Love Is A Curious Thing

"Christine?" Erik calls out, closing the door to Christine's suite behind him. "Gustave?" He continues past the sitting room to the area set up with a small dining room table and four chairs. The table sports a white linen table cloth and is set for three with the Limoges china, creamy white with vines of pink roses, thin line of gold banding each piece. The dinnerware part of the return of "things" Raoul insisted belonged to Christine and Gustave.

"I cannot believe none of the dishes shattered. Of course, Albert – the butler – would do his best, but this is quite amazing," Christine said when Erik pried the wooden crate open.

"These were yours?"

"Yes, I purchased the set with my earnings from the opera house. The flowers reminded me of my mother – she loved roses."

"So not wedding china?"

"No – the Chagny's had more china than I could ever imagine," she said, taking one piece after another from the box, dusting it off with a linen cloth before stacking in on the coffee table. "We used the set once – for a birthday celebration. After that, it was consigned to a closet where my keepsakes were housed."

"You were given a closet for your household items?"

"Most were not up to the standards of Raoul's sisters. They were quite particular," Christine says, "I suspect these other crates hold linens, crystal and cutlery."

"I do not understand."

"During the time of our engagement, I used what money I had to buy a trousseau – Raoul contributed some funds, if I did not have quite enough – he was very generous in that way." The past vivid in her mind, her eyes mist at the recollection. "I planned to embroider our initials on the linens, but never got around to fulfilling that intention."

"You lost interest?"

"In a sense – all of our linens – those from the family – were already embroidered. There was no need and, to be honest, I no longer cared. My feelings had changed and our marriage was never more than a farce – even though we both tried.

"I suppose these could be your trousseau for our nuptials?"

"Yes."

"I must give the Vicomte credit – I might have just tossed out the lot and good riddance."

"You would have created a shrine," she laughs.

"I suppose you are right."

A linen napkin draws his attention "E/C" is embroidered on the corner – each napkin bears the same lettering. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. Snatching a cookie from one of the serving plates, he calls out again, "Christine…Gustave…where are you?"

"Do not be stealing the treats," Christine scolds, entering the room, putting an aquamarine earring on a naked ear. "There are broken ones in the kitchen for you and Gustave."

"This is what you are serving Adele and Meg?"

"No – the hotel chef is preparing luncheon, but I did make the cookies for dessert."

"Well, you have outdone yourself – with both the cookies and dressing the table," he says, licking his fingers. "When did you monogram the serviettes?"

"You are very aware I have quite a bit of free time on my hands – I thought we were going to begin recording some of our music."

"Papa Y, Papa Y," Gustave calls out as he runs from his room, pulling on his woolen jacket. "I am coming. I am not late am I? I did not mean to be, I was reading this article on how to get better sound on the record for violins and the human voice. There are all sorts of writings in one of the boxes from Pere Raoul. I forgot I even had them."

"Slow down. We are going shopping – so there is no time table to be adhered to," Erik replies. "In any event I believe I am early – using my time to sample your mother's fine cookies."

"She let you have one?"

"No," Christine says, "he stole one, like a thief in the night."

"We get the broken and burnt ones," Gustave says. "There is a whole bowl full of those in the kitchen."

"Not an entire bowl – and the broken ones are perfectly baked."

"Maman has been baking all morning. We have muffins, too."

"Gustave, stop." Through pursed lips, she explains, "I was unable to get the temperature correct and everything seemed to burn, even though I followed Chef's recipe to the letter."

"One is not expected to be perfect at everything in life, my dear," Erik says, placing a kiss on her cheek.

Gustave giggles, "Cookies and popcorn are Maman's specialties.

"I can cook eggs…and toast."

"Along with the best of them," Erik adds. "Your scrambled eggs are superb."

Gustave grabs a cookie for himself and dances around the table. "All her eggs are scrambled."

Christine shakes her fist at him. "You stop that, young man." Unable to control her laughter, she adds, "I make good sandwiches."

"So what are you serving the ladies?"

Casting a side eye at their son, she says, "Chef is making us a chicken pudding with mashed turnips. With the weather still so cold, I thought something hearty would suit. Meg is so thin, she ate almost nothing when we dined…I wanted a very homey meal."

"Sounds delicious" Erik kisses her again, then says, "Young man, it is time we are off – your mother's guests will be arriving shortly."

"What are you shopping for?"

"Papa Y and I have a new idea for our gramophone and we need to do research."

"What sort of research?"

