When Erik opens the door to his penthouse suite, Nadir smirks. "I see some of the flamboyant patterns of the palace linger on in your wardrobe...the red suits you."
A contrast in style, Erik is garbed in a burgundy velvet smoking jacket, black wool slippers with embroidered red roses and white daisies on his feet. Nadir wears his familiar gray astrakhan hat and somber olive green three-piece suit, his only concession to style is a gold pocket watch chain.
Eying the Persian up and down, Erik retorts, "And you are dull as always."
"You have not seen my new dervish hat, it would put those slippers to shame. As it is, however, I am on duty and must adhere to bureaucratic dress."
"I should like to see the hat – at one time I had a stunning Mandarin jacket and hat acquired in China…but that was in another of my lives."
"You are a bit like a cat in that regard – what life do you suppose you are living now…8…9?"
"There are moments when it seems like a thousand, however, I am quite content – happy with this one."
"I am glad for that."
"Come. Sit. I prepared tea." A wave of his hand indicates the dining table situated in the bay window. A gold and enamel Samovar converted to electricity shares space with a plate of the Persian walnut cookies the daroga favors. Having discovered his love for this particular treat, Christine made it a personal challenge to bake them to perfection for him.
"She has become quite obsessed with learning how to cook – although I have assured her on numerous occasions it is not necessary. I am quite an accomplished cook and the hotel kitchen is always prepared for whatever we might like."
"Her skills are not improving, in other words?"
Erik laughs. "You know me too well."
"These cookies are quite tasty."
"Cookies and breads are her specialty – which, to her credit, are actually more difficult to prepare - what with the chemistry. Gustave torments her mercilessly, but often as not, she spars with him until they both are overcome with laughter." His voice drifts off, the tone wistful. A tight shake of his head brings his attention back. "It is quite amusing to watch, but I know it frustrates her – she is much the perfectionist."
"And yet?"
"And yet, she wants to be able to cook for her family."
"Well, if that is the only problem such a lovely woman possesses, I would suggest you eat what she prepares and praise Allah for your good fortune. You might also consider acquiring a dog – since you do not practice Islam, there would be no problem having one in your home. I understand they are quite useful when wishing to dispose of unpalatable food."
"The dog would soon become grossly overweight, I fear," Erik jokes, before his mood shifts again and darkens. "I had a dog once."
"You never told me."
"There is much you do not know, but, yes, Sasha. She was my one childhood friend."
"What happened to her?"
"Some boys killed her." No emotion in the normally mellifluous voice.
"Oh," Nadir says, unsure of how to respond. "Did you never have any peace?"
"Now. Now I have peace and love," Erik says, his focus returned to the present. "I think Gustave would like having a dog. Thank you for making the suggestion."
The glaze shading the amber eyes announce the topic closed. Nadir examines his friend, if that is the proper word for their relationship. His face expressive even with half covered with a mask. There was always the sarcastic repartee between them. Erik seldom edited his thoughts and his words often stung. There were moments when he was certain Erik might have preferred him dead, possibly inclined to do the deed himself.
The brilliant, raw heathen he knew in Persia – cruel to the point whereby Nadir wondered how the same man could be so tender with his Reza – was seemingly gone, evolved into an entrepreneur, lover, father. Still socially clumsy. Even in this land of freaks – Erik would always be the freak exemplar – almost relishing his ugliness at times – using it as vindication for the pain he inflicted on others.
And yet, he was transformed – talking of cookies and the woman who appears to have performed the magic creating such chatter.
His reaction to Meg on the pier – compassionate and caring – was not the Erik of Tehran – no Punjab lasso – no cold-blooded murder of the person who dared abuse his child. Adele shared some of the experiences during the time since they left Paris together. A metamorphosis occurred in Erik. What happened that night of Don Juan Triumphant, he wondered?
Erik clears his throat. "Have I become such a bore? I must say, the conversation is certainly mundane compared with imagining tortures for slaves of the Shah, still I would hope we could converse as peers, now that I am somewhat of a normal person – mask notwithstanding."
"Associating your life in Persia to making marriage plans has convinced me you have not changed as much as I may have assumed."
"Good, I would not want you to become lax in appreciating the character of others – especially mine. I have changed, but the memories linger – some things are impossible to leave behind," Erik says. "So – your ability to perform a marriage?"
