Hello, readers! I need a bit of advice, from those of you willing to give it. This chapter will wrap up the post-POTO portion of the storyline, while the next (which is already written) will begin my alternate version of "Love Never Dies." Should I mark "His Consolation Prize" as complete and use the next chapter as the first chapter of a sequel, or should I make the next chapter number 24 in HCP? There is quite a time jump, from one to the next.
The lyrics for "Doll on a Music Box" from "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" are the creation of the fabulous Sherman Brothers, not myself.
Thank you, in advance, for your opinions and support! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season.
Happy reading!
Jenn
Meg had consumed books in her spare time, but Les Misérables remained untouched from its perch on her vanity. She would glance at it, occasionally, in the first few days after their strained encounter in front of the fireplace. It saddened her, for some reason. But, as the weeks passed, she noticed it less and less, as the abandoned novel's significance waned and it became little more than a fixture in her room.
Her days consisted of singing lessons, rehearsal of material, and preparations for the meetings Erik had arranged with potential investors.
He was a perfectionist, as he had always been, but he understood that her voice would never match Christine's. As he played scales on the grand piano in their room, she pushed herself to sing with more passion than she had ever before shown. They both acknowledged improvement, but Erik kept her melodies simple and repetitive.
When he retreated to his room to write letters of business or rest, Meg would stretch her muscles and work on her flexibility. She had finished choreographing her signature song, but she was still uncomfortable pairing the dance with her singing. Away from Erik's critiques, she practiced her performance daily.
Erik remained cold in his interactions with his ward, only speaking of Phantasma and necessities. No pleasantries. He was polite, but guarded. The excursions they made were occasional and limited in time and scope. Meg had not met another French-speaking person, as far as she could tell.
And the door to their room was always locked. And Erik always had possession of the key.
To be truthful to herself, Meg was no longer invested in the idea of escaping. She sketched costumes before bed and fell asleep to the music box melody in her head, sometimes being played on the piano out in the main room. Her muscles twitched in response to the mechanical movements that accompanied the notes. Her dreams were of performing onstage to glowing reviews and raucous applause. Sometimes, her dream self would look to the wings of the illuminated stage and find the Phantom smiling at her in the shadows.
Ms. Caron visited with Mr. Schmidt on four more occasions: twice to add to her wardrobe, once to make alterations, and once to bring her some additional accessories. Each time, they had smiled through the somewhat stilted conversations with broken and simplified French.
One morning, during yet another conversation-less breakfast, Meg showed Erik the design she had drawn for the costume she envisioned for her routine. It wasn't art, but she had put hours and weeks of focus into this presentation. She would wear a costume similar to the porcelain ballerina that she had shattered all those years ago.
Erik nodded in agreement, but he acted mostly apathetic to her obvious enthusiasm. Something in her heart broke, a little, at his lack of strong support. He took her drawings and promised to send them with specific instructions to Ms. Caron.
Two weeks later, Ms. Caron arrived with the glittering garment and a proud smile. She had with her two female assistants, ready to complete the costume after a fitting.
Meg and the three seamstresses stayed in Meg's room for hours, while Erik waited outside. When Meg emerged wearing the completed ensemble, she smiled triumphantly. Erik couldn't withhold his admiration, widening his eyes and slackening his jaw.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a taut bun at the top of her head, with clear and various shades of blue crystals in a comb that mimicked a small tiara. There was a fine dusting of powder on her skin, every exposed inch, that had a luminescent quality about it. It shimmered ever so slightly in the candlelight and gave her an ethereal glow. Her costume had no straps, but there were petite, ruffled cuffs on each of her upper arms that were a powder blue with pure white lace trim. Her top was white with ivory embroidery and clear crystals sewn into an ornate design. The skirt looked as if it had been slowly dipped in dye, as the color went from white at her waistline to a gradual light blue. The skirt was stiff and full, with white lace and more crystals at the edges of the tutu. Finishing the costume, Meg wore opaque white stockings and flat white slippers that had silver paint on the toes. She looked like a winter fairy without her wings.