"Um, materials – parts – this and that."

"You are not planning anything illegal, are you?"

"Not at all," Erik harrumphs. "This is purely scientific exploration."

"You will not introduce our son to the sort of mischief you created in past years," Christine scolds.

"What sort of mischief, Papa Y?" Gustave looks up at his father, eyes wide and excited.

"See what you started," Erik says. "Have no fear, my dear one, I shall not have our son playing pranks."

"What kind of pranks did you play?" The boy presses, tugging on Erik's sleeve.

"Silly things."

"The rats in her wig was the worst." Christine covers her mouth, although her eyes sparkle with delight at the memory.

"You did that?"

"I am rather fond of that memory – she performed all the better for the stimulation." Erik smirks.

Even Christine has to laugh. "True enough. I suspect that was the first real emotion she expressed in many years."

"What else did you do?" Gustave is beside himself with excitement, unable to keep his feet still.

"Never mind, Gustave. Those days are past – no more tricks." Christine buttons his coat and wraps his muffler around his neck.

"Time to go." Erik leans over to give Christine a kiss on her cheek. "Give your mother a kiss. We shall have our lunch now in the dining room." Erik grabs Gustave's newsboy cap from the armoire, making sure the ear flaps are down and plops it on his head. "Come, let us away."

"Maybe we could have the chicken pudding, too," Gustave says. "I love chicken pudding."

"Then you shall have some."

There is a knock on the door.

Christine opens the door to Meg and Adele. Once again she reflects on how Meg seems to have aged. Wearing the same braided hair style – the two women look more to be sisters than mother and child.

In many ways Adele presented herself as the younger of the two, despite the walking stick. Meg carries herself so differently from the girl she knew in Paris. Adele is garbed in her typical black with Meg in a drab shirtwaist – white blouse and brown skirt - a green and brown plaid cloak covering her shoulders. Both wear velveteen bonnets, a fur muff on each of their wrists.

Christine feels she may have erred in choosing the pale green silk afternoon dress with a lace bib to welcome her friends, her own hair, pulled up in the popular Gibson style. Despite the muted color, her gown might well have been a scarlet ball gown.

"Ladies, enjoy your meal – Christine tells me she planned something quite tasty with a special treat for dessert," Erik says.

"You are not joining us?" Adele asks, walking past the couple into the room. "Come, come, Meg, you are blocking their way – both of them seem anxious to be gone."

"We are making a gramophone and Papa Y and I are going shopping for the parts," Gustave says. "I am glad we were still here when you arrived – to say hello, however."

"You have raised a most gracious child, Christine," Adele says, smiling at Gustave.

"As did you, Madame," Christine responds. "I am so pleased you accepted my invitation."

Meg sniffs. "You already have a gramophone, Erik."

"We are going to be recording Maman singing and me playing my violin so we need to make alterations. The gramophone we have does not record very well. You have to stick your head inside the horn for anything to be picked up."

"I see," Meg says. "I cannot imagine why you would want a recording when you have the performer as part of your household."

"We are going to sell the records," Gustave says, grinning at Christine.

"We are also considering recording some of the songs from the midway shows, if you are interested, Meg," Erik jumps in, placing a hand on Gustave's shoulder. "We wanted it to be a surprise."

Christine nods in agreement. "When I went to see Mr. Hammerstein, he told me his brother actually attended the performance that night to see and hear you, Meg."

Meg cocks her head. "Me?"

"Yes, he has vaudeville shows and heard about your performances here," Christine says. "I was going to tell you at lunch today, but the sooner you know the better."

"Is this true?" Meg's eyes find Erik.

"That is what Christine told me, so I would say it was true," he replies. "It was her idea to make a recording of you singing one of your songs."

"Well, that sounds like something you might want to do, Meg," Adele says. "This is certainly something to be considered."

"Yes, well – you talk about it at lunch – Christine is the person Hammerstein spoke to – Gustave and I are simply the technicians," Erik says, pushing Gustave out the door. "Come, son, we are going to be late."

"You just said shopping was not done on a schedule."

"For lunch – we have a reservation for lunch – we do not want to upset the schedule in the restaurant." Glancing down the hallway, he says, "Ah – here is your meal now."

A uniformed waiter appears next to him, pushing a wooden cart carrying several plates covered with metal domes.

"Mr. Y?"

Erik shakes his head, stepping into the hall, tugging Gustave along. "Madame Daae with direct you."