"Yes…yes, I am certified to perform marriages. They had to actually give me a job – I was only a consultant – but when I told them it was for the owner of Phantasma, permission was not only bestowed, but I was asked if there was anything else you wanted."
"Hmmm, interesting."
"In case you are wondering, I do not want to know why.*"
"I shall tell you anyway. It is really quite harmless," Erik laughs, pouring each of them another cup of tea. "Without my being aware, Adele and Meg were offering special services."
"Yes, a part of Meg's breakdown."
"Adele was also making unnecessary pay-offs without telling me. I must admit that was as much my fault as hers – I was too lost in my inventions and longing for Christine…in any event, I visited each of the men used my charm to convince them I preferred an up and up business arrangement and to leave the women alone. I had seen enough of that at the Palais."
"Charm?"
"Call it what you will – I do have certain persuasive powers when needed."
"Adele told me about your "powers" in acquiring a so-called salary at the Garnier."
"Those fools did not know how to run an opera. Forget about not promoting Christine to the lead – they allowed the girls to be treated like chattel."
"Joseph Buquet?"
Erik's eyes flash. "Buquet was a pig and deserved to die, but I did not kill him. The manner of his death was of my doing – you of all people know of my traps. He was spying and was justly rewarded for all his crimes – including sabotaging the chandelier. Christine might have been killed."
"I was not accusing you."
"Then what? What is this inquisition all about?" Erik snarls. "I kept my promise to you – to only kill in self-defense."
"The tenor was not trying to kill you."
"Oh, really? The entire cast was conspiring to have me killed – thanks to the boy." Erik says, rising from the table, fingers flexing. "In any event, he did not die. He fainted from fright – thankfully so. He was actually one of the more talented artists those idiots hired." He stares out the window to the sea below.
"You threatened the Vicomte – you told me as much," Nadir goads him on, enjoying the effect his questions are having on the former Opera Ghost. Erik's behavior always carried an element of drama. A showman even in his sorrow and torment. Perhaps it was the exaggeration that enabled him to carry on with his life rather than end it.
Much as he was troubled by some of the events Erik was describing, he was also entertained – suspecting that Erik was also enjoying the angst he was professing. Perhaps he was not as pure and moral as he felt himself to be – a disturbing thought in the very least. How he had missed the man he brought to Persia and later enabled to escape.
"I did threaten him…I was crazed. That was the closest I came to betraying your trust – although, it would have been self-defense for anyone other than me." Erik paces the floor. "Is this conversation necessary? She trusts me."
"But I know you better."
"Do you? I worked for years to redeem myself – scorned by others, even when I attempted to live as a normal man working for Charles Garnier – who hired me despite my…appearance – so I lived in a basement…alone."
"Erik…"
"No." A long fingered hand waves him off. "It was as great as any agony I experienced during my lifetime. A different torment – solitude…a slow death underground – until I heard her voice and I no longer wanted to die."
"You almost killed."
"Almost – the little fool would have deserved it – he conspired to kill me."
"You stirred up a lot of mayhem."
"Enough to justify a death sentence?" Erik stops in front of the Persian, staring him down.
"You would have killed him?"
"I thought I might." His fury subsides and he turns away. "It did not come to that."
"What happened?" The words almost inaudible.
Erik shakes his head.
"What happened?"
A low moan escapes the swollen lips. He wraps his arms around himself, seeking comfort in his own touch. Whatever pain he feels is present in his voice. "Christine saw me as the devil you knew in Persia in all his infamy. All the hatred. All the mindless desire to destroy. All the ugliness – not just this face and this body – but the rot at the core of me. How did she say it?" A harsh laugh. "Your haunted face holds no horror for me know. It is your soul where the true distortion lies. I told her to choose." His eyes burn into Nadir's. "Of course, choosing him meant his death. Quite a choice, would you not say?" Another laugh…softer, gentler. "Then she kissed me. Twice." He returns to his seat, depleted. "I had to let her go. With him."
"But Gustave? How?"
"Have you forgotten the workings of the human body?" He shrugs. "She returned to me."
"But?"
"I thought it would be best for her to stay with him."
"Not her choice…yours. Well, no one was ever able to tell you anything."
"We all suffered for my arrogance."
Nadir laughs out loud. "It is worth every struggle I ever had with you to hear those words."
"Then my life is complete."
"You have kept this to yourself?"
