik had shared with him the fact that they would be taking the lesser known trail through the woods, the one he'd shown Erik one day when they were out riding during his recovery. But by the time he found Daniel it was too late to help Erik, so together they retrieved Daniel's mare the stallion their attacker had ridden. But there was no trace of either Erik or Prince. Local authorities were still searching the area, but so far no trace of either man or beast had been found.
"I still think they fell into the river," Ben mused, studying Leger's stiff posture. "It's the only thing that makes sense, but because of the frozen ground we couldn't track anything."
Meg shuddered and pulled her cloak closer. "But Erik is an excellent swimmer; he could have managed, unless he was injured."
Ben shrugged. "Not necessarily—if he was dragged underwater it would have affected his recovery from the surgery."
She looked up at him in surprise, pulling away from him. "What do you mean?"
He frowned. "Water entering the sinuses or ear canal after the kind of surgery he had would pose a risk for infection, or at the very least affect his equilibrium."
"I had no idea," she choked, grabbing his hand. "Do you think he might be lying ill somewhere?"
Ben looked away, distracted by the roar of the crowd beyond the curtains. "I don't know what to think, but it might explain why no one has heard from him."
Confirming her worst fears, she closed her eyes and pictured Erik once again lying injured or ill, without her at his side. "Oh God…"
Again the crowd cheered and Ben stepped toward the curtain, peeking out at the hall. "The orchestra is filing in," he informed her.
Meg crowded closer to him and looked furtively out. She saw Mon. Reyer following the other musicians as they filed out into the hall, keeping close behind the line of guards stationed across the entire span of the stage and beyond. Gripping a black leather portfolio to his chest, he avoided looking at the crowd but appeared no more nervous than usual. He climbed his podium and set the score down upon his stand, glancing up at the curtain. Somehow, seeing him standing there gave her hope, and when he lifted his baton she suddenly felt as if everything would somehow work out. Glancing up at the fists waved in the air as the orchestra began to tune, she purposed that with her dance and the introduction of the song Erik had written for her the world would finally see the other side of her lover and perhaps understand.
In the murky darkness high above the levels of platforms and backdrops Erik clung to his perch, watching her every move. Though stage crew, singers and dancers crowded the floor spread out far beneath him, he had spotted her as soon as she appeared in the wings. More petite than the other dancers, her hair glowed golden in the light, her movements attesting to the grace in her carriage as she attempted to hold her head high. Narrowing his gaze, he studied the way she turned to kiss Ben's cheek before leaving his side to join the other dancers for warm up. His hungry gaze followed her arms as she lifted away her cloak to drape it over the railing before gripping the barre to begin. Feeling suddenly lightheaded he reached blindly into his pocket and pulled out the pills, popping one into his mouth as he focused upon her. Following every sweep and stretch of her body, he pretended that she was performing solely for him, not merely preparing for a performance. Not one detail of her dress or appearance escaped his notice, including the tension he noted between her lovely brows or the slight tightening of her lips despite her mask of calm concentration.
"We've parted too often," he whispered, his gaze traveling appreciatively over her shoulders and arms, "and for far too long…"
Though the dancers moved in practiced synchronization, a line of clashing colors and fabrics, he ignored the others and concentrated only upon his wife. The Don Juan costume she wore was identical to theirs, risqué and alluring, inviting the lustful stares of those who had no right to look. Jealousy surged within him, making him grip the ropes more tightly. His palms began to sweat beneath the black leather gloves that were necessary for preventing rope burn when performing his acrobatics. Gritting his teeth, he watched her bend forward, shocked to note that the back of the costume was absent, accentuating the beauty of her slender shoulders and long waist, the latter framed with black and red ribbons and lace. When she pulled up and turned to rest one palm on the railing, his gaze was drawn along the lace edging that skirted the base of her shoulders and plunged dangerously low between her breasts. His mouth went dry, but a glint of light sparkled, diverting his attention to the thin gold chain caressing her neck and cleavage.
What treasure could be suspended there? he wondered, his eyes following the graceful arc of her arm as it swept over her head, framing her upswept curls and jeweled hair picks.
Desire left unfulfilled burned within him, frustrating him anew by the distance and circumstances separating them. He longed to lose himself in the warm depths of her eyes, fill his lungs with her fragrance and taste her kiss. He wanted to hear the soft husky tone of her voice as she said his name. And watching her lift and stretch her leg along the rail he closed his eyes, remembering how it felt to become one with her and come home.