When Meg cleared her throat, Erik's eyes returned to her own and his mouth abruptly shut. She smiled shyly and looked at him hopefully. He rewarded her with a small smile and a curt nod of approval.
After the seamstresses left, Meg changed into her nightgown. It was too late for dinner; her fitting had taken all evening. She was hungry, but she was certain Erik had already eaten. As she brushed her hair at her vanity, her stomach rumbled. There was a knock on her door, so she placed the brush down, put on her sheer robe, and answered.
Erik was dressed in his robe as well, and the two of them shared a smile at their similar ways of thinking.
"Are you hungry? I ordered a simple meal for our late dinner."
He held out his hand in invitation, and she quickly took it. His hand was warm, and when she went out into the common room, she saw why. A blazing fire illuminated the room, and he had placed their food on the tables at either end of the sofa. She wondered if her blushing was visible in the dim light, as he led her to be seated.
They enjoyed their soup, a crab bisque, while soaking in the heat from the fire. Similar to their previous meals, they did not speak, but there was no tension on this occasion. Meg finished and sighed contentedly. Erik had already finished his, but he had waited until she was done to remove both of their bowls to the table where they usually ate. She watched the fire flicker and leaned back into the soft cushions behind her.
Erik returned with a book in his hand and sat next to her, keeping his back straight and leaving room between them. He fanned through the pages and stopped when he reached what he was looking for. Then he turned toward her.
"Shall we continue?"
"I'd like that."
He read from Les Misérables. Valjean was about to release Javert. Meg sat up and leaned into Erik, craving his comfort and affection. He continued reading, but he draped his arm over her and relaxed back into the sofa.
When her breathing began to slow and deepen, he placed the book beside him and leaned up to stand. Meg roused and stretched her coiled limbs. As she readied her body to get up, Erik knelt down and picked her up like a bride, carrying her toward her room. She stiffened as they reached the doorway.
"Thank you, I think I can manage…"
Erik shushed her and strode towards her bed. He lay her down gently and walked out of the room. He turned back to her, holding the door handle.
"Goodnight, Meg."
"Goodnight, Erik. Thank you."
He shut the door and Meg fell asleep quickly.
"How can you tell…I'm – under a spell…I'm – waiting for love's first kiss."
She stiffly brought her hands back toward her mouth, while the instrumental break in the song played. The "music box" she was on slowly turned her entire body at the center of the stage. It did not make her dizzy, but she lamented that she could not see the expressions of the audience. Did they like it? Would they applaud her solo debut, or would they laugh when she was done?
"You cannot see…you people gazing at me…"
Her dance continued, but she only moved from the waist up. Her feet were planted on the moving pedestal to keep her steady.
Was he there? Would he approve?
"…while…I'm…turning around and around."
She had finished singing, and the pedestal stopped on cue. She stepped down and the music played on as she went up en pointe. This was her true moment to shine. Showing off her extensive talent and training, she leapt and turned gracefully all over the stage. This part of her routine was fluid and in direct contrast to the jerky, mechanical movements on the turning pedestal.
When she finished, she ran to the center of the stage to bow humbly. At first there was nothing, then a shower of applause resounded throughout the large building. Flowers of every color were individually thrown to her feet. She placed her right hand over her heart and dipped low to show her gratitude. As her eyes looked down, she saw a red rose with a black ribbon land on top of the floral pile.
She looked up to box five, where the Phantom stood in the shadow clapping his gloved hands with fervor. She blew him a kiss and trotted offstage.
In her dressing room, she sat at the vanity, surrounded by bouquets of flowers from admirers. She held the Phantom's rose and closed her eyes to inhale its perfume.
"Brava, Brava, Bravissima…"
The last word echoed within the walls of her room and she smiled. After laying the rose down, she stood and crossed to the door, locking herself in. Then she walked to the floor length mirror and waited.