Erik snorts. "Who would I tell? Christine knows – we do not speak of it, at least not in the sense of the events themselves, but it is always there in one way or another."
"What does she know of your past?"
"Her own experience and the wreckage of my body tells its own tale. If she has questions, she asks. Mostly, though, she forgives – even that which she knows nothing about."
"And bakes cookies."
"Yes. And sings. I would eat burned or undercooked food into eternity to be able to hear her voice and have her near me. I do not know why I have been so blessed, but I will do whatever it takes to assure her happiness…and that of our son and any other children we bring into this world."
"Is that an announcement?"
Erik nods.
"So an expeditious ceremony would be in order."
"Do your best," Erik says, pushing a folder towards the daroga. "I have the papers for both of us, if you care to look them over."
"No problems for you at Ellis Island?"
"Because of my face? No. Actually, there were a number of us scarred and torn humans. I was healthy, had proof of a viable skill…architecture, construction…funds," Erik says. "I wish we had opted for 2nd class at least – it would have been an easier journey, but access to my funds in Paris was not assured and the jewels…well, they were not something I wished the authorities to be aware of."
"So you rode in steerage?"
"A most enlightening experience, reminding me of my days with the gypsies."
Despite his words to the contrary, Nadir wondered if the man before him could leave his past entirely behind. There seemed nothing in his life where he could find an escape from mistreatment or the private hell still lurking inside him.
"Looking back, I probably should have taken the chance – for the women – but, Adele made all the arrangements for the journey – I was incapable of doing more that moving one step in front of the other. She is quite the woman."
"I am happy to hear you say so," Nadir says, scanning the paperwork. "Your naturalization papers are in order. As your wife, Christine will achieve her citizenship through you – the boy as well. Her divorce papers are fine." Straightening the papers, he returns them to the folder and says, "Next stop City Hall for your license."
"Speaking of which – what is this job you have taken?"
"You know the Progressives are looking at how to stop the sale of alcohol."
"To the extent I know anything about politics which is not much – Adele has spoken of it, though."
"It would behoove you to listen to her – she is very much aware of what is going on, not only in New York, but the world," Nadir takes a sip of tea. "You know of the suffrage movement?"
"Women voting? Yes, I cannot understand why they should not."
"All are part of a piece. Prohibition would affect you financially."
"This would seem to be a battle not easily won – since the beginning of recorded time, people have imbibed." Lifting his chin, indicating a parsons table holding several bottles of amber and clear liquids. Were I a betting man, I would put my money on the success of the women before alcohol becoming forbidden."
"Nevertheless, I have been given the task to keep track of Coney Island licenses and maintenance of the laws already in effect."
"I see – this would include Jack's?"
"And the hotel and the Ballroom."
"As far as I know, everything is in order. My charm extends to my employees and the vendors. As for the other Coney Island operations…those are not my concern."
"The pressure is only going to grow more intense," Nadir says. "For myself, drinking alcohol is already haram. I suppose they found a certain irony in my religious faith and asking me to enforce their prohibitions."
"Life is full of bridges to cross – this is just one more." Picking up the plate of treats, he holds it out to the daroga. "I do not suppose I could offer you a bribe," Erik chuckles. "Another cookie, perhaps."
"Just permission to observe."
"Whatever you need."
"Thank you, my friend."
"My pleasure."
Nadir quirks an eyebrow.
"Seriously, whatever you need."
"You have changed."
"I shall take that as a compliment – knowing how rare they are coming from you."
"This seems too easy."
"You do not trust me?"
"No – not entirely."
Erik guffaws.
"I am right, am I not?"
"Perhaps – perhaps not. I simply like having the upper hand with you, daroga. You should know that by now."
"Touche."
Rising from his chair, Erik walks to the table holding the liquor. He pours two fingers of Armagnac into a tulip glass, holding it up to Nadir. "Care to try this – the flavor is quite heavenly – like caramel and vanilla with a hint of apples. You would not even be aware you were drinking liquor."
"I shall pass, but please do not let me stop you."
"Pity some people would be offended by something so delicious. Alas." Lifting the glass in a toast. "To wedding plans and friendship."
"To wedding plans and friendship." Nadir lifts his teacup. "A votre sante, mon ami."
"A votre sante."
*This story incorporates a dialogue prompt from rscoil – I don't want to know why. Thank you for the addition to Erik and Nadir's repartee.