The
tuning of the orchestra increased in volume, startling him. One
downward glance told him that she was tucking her arm around the
dancer at her side, and he was bombarded with the memory of circling
her trim waist with his hands. Groaning at his self inflicted
torture, he could not help watching as she kicked high in the air,
her leg scissoring out from beneath a decadently short black tutu,
its surface shining with black translucent material that shimmered in
the light. His eyes traveled slowly down her leg, passing over the
black satin ribbons crisscrossing her calves and ankles, ending at
her black pointe shoes. Never before had he seen the dancers with
black shoes and hose, and he vowed that were he still in charge here
there would be immediate changes in wardrobe. The old temptation to
express his outrage by knocking over something or writing a caustic
note to the managers rose up within him as he shook his head at
whoever compelled the dancers to dress in such a manner…especially
his wife.
Thankfully
the practice routine was changed and he watched her execute a pli or
two before bending forward in line with the others. He watched the
tail of her loosely braided hair swing hypnotically back and forth
through her arc like movements. Interwoven with black satin ribbons,
her hair brushed across her breasts, causing him to reach up and
loosen his cravat and take a deep breath. Then he realized that he
would not be the only man to witness such a feast for the eyes, and
gritted his teeth to keep from bellowing in protest. What were those
managers thinking, trashing his opera in such a manner? He had not
been gone that long, yet what he sensed he was about to witness was
the denigration of all that opera held in highest esteem: music as
the highest expression of art, with the visual supporting it, not the
other way around.
They were playing scales now, he realized, turning his attention to the orchestra pit barricaded behind rows of gendarmes and guards. Mon. Reyer was studying a page in his score, making Erik wonder if the conductor would indeed keep his word and introduce "Meg's Song" as planned. Such a bold move was uncharacteristic of Reyer, and as he shifted his attention to the managers seated in Box 6 and the officials in Box 5 he wondered how he might manage it. Distracted by a cramp in his upper back, he loosened his grip on the ropes, slowly lowering himself to the uppermost catwalk where he spread his feet and stretched his aching shoulders. He hadn't hung by ropes in quite some time, and had to admit he might be losing his touch. With that in mind he glanced toward the police crowding backstage right and decided it was time to report for duty.
Daring another glance out toward the thousands of people packing the theatre, he drew in his cloak, deftly tucking the ends into one side of his belt. Then testing his grip on the ropes, he swung across to the adjacent catwalk, landing there with practiced agility. Clasping the railing with both hands, he shifted down one level, pausing to check Meg's position and then plotting his route toward the place where Leger and Gilbert stood waiting, obviously for him. Another glance toward Box 5 reassured him that Cremieux had joined them as anticipated, the politician's hawk like gaze sweeping along the perimeter of the stage as if to catch a glimpse of the phantom. Smiling at the irony of his situation, Erik doubted any of them would suspect how tempted he was to kidnap his wife right out from under their noses and flee the country with her. Yet perhaps, after all this spent in his absence, that thought might have begun to cross their minds. Noting the tight set of Leger's jaw and Gilbert's worried frown, he sensed their fear concerning the possibility that he might not appear as arranged. But what alternate plan could they have in place, should he not reveal himself? As the light crew boss glanced upward he was forced to lean farther back into the darkness, knowing the time was not yet right.
"Of course the phantom will appear," he whispered, shifting his gaze back to his wife. She stood with bowed head, a hand laid over her heart, obviously in desperate need of rescuing. Gripping the trapeze bar he resigned himself to the fact that mob hunger for his blood, beatings and near drowning he must, for her sake, make one last appearance.
Leger leaned toward the detective who handed a telegram to him, nodding at his quiet comment that a body had been discovered at the confluence of two rivers, a foreigner, man in his mid forties… Glancing Gilbert's hopeful gaze and back toward the curtain, he opened it blindly.
"Any identification?" he asked his man.
"No, sir, but he carried Russian currency in his pocket, along with some exchanged notes," he was informed. "Apparently quite a substantial amount, sir."
Leger nodded and quickly scanned the message. "Find the rabbi and make sure he stays in the city," he ordered. "We'll need him to identify the victim."
"He's not at the synagogue, or in his quarters," was the unfortunate reply. "His parents haven't seen him all day, nor did the stable boy have anything to report."
Leger shoved the paper into his coat pocket. "Then he's here somewhere—find him now," he replied, dismissing the man. Gilbert crowded close, his eyes on Mme. Destler.
"If he survived a fall into that river, he'll be here," Gilbert breathed, and when Leger looked at the man's wife he knew it was true.
The tap of the conductor's baton interrupted them and a hush fell over the crowd. Within seconds silence reigned, and then the music burst forth as Don Juan Triumphant captured everyone's attention.