Christine steps forward. "Yes, please bring the food in – the table is set." Waving her hand toward the dining table, she says, "Adele, Meg, you can place your outer garments in the armoire, then, please – take a seat." To Erik and Gustave, "Enjoy your shopping trip."

"Adele, Meg – good to see you. Enjoy your meal," Erik says, tossing them a wave over Christine's head.

"Au revoir," Gustave adds before his mother closes the door on the two of them.

"Antligen*," she mutters, straightening her dress before facing her guests.

The waiter finishes plating the food. The extra is re-covered and left on the cart. "I shall leave this if you want another serving – Chef prepared large portions."

"Merci…Thank you," Christine says walking him to the door. With a deep breath, she turns back to the Girys, forcing a bright smile. "Asseyez-vous s'il vous. Please, sit down. The food smells good – shall we eat?"

The two women follow her lead, sitting down, placing an embroidered napkins on their laps and focus on their meal. Neither making an attempt at conversation beyond, "this is delicious" and "you must give our compliments to the chef." Christine wonders if this was such a good idea. Despite the advice of the therapist, bringing a third party in when entertaining Meg did not seem to be working – perhaps Adele was the problem. Oh, how she wished Erik was here, but Dr. Bergen thought it best Erik not be present. Of course he was correct, but she felt so ineffectual.

"So Oscar Hammerstein was interested in meeting Meg?" Adele asks.

"His brother…Willie," Christine replies, her mood brightens. "It was he who saw the performance."

"Burlesque." Meg scoffs.

"Vaudeville is what I understood," Christine replies. Seeking understanding in the faces of mother and daughter. "That is not good?"

"Did you see my performance?"

"No, I am sorry, I did not."

Meg shrugs. "Just as well – you saw the rehearsals though."

"Yes, the number was quite lively – it sounded like a lot of fun and your voice was excellent."

"I removed the top of my bathing suit." Meg's tone is icy. "The audience only saw my back, but it was only a matter of time – another show, another season – when I would be parading naked for the world."

"Meg that is not so," Adele argues. "Your dancing and music had no need of such exposure."

"You seemed to think he required such exposure to garner his attention." Her eye flare. "You were the one who told me to be patient – it was only a matter of time. Make myself useful." Jamming her eyes shut, she bows her head. "Well, look where that got me. Gustave nearly died, I nearly died…you nearly died. Make myself useful to him."

Christine reaches for her friend's hand.

"I am sorry, Christine," Meg says. "This has nothing to do with you. My mother and I have not seen each other since Christmas and, even then, our conversation has been limited. This luncheon was very kind of you to set up, but I cannot stay." Placing her napkin on the table she stands up.

Adele pushes herself up with her cane. "Meg, please, we must talk. I only accepted because you refuse to see me. Allow me to apologize."

"For my entire life?" Meg sneers. "You have been primping me to be a whore my entire life - under the guise of art and having a career…being a star. At what cost, Maman?"

"Meg, I did everything to protect you from such a life…with the managers at the Garnier and Erik would never…"

"No thanks to you." Her face burns with rage. "I honestly believed you when you said he cared. I wanted to believe you. I knew the truth, but I wanted to believe you. Believe that my own mother could not deceive me in such a way." Arms at her side, her fists clenched, tears flood her eyes flowing down her cheeks.

Christine gets up to put her arm around the young woman. "Come, sit down over here," she says, leading her to the settee.

Meg's sobs deepen, her body shakes as she struggles for air…her fingers dig into Christine's shoulders. "I am so ashamed." The words barely a gasp.

"Shh," Christine whispers, rocking Meg back and forth, humming softly. "You have nothing to be ashamed about. Wanting to be loved and desired is not shameful."

Adele rises from the dining table, crossing to sit across from them in the leather armchair. "I wanted what I thought was best for you."

"For you, you mean?" Meg sits up, rubbing her eyes. "Power, it was always about power – Madame Giry her stick on the floor and the world obeys her every command. Erik wanted to return to the opera house before we left for Calais, but you insisted we leave – you threatened him…said if we did not leave when we did, you would leave him."

"What?" Christine says.

"I was asleep in the cart," Meg explains. "I heard them arguing. He said he had forgotten something – that he needed to go back."

"The police were watching us – they were still looking for him."

"He was frantic,"

"All the more reason for me to insist – he would likely have stirred up trouble and it was getting light. The street vendors were already on the streets."

"He said it was important."