Erik appeared as if by magic. But it was an illusion, she knew. He was lit by torches in the hallway that stretched back from the other side of the mirror. He was dressed in his black floor-length cloak, a burgundy waistcoat and matching ascot with a silver pin. The white collar was all that could be seen of his shirt, and his black slacks were tailored perfectly to his form.
Meg felt her heart pound in her chest. She felt the danger, the taboo nature of their meeting. He nodded with his serious face.
She took off every piece of her costume slowly, raking her fingertips across the different areas of her body. Each item was dropped in abandon, left ungraciously on the floor beneath her. She removed the jeweled tiara from her hair, and loosened her locks so that her mane cascaded around her naked shoulders.
She stood unashamedly before him, bared and wanting. The mirror slid open and traces of smoke theatrically curled around the baseboard and carpet. The Phantom reached a gloved hand out to her. She placed her small hand within his, but as he pulled her towards him, she resisted.
He frowned at her. She smiled playfully and pulled him toward her. He complied, looking relieved, and they fell upon the chaise together. He kissed her softly, tenderly, while she smoothly relieved him of each of his vestments. Locked in a passionate kiss, he removed his gloves with frustration before finally feeling her soft skin.
A knock at the door was dismissed, but the interrupting agent continued to barrage the door.
"Meg?"
Meg roused from her dream, unwillingly. She yawned and struggled to open her eyes. Light cascaded through her room from the large window, and she felt a familiar wet heat between her legs.
Another knock.
"Meg! Are you coming out for breakfast or not?"
"Yes," her voice rasped. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes, I'll be out soon!"
At the end of the week, their relations had much improved. Little concessions here and there. Smiles, spoken encouragement and gratitude, brief touches of tenderness… Erik finished reading Les Misérables and they had a long discussion afterwards of its messages and symbolism.
The beginning of the following week was their first appointment with a potential business partner. Erik ordered a larger carriage, to transport not only the two of them, but the trunk that held Meg's costume. The ride to their destination was filled with contemplative silence, as Erik and Meg both mentally prepared to play their roles.
They arrived to a home address, a four-story brick building that had beautiful trimmings and curtains. Erik helped Meg out of the carriage, squeezing her hand lightly to give her silent encouragement for what she was about to go through.
Inside the home, the furnishings were a mixture of different eras and countries. It was all quite gauche. The butler showed them to a large entertaining room, where the two of them chose chairs to sit upon, while waiting on their hosts. Erik's chair was a large Berère made with dark green velvet and gold rope at all the seams. Meg's was an antique Fauteuil, with delicate needlepoint bouquets of flowers on every cushioned surface.
Nothing matched, but every piece was, individually, exquisite and expensive.
When the occupants of the home entered, Meg held the chuckle in the back of her throat to a small smirk of amusement. The elderly man wore a simple suit, navies and grays, with an over-embellished, embroidered red robe with black lapels. It looked oriental, in design, with pink cherry blossom flowers on black branches rolling down each sleeve. He shook Erik's hand and passed through to sit on a chair that looked humorously like a throne. The back of his robe showed a coiled dragon with menacing claws and artistic fire coming from its mouth.
His wife was younger…much younger. She could not be older than her thirties. She wore a taffeta chartreuse dress with as many accoutrements as the design would allow. Gold buttons that looked like ancient coins, pearls attached to the peaks of every piece of lace, ruffles and pleats in abundance… She wore a large black hat with white ostrich plumes and a tulle bow with dots of pearls at every junction. And the black fur muff… which, along with the hat, was removed and placed on the chaise that she gracefully posed herself on.
Did she wear those accessories indoors for our benefit? Meg wondered incredulously. Erik, meanwhile, rose to greet the madam and kissed her gloved hand once she was seated.