Chewing her bottom lip anddarting nervous glances around the backstage area, Meg felt a hand curl inside her elbow. Turning to see her mother's tiny smile, she felt irritated by her find any amusement in their situation. The opera had already started yet there was no sign of Erik.
Louise leaned closer, keeping her eyes on the inspector. "Don't worry," she said softly, nudging something into Meg's hand and squeezing it closed around it. "He's here."
Choking back a cry and well aware of Gilbert's critical gaze, she forced herself to remain calm. "Where?" she gasped, pasting a nervous smile upon her face.
"I don't know—it was tucked halfway beneath your door," her mother answered, shifting her hand to Meg's waist and looking across the backstage area as if nothing of consequence had happened. "Quick, tell me what it says."
Turning with her until their backs faced the police she unfolded the note, her mother keeping watch. With shaking fingers she stretched it toward the dimmed lights with pounding heart. With a gasp of joy she turned to look at her mother, waving to her understudy who stood poised in the wings, dressed as she was except for her necklace.
"It says 'Until 10 o'clock' she told her mother, knowing that he meant the dinner they had planned during what seemed like months ago, yet it was only days. "We will have our time alone Maman, just as we hoped."
Louise kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand. "When you do, be sure to give him my love."
Meg nodded, wanting to embrace her mother but not wishing to arouse suspicion. When Louise rejoined the other dancers her understudy came toward her with a curtsy and a smile. "Good luck, Madame," the girl gushed, her face lit with excitement as she watched the other dancers. Meg reached for her arm and leaned close.
"I must ask you for a favor, Julie," she said quietly, noting the girl's wide eyed gaze.
"Anything, Madame!" she gasped, letting Meg guide her further back into the shadows.
Checking his watch yet again, Leger cursed Erik for being late. With the news of only one body being found he was convinced that he was alive, but dangerously late. They had made some changes in their plan which he needed to know, but all he could do was wait. Turning his attention back to the first act of his opera, he was shocked by the writhing and suggestive movements of the dancers as they pranced around a fake fire blazing in the center of the stage. It was a trick made realistic with lights and reflective materials, he guessed, unable to look away and shocked that Destler's wife was one of them. Though he had to admit she was perhaps the best dancer of them all. He felt Gilbert grip his arm before he leaned toward him.
"What's the matter," the chief detective joked, "don't care for opera?"
"No, I don't, he complained, glancing toward a stiffly erect Christine who stood waiting in the opposite wing. As usual her husband was at her side whispering something into her ear, and Leger thought he looked ridiculous dressed like a conquistador. "But I am interested in hearing our star sing."
"So am I," Gilbert admitted, studying Raoul's costume. "Frankly, I think our friend seems a better husband to his wife," he observed, switching his attention to Meg. "At least I thought so until I saw his wife's costume."
Leger chuckled. "I doubt the man would approve." He had to admit he was curious how the phantom would handle the crowd in his attempt to settle the past. That alone would be worth coming here tonight, he predicted. They watched the dancing a bit longer before strolling farther back into the folds of the massive curtain.
"She looks terrified," Gilbert commented, noting Meg's expression.
"I'm a little terrified myself," Leger admitted, noting how the crowd was pressing toward the stage. It was a good thing they arranged for double lines of gendarmes. "Go and check the security manager, just to be sure."
Gilbert nodded just as a strong hand clamped down upon Leger's shoulder, causing them both to turn and look into a pair of startling green eyes, lit with mischief behind a black half face mask.
"I trust I'm not too late," Erik breathed, frowning at their shocked expressions. "You were expecting me, gentlemen—"
Leger grabbed his arm and propelled him further into the shadows of the curtains. "Are you insane?" he whispered, glancing back as if to be sure that no one had seen them. The crew and performers were all busy checking the last minute details before being cued to go onstage, their muted conversations nearly drowned by the darkly pulsating music of the first act. Turning back to glare at Erik, he realized his hand still gripped his upper arm and he dropped it abruptly. "Where have you been all this time?"
Cringing inwardly at the provocative dancing involving his own wife Erik noted the tense set of her lips, relieved that she disapproved of the choreography. "Inadvertently delayed," he breathed, backing past a wardrobe cart from which he snatched up one of the black masks provided for the dancers.
"We need to have a little chat about intermission," Leger reminded him as he pulled the mask over his head but left it hanging at his throat. "But first you must know that your game of hide and seek has cost my department thousands of francs, not to mention many gray hairs and sleepless nights."