"What was more important than our lives. The police were searching for us…all of us, not just him."

"I need to say good-bye to her." Meg turns to Christine. "To you. You were there."

Christine nods, her own eyes glisten as she understands the import of Meg's words.

"You went back to him?"

"Yes." Christine bows her head.

"Gustave?"

"Yes." The barest smile parts her lips as eyes connect with those of her friend.

"You cannot blame me. I had no idea what he was talking about," Adele insists. "All I knew was we were all in danger and Erik had insisted we leave Paris as quickly as we could. Our trip would take hours, there was no time."

"You said she will be better off if she stays here." Meg's voice poisonous.

"She did not know," Christine says.

"You are too kind to her," Meg says.

"Meg," Adele pleads, "I am not some ogre. I was only doing what I thought was right for all of us. You do not know how it was. I always protected you…all of you – including Erik." Her rage seems to propel her from her seat to stomp across the Aubusson rug to the French doors. "Adele, fix my meal. Adele, the baron would like to meet you. Adele we need money for the rent." Resuming her pacing, her voice blistering, she says, "Then it became: Madame Giry, the patron is interested in this dancer or that dancer. Madame Giry, keeps the actors in line – do what you must. All my life – no one cared about what I felt or what I needed, so please spare me your scorn."

Her words are hard, but when she turns to face the two young women, her own dark eyes were damp. "I will not apologize for trying to do my best, in the only way I knew how." Returning to the leather chair, she flops down, focusing her gaze on Christine. "I do know. You were better off staying in Paris."

Christine draws her breath in, her face pale. "I respectfully disagree, Madame. We shall never know what might have been better. Had I been consulted, I would likely would have joined you. In any event, the point is moot," she says, patting Meg's arm as she rises. "I shall make some tea to drink with my cookies – the boys laugh at my cooking skills, but perhaps that might be a good thing right now – some humor."

Unsure of whether she should be happy or sad over the knowledge Erik wanted to come back to retrieve her at most, to say good-bye at the very least. Adele always took control over everything – so many things might have been different without her influence. But there it was – she was a puppet master. The mother to all of them…and they let it happen.

How would Erik react when she told him? Should she tell him? He deserved to know, besides she was not good at deceiving him, so why even consider it. They would have to tell the therapist. Who would have thought the conversation would take such a direction?

Despite the angry words, Christine felt a sense of freedom lacking when the women, her old friends arrived. A song her mother sang to her as a child springs to mind… she sings the words, first under her breath as she prepares the tea tray, then loud enough for Meg and Adele to hear.

I walk alone and wander here,
Looking for my friend.

I walk alone and wander here,
Looking for my friend.Look, I meet him here,

He, who my heart holds so dear.

Say if you will dance with me,
As you did before?

Tra la la la, la la la la,
La la la la la, la la la la la,Tra la la la, la la la la,
La la la la la, la la!

"The tea is ready," she says, returning to the sitting room. "Meg, could you bring the cookies over from the dining table." Relief floods her body as she observes both women themselves seeming relaxed and somewhat calmed, the emotion drained from all of them.

No one speaks, the tea poured, sipped – a few cookies nibbled on. The stillness a welcome respite.

The door bursts open, announcing the presence of Gustave with a less exuberant Erik behind him. "We found M. Khan and M. Touloui in the restaurant and we had our lunch together and I told them you made cookies, Maman, and when I asked they said they would like to taste them, so we are back," he announces.

Nadir and Darius peek around the door frame. "I hope this is not an inconvenience to you, Mademoiselle, uh, Madame Daae," Nadir says.

"Not at all and it is Christine," she says rising from the settee, arms outstretched to welcome the men. "Please come in." She surveys the room. "I fear we are lacking in formal seating, if you do not mind moving the dining chairs into the sitting room. The cookies are on the table."

"There are more in the kitchen," Gustave says, running to retrieve the basket.

Erik follows him, saying, "I shall prepare more tea."

"We were planning to take our leave in any event," Adele says. "Meg and I had a lovely lunch with Christine, but we do not wish to overstay our welcome. Is that not so, Meg?"

"If you say so, Maman. I should not wish to disagree with you."

Darius eyes her, his green eyes squint. "Are you all right?"

"I am perfectly fine – better than ever," Meg says, smiling brightly at him. Rising from her seat, she picks up one of the cookies from the dish on the coffee table. "I should not wish to deny you a cookie, however."

"Are you certain you wish to leave?" Christine asks, frowning in concern.