The three spoke English, and Meg quietly pretended to be interested in the foreign conversation. Erik seemed to be charming the wife, and, judging by the number of laughs he solicited, he was succeeding. The older man nodded occasionally, but he was never permitted to speak more than two words at a time before his wife chimed in enthusiastically.
Erik motioned to Meg, and Meg knew that was her cue to go change into her costume. The woman of the house called out a name and some maid named Mary escorted Meg to a bedroom that already held the trunk. Mary waited in the corner, as Meg pulled out each item. When Meg needed help with a closure or positioning of her accessories, the servant dutifully stepped in.
Meg reemerged as her porcelain ballerina self, forcing herself to take deep breaths to calm her spirits. Her muscles were warm enough to do the simple moves she had choreographed, although necessity had called for her to add to the dance, seeing as Erik had not been able to finish constructing a makeshift turning pedestal in time for her performance.
Her audience of three watched with rapt attention, as she took her first pose. Erik walked over to the metronome on the piano at the far end of the room and placed it on the coffee table between the clustering of chairs. He set it for a proper tempo, then sat back to watch. The metronome clicked back and forth at a leisurely walking pace. Meg took a deep breath.
"What do you see? You people gazing at me?
You see a doll on a music box that's wound by a key.
How can you tell…I'm – under a spell, I'm – waiting for love's first kiss!
You cannot see, you people gazing at me,
Turning around on this music box that's wound by a key.
Yearning…yearning…while…I'm…turning around and around."
She finished her a capella version of the song, isolating her movements to be as stiff and mechanical as possible, then concluded with a half bow at her waist.
The fancy woman gave muffled applause from her gloved hands, gushing to Erik of Meg's performance. She was all smiles. Her husband also clapped, although with less zeal. He nodded appreciatively at Meg, who breathed a sigh of relief and gave a more traditional, demure curtsey.
Meg left the room to change out of the costume, while Erik engaged the two would-be investors in deep conversation.
Eventually, she and Erik left the home, loading themselves and the trunk into their carriage. When they were settled in the cab, Erik turned to her and gave her the biggest smile she had ever seen appear on his normally serious face.
"We have our first investor," he told her.
Meg let out a shriek of joy and embraced Erik. He cautiously held her, then gently pushed her back to her seat. She wasn't perturbed by the gesture, but continued the conversation.
"What were their names? No one introduced themselves properly, I was so confused. And what atrocious tastes that woman had! Wasn't her husband's robe too ridiculous? And why was she wearing a muff indoors? How much money will they contribute? Did they say anything nice about my performance?"
Erik's mouth had dropped at the deluge of questioning, and his eyebrows were raised in his overwhelmed state. Meg ceased her chattering and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, Erik, I'm just excited," she explained. "I am so very happy for you, that it went well. One more step closer to Phantasma, right?"
He smirked arrogantly. "Yes, indeed." He took one of her hands and planted it within both of his. "They are the very rich Mr. and Mrs. Dipplethwaite, and they will contribute five thousand dollars to our show."
Meg's eyes widened at the huge amount, then she giggled. "Dipplethwaite? What an odd name. It's appropriate, though, I think."
"Mrs. Dipplethwaite is the third wife, a former dancer herself, apparently. She spends her husband's oil money on sporadic purchases, but she also considers herself and her husband to be celebrated patrons of the arts."
Meg smiled and leaned into Erik, who stiffened at the intimate contact.
"Five thousand dollars…" she whispered in awe.
He smiled, and she could hear it in his voice when he responded, "Five thousand dollars." He cleared his throat, then, and his tone was more serious. "This first meeting was supposed to be an easy sell. I wanted you to feel…assured in your ability. I wanted you to have the same confidence in yourself as I do…in you."
She pulled away and looked into his austere face. Her smile was returned with one of his own.
"I wish I could make all of our potential business investors this agreeable, but not all of them will be so gracious. Or so courteous." He let go of her hand and gently cupped her chin. "But, as I promised you on the ship, I will protect you. I will make you a star. And we will make Phantasma a show unlike any that the world has ever seen!"