Erik
finally pulled his gaze from Meg and eyed the man. "Why Inspector,"
he drawled with a lazy smile,
"I believe you actually missed
me."
"Explain yourself and be quick about it," Leger hissed. "And drop the phantom act for now."
Erik glanced toward the place opposite them where Louise and Ben stood, backs turned and apparently deep in conversation. "No thanks to your protection, we were followed from the parish," he stated in a bored tone. "It seems an assassin has been after our friend the rabbi since his last trip east, a fact you neglected to share with me."
Leger had enough grace to look away as if slightly annoyed with his criticism. "Continue," he ordered.
Erik sighed in resignation, studying his profile. "Eventually the man overtook us and though I was able to distract him from killing the rabbi, we met with an unfortunate accident and took an unexpected dip in the river."
Leger glanced back at him. "You, and the assassin."
"Correct," he breathed, watching Meg step out from the other dancers for a solo tour. "We lost touch on the way down the mountain so I know nothing of his fate, or Daniel's for that matter..."
"He's fine," Leger informed him. "That doesn't explain how the rocks could pound the assassin's body to a point where he was barely recognizable, yet you do not appear to even bear a scratch."
Erik swung his gaze back to the inspector's. "Were it not for my horse finding me and nudging me enough to get up and a good doctor in the nearby village, I never would have made my way back."
"I would like to contact this doctor you mention," Leger said casually. "Just to discover the extent of your 'injuries.'"
Erik pursed his lips to keep from shooting out an angry retort, noting Gilbert's sympathetic look. Leger only hardened his expression as he chose a better response. "It turned out to be the same doctor who treated me at the parish," he stated. "Arnand is his name."
Leger nodded brusquely. "I will be contacting him, particularly to discuss the length of your care."
Erik moved threateningly closer to him. "I only stayed away out of fear that my presence might direct him back toward Daniel, or worse my family. Had I known the man was dead I would not have been as cautious."
Leger nodded toward the opposite side of the stage where Ben stood frowning at him. "Your brother-in-law over there rescued Daniel, having taken it upon himself to follow you from the parish. He seemed to know nothing of your whereabouts."
Erik saw that Ben and Louise were staring at Leger suspiciously, but he doubted they could see him where he stood in the darkened corner, surrounded by policemen. "No, I don't suppose he would."
"If I were a betting man, I would say you and your family have some difficulty in following orders," Leger observed.
Erik narrowed his eyes upon the man, counting the days when his parole would end as would their relationship. "Though I am hesitant to make such a difficult request," he began, turning to watch Meg rejoin the other dancers, "if your people could manage to protect my wife and family another few days, I would perhaps be more accommodating."
"Assuming they don't go off on their own," Leger complained.
Erik pulled back to study him, admitting that he had a point. Perhaps the damage might be repaired, he thought. "I suppose each side must learn to trust the other," he suggested.
Leger nodded, switching the conversation to matters concerning his positioning and timing, and when they finally came to an agreement he swept his eyes over Erik's tuxedo. "You should be costumed as Don Juan," he stated, peering up at the black wig with particular disdain. "Is this how you disguised yourself before?"
Erik pulled up the mask and set it in place, spreading his arms wide for inspection. "Exactly as before, save for the aforementioned costume."
"I'd rather you wore that," Leger griped as they both noted the change in the music. Signaling his men to full attention, he leaned toward Erik's ear. "Just make sure that crowd out there believes that the phantom of the opera has returned, is that clear?"
Erik smiled cynically, bowing at the waist. "I'll do my best, sir."
Heart pounding, Meg led the other dancers in concluding the opening scene before the soloists were to appear. Relieved to move out of the blinding lights, she led the way along the back wall, taking advantage of the break to glance furtively toward the wings. With a strange combination of eagerness and dread she scanned the figures lining both sides of the wings as they stood waiting for their cues. Then Christine's voice soared above the music and she strode onstage, greeted by a thunderous roar of cheering and applause. She kept singing, smiling broadly as flowers shot through the air toward her, falling limply at the edge of the stage floor in honor of her.