"I am," Meg responds. Opening her arms to Christine for a hug, the women embrace. "Thank you for today." Returning her attention to Darius, she hands him the cookie. "Just allow me to fetch my cloak and muff from the armoire and we can go."

Erik and Gustave appear in the kitchen doorway. "Leaving?"

"Yes, I am a little tired, perhaps the four of us can meet for dinner again soon."

Darius shrugs, helps Meg with her cloak, then with a tip of his hat, they leave.

"Were I less confident, I would think it was my presence."

"What makes you think it was not, Daroga?"

"Because I suspect it was you."

"As I recall I was invited to dinner."

"Stop it both of you," Adele says. "I am the person she finds so disgusting."

"Adele, no," Nadir says. "You are her mother."

"Precisely the problem."

"Did something happen today?"

"No. Yes. Nothing to discuss here or now with…" she lifts her head to indicate Gustave, his eyes intently following the conversation.

Erik checks with Christine who gives him a curt nod. "Well, then," he says. "Perhaps we four can share a dinner, later in the week perhaps?"

"Would you mind getting my wrap and muff, Nadir?" Adele asks. "I feel every bone in my body at the moment and believe I will need your arm to lean on."

"Can I help?" Christine asks, moving to help her up.

"I have it," Erik says, offering his hand to the ballet mistress.

"Thank you," she says, using her cane as a prop, accepting his hand to lift herself up from the chair. Their eyes meet, lowering hers she says, "I am sorry."

"Excuse me?"

"Never did I intend to bring you harm or unhappiness."

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"Christine will tell you." A grim smile crosses her face. "Nadir, shall we go?"

With a querulous look to Erik, Nadir helps Adele put on her cloak, then taking her arm, ushers her out the door. "We will talk in the morning?"

"As discussed," Erik says. "Take care."

"They left so soon, Maman," Gustave says.

"I think they were both tired. Madame Giry is likely still healing from her injury," Christine says. "We had a lovely lunch and spoke of old times." She tousles his hair. "I should like to speak with Papa Y about some matters you would find boring."

"Hmm, grown-up stuff or kissing?"

"Perhaps both, rascal," Erik says. "You can take the cookies with you. Work on some diagrams for the gramophone."

"All right, but at some point, I will no longer be a child and you will be unable to be rid of me with a bribe of cookies." With a flourish, he offers them a deep bow, grabs the plate of cookies and high steps down the hallway to his room.

"That time will come too soon. He is growing before our very eyes," she says. "No longer my baby."

Taking her hand, he leads her to the settee, looking deeply into her eyes. "You have been crying and if I am any judge of such things, so have Meg and Adele. What happened?"

"I believe Meg had…what is it called…katarsis…um…catharsis? And then Adele followed recalling her past injuries."

"Both of them?"

She nods. "It was quite something. They are so angry…and hurt."

"The therapist warned that might happen, he was concerned it might be upsetting for you."

"No, I was actually pleased."

"Then what did you wish to discuss?"

"Meg said she overheard you telling Madame you wanted to return to the opera house to say good-bye. You thought she was asleep, but heard talking – arguing."

He nods. "I wanted to bring you with us. I did not say as much to Adele, but it was my intent."

"Still, you did not come back."

"No. She voiced my original instinct – you would be better…safer with Raoul. So I did not return for you." His voice is barely audible. "I would say I was sorry, but you have warned me against another apology." He shrugs, falling against the back of the divan. "One decision and our lives thrown off kilter. Damn. Why did I not simply act?"

Taking his hand, she rests her head on his chest – listening to the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing – both quicker than normal. "Believe it or not, I understand. I am happy you had second thoughts."

"For what they were worth…nothing. I was not as brave as you."

"I did not have to battle Adele's will," Christine says, adding a chuckle to ease his mind. "After today, I have a much better understanding of her and her role in your life – in all our lives."

"How so?"

"Mother – she is all our mothers," Christine explains. "Her command of the opera company should have been our clue.

"Have you been reading the Freud books?" Erik asks, an eyebrow quirked.

"In between embroidering and learning to bake – I read."

"You are enjoying this psychology business."

"I am."

"More than singing?"

"Never more than singing, but I should like to learn more about it. Heaven knows our little family would make a fascinating case study."

"Or an opera."

"Or an opera."

"I shall begin tomorrow," he says. "For now, I believe we could both use one of those kisses Gustave was talking about"

*At last (Swedish).