They sank into a comfortable silence, resting their minds from the mental strains of the day, and the carriage lightly jostled them to their destination.
Back in their hotel room, Meg immediately went to her quarters to refresh herself. Erik had ordered dinner before they left for their afternoon meeting, and it was waiting under silver cloches on the dining table. She removed the black jacket she wore, as well as her black boots, hat, and white gloves. She pulled every hairpin out and shook her blonde tresses free. Relaxed and ready for a casual dinner, she left her room to find her dining companion.
Erik was seated, still wearing his suit and accessories, but his gray jacket was not in sight. She assumed he had already hung it up in his wardrobe. He had been watching her door, and he nodded when she finally entered the common area.
"I'm sorry for making you wait, I thought you might start without me," she apologized. She sat down and removed the cloche in front of her. Erik did the same.
"I didn't mind waiting," he stated matter-of-factly.
They recounted the earlier appointment, with Erik filling Meg in on every detail of the conversations he had in English with the Dipplethwaites, while eating the braised duck that had been prepared for them.
"While you were changing out of your costume, she asked about your dance experience. I said you were a prima ballerina in Paris, and you were eager to make your debut in America. I told her about your inspiration for your solo number and that you did everything but write the lyrics. She was especially impressed with your pronunciation, given that you only speak French."
"Did she like the dance? Did she like my choreography?"
"She thought it was amusing, and that it fit the theme well. She was more intrigued with the idea of you performing while on a moving pedestal."
"Ah…so, did she have anything else to say about me?"
Erik hesitated and took a bite, looking at Meg and holding back his smile.
"Erik?"
"She may have had a…suggestion or two."
Meg arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "She has suggestions… for me?"
"The only one worth mentioning is that she thought it might be more believable, in keeping with the overall theme of the number, if you kept the expressions on your face controlled, as well."
Meg huffed in annoyance. Finished with her meal, she threw her napkin onto the table and leaned back in her chair. Erik let her simmer, focusing on finishing the food on his plate. Meg's countenance changed quite unexpectedly, as she thought about the new idea.
"Actually, that might just work. I'll try being unemotional the next time I'm rehearsing in front of my mirror."
Later in the night, both Erik and Meg settled into their routine of changing into their night clothes. Meg hurried to do so and abandoned putting on her robe, in order to be the first seated on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Erik came out soon after, wearing his robe and night shirt, and he walked straight to the fireplace to open the grate and prepare the kindling.
Meg stopped him with her hands on his chest. He looked at her, puzzled and waiting. She brushed her hands down to his abdomen and then stepped back, dropping them to her sides. She held out one hand, which he grabbed with a quizzical expression. Then she led him to her room without a word. He followed obediently, with a satisfied smirk on his half-masked face.
Once they were in her room, Meg stopped within the entryway and placed her arms around Erik's neck. He held her trim waist in his bare hands, letting his fingers trace the trim of her nightgown and the shape of her body. She looked up at him and he stared down at her.
When she went to kiss him, he turned and began to lightly kiss her jawline and neck. She frowned at his denial, and she pulled her head away from him. He looked back at her and narrowed his eyes. She clenched her jaw and tried again. He dodged her intentions and pulled her closer as he closed his mouth on her earlobe and sucked at the skin there. She gasped and pushed against his chest.
"Why won't you kiss me? We kissed on the ship, so why not now?"
Erik let her go, then. He turned away from her, and suddenly found his reflection staring back at him from the full-length mirror in Meg's room. He covered his mouth with a hand and rubbed the area with his hands. As if he was trying to rid his lips of something offensive. He pulled the hand away and it fell to his side. He continued staring at himself. Meg moved to stand next to him, watching his reflection. His eyes darted to hers in the mirror.
"I shouldn't have kissed you."
Meg's heart sank in her chest, but her face remained calm, seeking an explanation.
"Why not?"
"Christine kissed me."