Meg stared at her in disbelief, noting the proud tilt of her chin and the joy evident in her expression. Even in profile she looked radiant, beaming under the attention and honor given her as the primary soprano. Her costume was filmy and scant at best, and as the din lowered and she sang Meg caught her mother's eye across the stage. Ben stood at her side, staring at Christine with a tight look of disapproval on his face as he listened. Moving her gaze to the opposite wings, she noted the group of police and gendarmes gathered near the wardrobe tables. At their center she saw the inspector and Gilbert just to his left. Leger seemed intent on listening to some report, shaking his head and shifting aside just enough to allow a glimpse of the person with whom he spoke. It was someone who was in the shadows, apparently dressed completely in black. Another shift of the men's positions revealed that he was seated upon a stool, his back to her. At that moment he turned his head to one side and the overhead light revealed a blue highlight in his jet black hair. He nodded to one of the detectives that spoke to him, shrugging his broad shoulders and slowly rising from his seat. A weight dropped inside her like a rock plunging into deep water as he turned and looked in her direction, his eyes immediately capturing hers. Parting her lips, she gasped beneath the pounding beat of the music. "Erik!"
The heat of his intensely green gaze pierced her heart even from halfway across the width of the stage. Unhindered by the black half mask he wore, his expression clearly revealed his desire for her, making her senses come to life in response. When they did his eyes glinted with recognition and satisfaction. One corner of that masculine, alluring mouth lifted, dimpling his cleanly shaven cheek. She longed to press her fingertip into that slight indention and feel the texture of his face against her palm. Smiling with happiness despite the dark mood set by his music, she saw his answering nod of understanding. Forgetting that she was onstage she pulled away from the wall to run to him and show him how much she had missed him. All her grief over his disappearance and the hours spent worrying and praying for his return faded like morning mist. He was moving out of the encircling protection of the police toward her and then, as if stumbling along far behind her emotions, her mind caught up and she realized what wearing his mask meant. Her heart skipped a beat as he stopped and rested his hands upon his hips, holding her gaze.
He was going to go out there, onto the stage! He wasn't here just to see her—he was here to face them! Icy tentacles of fear crawled up her neck as she watched his expression change. The light faded from his eyes and a nerve leapt in his cheek. Grim determination thinned the line of his lips as the lights dimmed and the spotlight illuminated only Christine. Taking advantage of the deeper darkness onstage, Meg eased her way past the line of dancers toward the wing opposite where he stood, turning at the far curtain to silently dismiss herself. He stood watching her, and she tentatively blew him a kiss before turning to go to her dressing room.
Christine sang hauntingly and beautifully for Don Juan, and when Raoul stepped from behind the curtain there was a collective gasp from both audience and performers. All eyes clung to Don Juan as he walked slowly toward her, his high tenor voice joining and soaring with hers. He circled her and ran one hand over her bare shoulder, prompting unbidden memories to flood Erik's mind. Steeling himself from a torrent of emotions he'd thought long dead, he forced himself to watch and listen as objectively as he could. Though the costumes were much more alluring and the presentation decidedly seductive, he was after all, still the composer. It did not matter that his real name rode upon the title page of the score, unknown and unrecognized. The fact that his rights and royalties had been stolen from him, the music was his and he held himself accountable for its performance. Though its subtle message had become glaring unapologetic by now, he could not fault either Raoul or Christine, whose voices had matured and gained in power and skill. Crossing his arms, he listened with a critical ear, judging every note and nuance as well as the body language of its performers. But when they began to climb opposite staircases just as he had done with Christine, an onslaught of painful memories forced him to look away. Putting a hand to his head, he glanced toward the audience and caught Mon. Reyer's look. The conductor's disapproving frown lifted as he caught Erik's gaze, and with a reassuring smile Reyer raised his brows to indicate that he was ready to follow his direction. Somewhat encouraged, Erik slowly departed his place in the shadows, feeling Gilbert's hand slap his shoulder in send off.
Edging toward the curtain, he paused to note the intimate embraces and fondling being exchanged among the dancers onstage. Shifting his attention away from them he glared accusingly at the managers in Box 6, waiting for the exact moment they became aware of his presence. Andre stiffened and leaned toward Firmin, looking decidedly uncomfortable. The latter lifted his chin and returned his attention to the performance as high above the stage Raoul and Christine embraced, prompting unexpected shouts of protest from the audience.
Boo! the people protested. Not good enough!
Gazed out approvingly over the audience, knowing they could not see him yet. Patience…
We want the real star! someone yelled, causing the murmur of protest to rise and spread throughout the hall. Raoul and Christine continued singing, locked in intimate oblivion.
Erik saw the judge, the mayor and even Cremieux lean slightly forward, distracted by the audience. There were shouts of lewd comments but he could not identify the location of the hecklers. To their credit, the gendarmes and security guards quickly snapped to attention as the protest spread. Reinforcements began to silently file toward the stage from their positions along the side walls.
Boo!
We want the real star!
someone demanded, igniting the spread of protest. We
want the Phantom!
