Elaine
"Tomorrow." Erik was glaring at her. "Tomorrow?"
"Well, yes. I didn't want you getting all worked up and staying that way, so I just invited her to come on out." It really had seemed like a good idea at the time. "I thought we could put the finishing touches on the ballroom floor today; you know, do the sealant and stuff. Then, tomorrow, you could seriously do some showing off. She watches these home reno shows on TV, so she'll be all into it."
"Tomorrow. How shall we greet her? What door? Should there be food? What do I say to her?" Erik had begun pacing, Christine trotting to keep up. "Do I offer to shake her hand? Do you introduce me? We must make her feel welcome…"
"Erik, most beloved, it's just my mother – not the queen or something."
He stopped and stared at her, amazed. "Just your mother? Your mother: the woman whom you described as 'everyone's mother.' That's what you said. You are sure she will be kind, even to me. She is to be revered."
"Revered? Erik, I think that's a bit much."
"I do not. She will have every honor while she is here." He was adamant. Nothing Christine could say would move him from this stance. "There is so little I can do, though."
"Anything you do for her will make her happy. Really, she's very easy to please. Maybe…you know, I told her about how you rigged it so you could play music to be heard on the street. I could take her there and you could show her how you first played for me. That would put a smile on her face."
"And we must finish that floor." He took off for the ballroom, Christine in his wake.
Several hours of intense labor and strong fumes later, the ballroom was finished. Christine leaned in the doorway, admiring the fruit of many months' work. Erik was still examining the small details, making sure everything was perfect. She had not considered before today exactly what this visit might mean to him. She's been naïve to think it a simple matter of acceptance. To her, her mother was a constant and natural part of life: well-loved and loving, nosy but welcome. She and her mother had always been close, which never seemed unusual or special. To Erik, however, it seemed that she represented much more.
"What time do you want us to come by? Is four too early?" Christine took his hand and dragged him from the room. His eyes began sweeping the unfinished hallway, and she could see plans for a very sleepless night hatching in his mind.
"I should have worked harder. I should have finished this hall. There's no chance it can be done by tomorrow."
"No. Nonono. Don't start like that. She'll want to see, you know, where the place started. It's a good comparison. Leave the hall alone. You're going to want to be well-rested. Think about what you'll play for her, instead. And she's definitely going to want to hear me sing…"
Erik smiled for the first time in hours. "Yes! You will sing for her, and she will understand why you and I…" He trailed off.
Ah, Christine thought. "Are you worried she won't approve of us, Erik? Is that it?"
Erik spread his hands, palm up. "How could she?"
"I guess we'll just have to see," Christine said, impassively.
She shepherded Erik through the rest of the day, answering ten thousand questions, soothing and reassuring him. By the time she left, she was exhausted and he was still running full steam ahead.
"Try to get some rest, please?" She kissed him lightly. "It's going to be fine." But as she walked out, she knew he would get no sleep that night.
.
.
.
Elaine Daae arrived at her daughter's apartment laden with a chicken casserole and a German chocolate cake, freshly baked. They talked about car purchasing and home purchasing and whether Christine was ready to do either. Elaine lamented the state of the apartment while Christine rolled her eyes. Finally, Christine looked at the clock and declared it was time to go.
"You look upset, Christine," her mother observed neutrally as they got in the car.
"I'm not. I'm just nervous. This really means a lot to Erik." Christine weighed the idea of telling Elaine exactly how much it meant, but then decided against it. Let them work out between themselves how to relate to one another.
"He's so nervous that you're nervous? Well, bless my heart. Does he like casserole?" Elaine's brows drew together in concern.
"You're asking now?" Christine laughed. "He's not picky about food. I'm sure it will be fine. He's not going to eat in front of you, though."
"Why on earth not?"
"I told you: he wears a mask. He won't take it off in front of you. Just…let it be. Look, make him up a plate and let him go eat on his own. Seriously." Her tone was strained. It was easy to imagine her mother trying to chivy Erik into taking off the mask, just so he could sit down and eat with everyone else.
"But he'll be lonely, won't he? Off eating by himself?" her tone clearly implied that this was unacceptable, that Christine would have to find some fix for the situation.
"He'll be okay, mom. He's used to it." But she could not keep the sadness out of her voice.
"Well, that poor man." Elaine rode the rest of the way in silence.
They pulled into the overgrown parking lot. Elaine looked around with consternation. Her daughter had said 'abandoned' but she'd imagined something a little less abandoned-looking. Maybe some cracked pavement here or there. Certainly, if she'd known Christine was frequenting such broken down and deserted parts of town, she'd have worried more.