Meg couldn't hide her confusion. When did Christine…
"The night in my catacombs, before I fled the Opera Populaire with you. That pugnacious Vicomte found us, somehow. I had Christine make a choice: leave with me willingly and I would spare her lover's life, or deny me again and watch her lover die."
Meg's breath caught in her throat. Her face hardened at the reveal of the Phantom's cruelty.
"She kissed me," Erik looked away from the mirror, from himself and from Meg. "I didn't expect her to do so. I did not have my mask on…I was sure she would be too frightened, too disgusted to even look at me. But she kissed me. My wretched self."
Her resolve faltered at his self-depreciating words, but she stayed where she was. He looked down and continued his story.
"I felt her lips against mine, her cheeks, her hands on my hideous face. She poured her love into me at that moment. I thought my heart would explode, feeling so much at once. When she pulled away, she looked at me, staring past my scars, past my transgressions… And I knew. She would resent me forever if I made her choose between her love and her freedom. So I freed him." He paused, briefly. "I freed them."
He turned back to Meg, then, and took a step toward her. She remained still, her hands clasped in front of her.
"I didn't feel that strongly, when I kissed you," his eyes stared into hers, apologizing wordlessly. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "It wasn't the same. And I can't change that." He let the back of his fingers graze her cheek as he moved his body against hers. "I want you, Meg. But I'm not sure I can love you."
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but Meg blinked repeatedly to wash them away. She didn't know if she necessarily wished for the Phantom to love her, but she was hurt by his confession nonetheless. Erik took her into an embrace, and she let her arms fall to her sides as her body went slack against his.
"I care for you, I will always protect you, and, as I said before, you can have everything that I have left to give. Is that enough?"
She smiled sadly and pulled him towards her bed.
It's enough, for now, she conceded in her mind.
They pulled their few garments off without ceremony, eager to find comfort in each other's bodies. Meg lay atop Erik, kissing his chest and clavicle, while his hands firmly grabbed her buttocks. He guided his hands down the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs so that she straddled him.
When she reared up, she used her nails to lightly scratch curved designs into his upper body, feeling prideful when Erik threw his head back in unexpected abandon. His hands rested on her folded knees, and he squeezed them a little roughly. She made a tiny squeak of protest in response, and he gently traced up her thighs back to her waistline. She took a breath and rose up on her knees to position herself.
As Erik entered her, they both let out sighs of pleasure, and Meg began to steadily rock herself on top of him. He sat up, then, and moved them back against the headboard of the bed. He cupped the back of her neck with his hand and stared into her eyes, willing her to quicken her pace. She did so, until he stilled her with his strong hands. She paused, uncertain what he wanted, and he bent down to take one of her bared nipples into his mouth.
She moaned as a result of the sensitivity of that action and leaned further into him. He lavished attention on both breasts, nipping and playing his tongue around her abundant mounds.
He rolled them over, and Meg was quick to lock her legs around his waist in anticipation. Still sheathed inside her, he removed his turgid length to feel the sensation of entering her again. He moved slowly, as if savoring the feeling that he had been without for too many weeks to remember. She responded to his rhythm by raking her nails up and down his back. His lips went to her neck, then, pressing warm kisses to every inch of skin there.
He began to move more quickly above her, but he waited for her release to come, working her into a frenzy with the relentless pace and friction. He finished shortly after she did, breathing heavily and collapsing upon the bed beside her.
Once she had regained her senses, she rolled over to lay against his side, placing her hand on his sweaty chest and watching it move up and down with his deep breaths. Her leg curled over his and she lay her head on his muscular shoulder. Erik eventually placed his hand over hers and nodded off to sleep.
Meg stayed awake, watching the single candle next to her bed burn out and deliver the room into darkness.
She thought about what Erik had said.
She wanted love.
She did not love Erik.
At least, she was almost certain she didn't love Erik.
But what if she could? What if, one day, she did?
Will it be enough, then?