Someone shouted loudly, echoing throughout the theatre. Give
us the Phantom of the Opera!
Erik
felt a hand on his arm and turned to meet Leger's warning gaze.
"Not yet," he ordered with a glance toward the spot where Meg had
been standing. Erik followed his gaze, remembering that she had said
she would only dance the first act. "Don't worry," Leger
reassured him, recapturing his attention. "We'll make sure she
gets safely to her coach—it's you I'm worried about."
Protests and chants for the phantom rose demandingly from all corners of the hall, even from the balconies. Yet Raoul continued to sing Don Juan's love song as if he and Christine were enjoying the performance of their lives. When the level of murmured protest grew louder he did glance in disapproval toward the audience, and Christine looked frightened.
Wanting to get it over with, Erik stepped toward the curtain, again restrained by Leger's hand. The clamor of protest began to sound truly threatening and someone threw an egg toward center stage, where it landed and broke on the polished floor.
We
want the REAL Don Juan!
a young man's voice demanded, setting off a chant for his
appearing. Don
Juan! Don Juan! Don Juan!
Give
us the Phantom!
The
Phantom of the Opera!
others chanted over and over. Phantom!
Phantom! Phantom!
When
people began to rise to their feet Erik knew it was time. Pulling
away from Leger's restraining hand he threw a glance toward the
opposite wing, giving up his hope of seeing Meg standing there. It
was better that she was escorted far away, he decided as he moved
toward the edge of the curtain. Tension coiled within him and his
throat went dry. With a muttered prayer he straightened his jacket
and stepped around the curtain and into the light. Taking his stand
just beyond it, he was aware of it wafting back into position.
Feeling the stab of every eye as it focused upon him, he straightened
with resolve as the chanting was swallowed up by cheers and applause
as the theatre erupted in welcome. Not knowing where to look, he
glanced down at Mon. Reyer's upturned face as he continued
conducting music no one could hear. His nervous but reverent smile
was disrupted by the shrill whistles of joy that pierced the
shouting.
Erik stood at attention despite the press of the people against the restraining triple line of guards. Beneath the cheering he could hear boos of disapproval. He waited for the lull that would give him his opportunity, trying his best to ignore the objects sailing toward him. There were flowers, eggs, handkerchiefs, gloves and hats being flung at him, some hitting his feet and legs. Narrowing his gaze upon the center of the crowd he saw something being propelled toward his face and shifted only enough to barely avoid it, bringing another round of cheering from the main floor. All the while he stood facing them unapologetically, thinking the shouts for order and police whistles a feeble attempt to quell the excitement. The mayor stood up as did the other dignitaries in Box 5, and though he raised his hand for order he was ignored. Cheers for the phantom and opera ghost continued, and Erik grew uneasy at the length of the response. It was time, he realized, holding all expression from his face as he slowly raised his own hand.
At the gesture the applause and shouting shifted, beginning to weaken and lower considerably. The whistles, catcalls and declarations of love receded into murmurs of anticipation as he lowered his hand back to his side and waited. For the first time in a very long while he thought he might be able to exert control over others, yet he continued to pray inwardly for wisdom as to what to do or say. The press of the crowd toward the stage was troubling, and when the gendarmes raised their rifles before them he felt the bitter taste of fear upon his tongue. His heard raced and his palms sweated, but he swallowed and nodded in greeting for the first time.
The crowd went wild and another spray of flowers flew toward him. We love you, Opera Ghost! Let him speak! Phantom! Phantom!
Marry me! a woman's voice cried out, prompting laughter and rowdy answers from the audience.
Erik pursed his lips in irritation as another cry rang out. Sing for us, Phantom!
Let
him sing - Don Juan!
Phantom!
Phantom!
Don Juan! Don Juan! Don Juan!
Erik lifted his hand again. "You shall have your wish," he shouted deeply, startling them and causing the desired effect. The shouting stopped as the murmuring lowered toward quiet. "But first, I have something to say to you all," he declared, watching the guards push the people back another meter from the stage.
Don Juan! Don Juan! Don Juan! a small group continued to demand, weakened as he stepped closer to the edge of the stage and glared at them.
Let him speak! We came to hear him! Quiet!
Erik waited for order and nodded up at Raoul and Christine, who stood above him with their gazes fixed upon the audience. But they would not look in his direction.
By now Mon. Reyer had laid down his baton and stood at attention, watching Erik closely. As did the entire orchestra. Some he recognized but there were new faces, young people who had apparently replaced the older musicians.