"Come on. Stop looking like that. He'll be waiting for us, and there's a surprise for you." Christine led her mother to the crumbled curb where the whole affair had begun. "Okay, just wait and listen."
"Well, at least the building itself is lovely! Did you do any of your drawings here? I think you should if you ha…"
"Mom! Hush. Listen…" Christine heard the first note, just the barest suggestion of music, on the breeze. It was precisely the same piece he'd introduced himself with originally.
Elaine did hush. She, too, could hear the rising music. Instantly captivated, she dammed the flow of questions that wanted to be asked and just listened. When the last notes faded, she turned to her daughter and saw moisture in her eyes.
"So, that's him, is it?" But the tone now was respectfully quiet. "I wasn't expecting that at all."
"Yes. That's him. Are you ready to go in?" Christine found that she was shaking a little. Hearing that piece, played that way, after so long, had moved her deeply.
"Goodness yes!" The sun was getting a little strong and the curb was not exactly luxurious, but Elaine mostly wanted to meet the violinist.
Christine took her up the front steps, as planned. There was a pause before the door opened; she could imagine Erik steeling himself inside. With her arms full of food, she shooed her mother in and quickly stepped in behind her. Erik stood behind the door, stiff and silent. Once the door was securely closed, he bowed deeply to Elaine.
"Mom, this is Erik. Erik, this is my mom, Elaine Daae." Christine made the introductions with a grin that was at least as proud as it was nerve-wracked.
"It is a great honor to meet you, Mrs. Daae." Remembering the nudge Christine gave him with Nadir, he extended his gloved hand. Elaine shook it with a smile.
"Call me Elaine, please." A bit taken aback by the masked man's honeyed voice and regal manner, she surveyed him. The tension carried clearly in his stance was at odds with the ease of his spoken manner. "Was that really you we heard playing? It was lovely, just lovely. I can see why Christine is so taken with you. Oh, Christine, honey! Give me that cake before you tip it all over this nice floor."
Erik rescued the cake quickly, glad for something to do. "Christine indicated you might be interested in looking at the renovations we have completed?"
"Yes, that would be very nice. Christine tells me this part is all your work. You did this with no help?" Elaine's eyes swept the grand foyer. "It is gorgeous. I was watching a home rehab show just the other day, and they were trying to do something with tile. It didn't turn out at all. Now, this on the other hand. Maybe you could show me how to do it. I have always loved frescoes…"
Christine listened to her mother's chatter with satisfaction. Elaine had apparently decided that Erik needed putting at ease. A constant stream of complimentary small-talk was her time-honored way of doing that. Erik was more relaxed already, she could tell by the set of his shoulders. Her mother's chattiness meant he did not have to make conversation himself.
Once she had completed sufficient oohing and ahhing over the ballroom, Christine tapped Erik.
"My mother brought a casserole and cake. I think we should eat before it gets cold, don't you?"
Erik gave Christine a glance that begged for rescue from the 'eating' situation, but she only shrugged. He sighed.
"Will you walk this way, Elaine?" He had set up a small table and chairs on the stage, now that the ballroom's floor was complete.
"Oh! Are we going up on the stage? I've never been on a stage in my entire life!" Elaine's face lit up with excitement. "I always wanted to, but I don't have a lick of talent in my whole body. Not like you kids."
At that, Erik looked back at Christine. She could imagine him mouthing, 'Kids?' In response, she grinned and shrugged.
"Well, mom, we just finished putting in the floor in the ballroom. The stage is really the most convenient place after that. So up you go!"
Once on the stage, Elaine took the food and paper plates and plastic-ware Christine had brought and began dishing out casserole. She handed plates to Erik and Christine before serving her own.
"Now, Christine says you are going to insist on running off and eating on your own. You take her right along with you. I'll just sit here and admire the view."
"I do apologize for the incivility of it, Elaine. Christine will, of course, stay here and eat with you."
"I wouldn't hear of it. Now, if you want to make yourself at home and all of us eat here together, that's just fine with me."
"I wish it were possible." Erik's voice, so well-known in every nuance to Christine, carried a tone of yearning that pierced her. "But that would not be as pleasant as you think."
"Now, honey, don't go feeling uncomfortable because of me. You two have a nice dinner. You can show off Christine's singing when you get back." She waved them off casually.
Christine grabbed Erik's elbow and muttered, "She means it. It's alright," while steering him into the wings.