"Let me speak!" he demanded, thrusting his arms behind him despite the occasional flower that flew toward him. Satisfied at the level of quiet, he cleared his throat. "I insist upon a little of your time to address a matter of some importance," he began, swallowing again.
"Quiet!" several voices demanded, further quieting the crowd.
Erik nodded in satisfaction. "When I have finished I would like my opera to continue," he insisted, gesturing toward Raoul and Christine. "You have purchased your tickets to hear my opera, not me."
Phantom!
Phantom! Phantom! Don Juan! Don Juan!
"Quiet!"
he roared, frowning at the torrent of roses being flung at his feet.
"Please, I beg your attention—otherwise I will leave and you will
never know—"
Let him speak! Quiet! You have it! Quiet, everybody!
Erik began to walk slowly along the edge of the stage, earning a hush of anticipation for which he was careful not to show his gratitude. "You have all summoned me here tonight," he began, gazing meaningfully up at Box 5 as he walked. "And I have come, though completely against my will."
Continuing to pace slowly back and forth, he nodded at their answering applause and cheers of thanks. Among these were shouts of protest and calls for quiet, effectively dividing the crowd. He smiled inwardly, aware of the crowd losing its momentum.
"I have come here only upon strong advisement," he declared, bowing slightly toward Box 5 as the mayor smiled and waved in response, earning a hearty round of laughter. "And so, ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, I bid you good evening and tell you that my purpose twofold."
Pausing only to heighten their anticipation, he slowed his steps and stopped, making eye contact with the first few rows of guests, though hindered by the bright lights. For the first time silence reigned.
"First and foremost," he continued, resuming his slow pacing, "I have come here tonight to relinquish my role as Don Juan."
This was met with protests and boos that continued despite his shaking his head impatiently, waiting for them to die back down. As he paced he cast a furtive glance to the wings and saw her standing there, a hand to her throat as she stared at him. One quick glance told him that she was frightened, but that she had changed into an ivory gown that flowed softly around her shins, ending at the satin ribbons that were part of her pointe shoes. As he glanced up into her eyes he forgot the fact that he stood before a waiting crowd, his steps slowed and his train of thought momentarily lost. A shout of protest brought him quickly back to the present.
You'll always be Don Juan!
And the Phantom of the Opera! a woman cried out.
Jerking his head back toward the center of the crowd, he turned to face them, stretching out his hands. "I confess to having played other roles," he continued, careful not to admit to the latter one. "And for that I must ask your forgiveness."
Boos and protests followed, but after a moment he continued, raising one hand higher. "I do ask your forgiveness," he insisted. "I now answer to a higher call and an even more demanding role, one which I am compelled to bow to in service."
Once again capturing their attention, he slowly clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out at them. "For tonight I stand before you a changed man, a redeemed man: I have placed myself under a vow to repay my debts to society, which I have already begun to do."
Murmurs traveled throughout the crowd as he nodded to Mon. Reyer, who immediately straightened and lifted his baton. The musicians drew up their instruments and waited as Erik smiled in response.
"I have not, however, abandoned the music," he stated, extending his hand toward the orchestra.
When they realized what he planned as Reyer lifted his arms, the theater erupted into applause and cheering. Leger stood at attention, his eyes on the Erik. One sideways glance told him that Meg stood at attention as well, now framed by her mother and Ben. Feeling considerably relieved, Erik lowered his hand back to his side.
"I have better music for you now," he shouted, "different music, which I offer for your hearing tonight."
Again waiting for a light but enthusiastic applause to wane, he ignored the black rose thrown up at him and glanced toward Reyer. "I introduce a very special song tonight, one I had written some years ago but never shared. It was composed for someone I have always held in the highest regard, someone I wish to honor and to whom I give tribute. And yet over time the song transformed into a love song—"
Interrupted by cheers and hearty applause, he waited for another lull. He straightened and nodded once again to Mon. Reyer. "So I offer this song tonight to someone whom I have grown to love very deeply, someone whom I had unintentionally offended." He waited for a few bursts of applause, frowning at their intent. "And with this song I also ask forgiveness, based upon a plea of insanity."
At the last word the audience shouted in triumph, continuing to applaud for the span of nearly a minute before he was able to restrain them again. "Please," he asked, "I ask for your attention a moment longer, and then indulge these talented young performers by affording them the opportunity to present to you Don Juan in its entirety."
Again he was interrupted by cheers, but ignoring them he continued. "I therefore state before you all tonight that I legally transfer to the owners of this opera all rights and royalties connected to Don Juan Triumphant... As for the future, perhaps we might meet here again, by leave of your managers, to debut another opera, yet to be completed. And now, Monsieur, if you please, the love song, and then the conclusion of Don Juan."