"Did you hear what she said?" Erik whispered back. "She called me…"
"'Honey'. Yeah, and she'll probably be calling you 'sugar' before long. There's too much Southerner in her. I've told her it makes some people uncomfortable, but that's just how she is."
Erik slid off his mask and looked back towards the stage. Christine nodded at his plate.
"You should go ahead and eat. She'll be waiting," she managed around a mouthful. "Her casseroles are just delicious. Fattening, but then, you don't have to worry about that."
"Did you coach her? Tell her how to act?" Erik loaded a forkful, but then forgot to put it in his mouth.
"Nope. She's just like that. She likes you, though, I can tell you that much."
Erik remembered his bite and chewed thoughtfully. "She called me 'honey'," he repeated, trying to believe it.
Christine smiled at him. "She's not wrong. You are sweet, after all."
Erik pursed his already thin lips until they nearly disappeared. He had no appetite, but ate the rest of his food quickly, so as to avoid being rude. The visit had begun very well indeed, but there was still the worst to come. He would have to go out there without his gloves to perform for the lady. He was reserving his judgement on how much Christine's mother liked him for after that pivotal moment. He reminded himself that she already knew. Christine had explained everything. She knew, and she had shaken his hand without hesitation.
"Are you ready, then?" Christine was looking at him sympathetically, guessing every thought.
"I will never be ready for this. You should go out first. Sit beside her." He stripped off his gloves and stared at his hands. "Tell her not to be afraid."
Christine did not question this edict or reply. She simply touched his cheek and kissed him, then went to sit beside her mother.
"He's got a little case of stage fright, mom. He'll be out in a minute." She spoke loudly enough for Erik to hear her. Then, softly, "He's taken off his gloves and is really worried you're going to react badly."
"I hope he comes out soon," her mother said, not bothering to lower her voice. "I'm not worried about what he looks like - not if he's going to play more of what he did when we got here."
At that he did come out, abashed, but trying to appear confident. Executing a sharp, shallow bow, he lowered his eyes, lifted his violin, and began to play, bracing against the gasp he was certain would follow.
It never came.
When he finally gathered the courage to lift his eyes, he saw Christine grinning ear-to-ear with an insufferable I-told-you-so look on her face. Elaine was leaning back in her seat, a blissful expression on her face and her eyes closed. It was true, then. She could not care less about his hands. He wandered from well-known music to compositions of his own, trying to play his thanks to both of them. There was no break in the music until Christine signaled that he should draw to a close.
When quiet descended, Elaine opened her eyes and stretched. Erik saw her stand up and began to retreat from the stage.
"Don't run off yet!" she exclaimed.
He froze in place, preparing for the unpleasantness that must be coming. Soon, Elaine had bustled over to stand right in front of him, utterly unmindful of how quickly he set his violin down and thrust his hands behind his back.
"That was just wonderful! I can't believe Christine has been keeping all this a secret." She shot her daughter a look that said, 'We'll talk later.'
"That is my fault. I asked her not to tell others what she knew of me." He felt his face burn with shame. When he made that demand, people like this never even entered his mind.
Elaine reached out and patted his arm, ignoring his flinch. "I understand, honey. Why don't you have her sing for me, and then I think I'll be on my way. I'm too old to be out this late."
Erik acceded with a bow.
"The Bell Song? I would say the Flower Duet but you're not ready for that. She knows them both." Christine wished he were ready; her mother loved the Flower Duet.
"You should practice your audition piece." Erik's tone was forbidding. To sing, he would have to remove the mask. She was right: he was not ready.
Christine drew herself up as though this were that actual audition. Touching the note lightly, she opened the Bell Song with perfection and with the fullness of her talent. By the time she was done, her mother was standing up, hands clasped at her breast, breathless and teary. Christine found herself in a smothering hug, enfolded in the arms of a very proud mother.
"My little girl is going to be an opera singer! I always knew you were going to be great. I knew it." Then she rounded on Erik, sweeping him into a similarly tight embrace, gushing all the while. "And you! You are the reason she will amount to something! Bless you! You are just a delightful young man. You are welcome at my house any time. Just count on eating at the dinner table with us both, that's all."
She let go and left Erik standing, teetering between panic and shock.
"Goodnight. It was so nice to meet you. Alright, Christine, my little opera singer! Take your old mother home."
Christine gathered up the casserole dish, and noticed that the cake remained un-eaten. Knowing her mother, she left it there to enjoy with Erik later.
"I'll be back tomorrow. I love you. Goodnight!"
He barely managed a bow to both of them, remaining rooted on the spot and speechless long after the pair of women had left the building.