As the opening chords sounded Erik looked off into the distance, concentrating on the music as he began to sing. A hush fell over the hall and silence reigned save for the music. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in the music, traveling back in time to the night he had found her, bruised and weeping, her dress torn and soiled in the filthy alley.
The LORD is my light and my salvation, he sang with a new depth of emotion he did not anticipate feeling. Whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
Continuing to sing, he noted a few soft gasps and murmurs and opened his eyes. There was a flash of light at his side and he realized that Meg was slowly dancing toward him, her face half covered by an ivory sequined mask. His heard pounded.
What is she doing, he worried, coming out here when God only knew what might happen next?
Not knowing how he managed it, he continued to sing, turning to face her and watch as she danced to the progression of the music, interpreting it more perfectly than he could have imagined. Her dress flowing around her as she moved, he was mesmerized by the emotion in her every gesture. Struggling to concentrate on the lyrics, he watched her dramatize her own experience of being attacked.
When evil-doers came upon me to eat up my flesh, even my adversaries and my foes, they stumbled and fell... he sang, extending his hand toward her so as to focus everyone's attention upon her.
Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear…
She moved as if wrestling against her attackers, even falling like a broken doll to the floor. But as he continued singing she slowly got to her feet, rising upon her toes and stretching her arms upward for help. He repeated the words impressed upon him to tell of her stolen childhood, her perseverance, and her time of loneliness and healing.
One thing have I asked of the LORD, he sang reverently, captivated by her movements. That will I seek after…that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life… for He concealed me in His pavilion in the day of evil…He lifted me up upon a rock…
The complex chords gradually shifted in key from minor to major as he sang, watching her dance toward him. Steeling his expression to warn her away, he saw the proud tilt of her chin as he continued singing.
And now shall my head be lifted up above my enemies round about me…I will sing, yes, I will sing praises unto the LORD...1
She stretched her hand toward him, and despite his desire to protect her he reached out toward her. Her fingers brushed his as she slowly circled behind him. Continuing to sing to her, he locked gazes with her and when she reached out again he captured her hand, earning a chorus of gasps and light applause.
He
is near unto them that are of a broken heart, and saves those who are
of a contrite spirit2
How
lovely are Thy tabernacles, O LORD of hosts! My soul yearns, yea,
even pines for the courts of the LORD..
Her arm braced his shoulder before she turned into his side, running her hand along his collarbone. The audience breathed out their approval as he slipped his hand around her waist to support her, stirring the response into a mixture of protest and approval. Rising to her toes, she tilted her face up toward his as he softly sang the last few words, gazing deeply into her eyes.
Happy is the one whose strength is in Thee, in whose heart are the highways…they go from strength to strength3
He felt her hand rest over the right side of his mask and lifted his own to hold it there while the music carried the song toward its end. Fighting to breathe both from fear of the risk she was taking and from the power of her love, he closed his eyes and stood immobile, giving the stage over to her. To his complete astonishment he felt her lips touch his in a simple kiss before they vanished. He opened his eyes, suddenly realizing that she had kissed him in front of everyone. He tightened the hand riding her waist and held her to his side while the audience applauded wildly.
Staring into her smiling eyes he saw her nod toward the crowd and glanced out. They were standing up, applauding and stomping, but their heads were tilted back, looking up. Soon the chanting began once again.
Don Juan! Don Juan! Don Juan!
Meg turned in his arms and together they looked up toward Raoul and Christine, seeing what drew such a thunderous applause. The stars of Don Juan were locked in a passionate embrace, kissing intimately in public with complete disregard for propriety. Raoul's hands stroked Christine's body as she melted against him, grasping his back. Meg gasped in surprise but Erik made his decision quickly, taking advantage of the distraction. Tugging her along, he guided her back toward the curtain as the music for Don Juan blared in response. The dancers moved out from the shadows and began to repeat their former dance. Leaving it all behind, Erik pulled Meg past the group of police who stood gaping open mouthed at the display. Only Leger was watching him, and Erik saluted stiffly, earning only a slight nod of response as they passed him by. Shifting his hand to Meg's, he drew her along after him and headed toward the backstage area. Gilbert followed in their wake, calling for reinforcements as Erik dipped his head to speak only for her hearing.
"Let's get out of here," he said, threading a path through the stage crew who stood gazing up at Raoul and Christine, their eyes glued to their performance.
c. 2008 by Christine Levitt1Psalm 27. 2Psalm 34. 3Psalm 84.
