In the good old summertime
In the good old summertime
Strolling through a shady lane
With your baby mine
You hold her hand and she holds yours
And that's a very good sign
That she's your tootsey-wootsey
In the good, old summertime.
At the sound of a door closing at the rear of the theater, Erik and Christine stop singing, both turn to look out toward the empty seats – straining to see who has come into the darkened auditorium. The stage lit only by the work light and a small lamp gives no hint as to the person walking down the aisle. "Rudolph?"
"No, it is I, Adele."
Christine smiles, calling out, "Wait for Erik to turn on some lights, Madame."
Erik jogs to the lighting board and flips a switch. The stage comes alive with light, revealing set pieces and scrims stored upstage. Enough light is provided for the couple to not only see his…what…business manager? Friend? He is not certain anymore what role this woman plays in his life. Despite the passage of time and a certain peace made between her and Christine – he has not quite come to terms with the woman he has known much of his life – by his side through all the major events of recent years. With the exception of Nadir, it is she who knows him best – but seemed, ultimately, not to know him at all.
Whoever she is to him now, he does not wish her to fall, recalling the tumble he and Rudolph took a month earlier traipsing down the same aisle. The fateful afternoon preceding Christine's miscarriage. One of those experiences that might have happened yesterday or a lifetime ago. This is the first time Christine has felt well enough to venture out and work on her music.
Something Dr. Gangle highly recommended. Even to suggesting they return to the place where her symptoms first presented. Returning to see there was nothing she did to cause the miscarriage nor anything she might have done to prevent it.
The Master of Ceremonies was perhaps the best doctor she could have seen in these or any other set of circumstances. The skills he always managed to keep up to date were reassuring – there were no complications based on her reports to him. The physical healing was occurring in a timely fashion – better than some he had seen in his years both as a home town physician and as the doctor the women of Phantasma trusted with their personal business. Ultimately, it was compassion combined with his comic ability that had provided laughter alongside her tears.
The maestro is expected shortly, so Adele's surprise appearance is not entirely welcome. However, she is here and he is pleased to see the addition of the stage lights enable her to walk safely toward him. "To what do we owe this honor?" he calls down to her.
The dark-haired woman, treads slowly down the aisle, seeming to lean more heavily on her cane than normal. The wound from the night on the pier may be healed, but left her more infirm than her feet – permanently damaged from dancing. Once a commanding figure – the cane less a crutch to assist her movement, but more the staff of a shepherd keeping the herds of performers and crew in line – was now evidence of her physical frailty. Her body appears to have shrunk in the few short months since the shooting
"Honor is hardly the word I should think you would use in regard to me, but I shall accept it as an indication of your good will." Breathless from her walk, she stops at the pit, taking hold of the rail to catch her breath before proceeding to the stairs up to the stage.
Erik hastens to meet her at the top of the short stairway, taking her arm to guide her to the piano where Christine has secured a chair for her comfort. "Sit down, Madame," she says, pouring a glass of water from the pitcher sitting on a small table situated next to the piano, a catchall for some refreshments, a folder of sheet music and Christine's pale green hand-knit shawl and brocade reticule.
After taking a sip of the water, she says, "Nadir told me I might find you here. I understand you plan to sing with the orchestra during intermissions at the ballroom. I felt I had to speak to you."
"Word does travel," Christine says. "Yes, we were just working on a song that was very popular a few years back that Erik thought would suit my voice. We felt using more familiar songs would be appealing to the people who come to dance."
"Not opera?"
"No, at least not the more serious pieces," Erik says. "The selections will enable the dancers to take a break or continue to dance, or sing along, if they so choose."
"Caruso has quite a following with his operatic recordings."
"Is that what you found so urgent – the nature of the music? While it is true enough about Caruso's popularity….we have plans for recording Christine singing arias as well." Erik's fingers begin tapping the edge of the keyboard.
"For the dancers, however," Christine interjects, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Well, they want to dance and vesti la giubba is not really suitable for ballroom or the new jazz dancing that is becoming so popular."
"All that training and hard work…"
"What do you want, Adele?" Erik barks, slamming down the lid of the keyboard. "I am certain you did not come here to discuss Christine's career choices."
"Actually, I did, in a sense," she says. "This is exactly what happened with Meg. Promises of a dancing career and she winds up doing striptease. Christine tempted with an aria and now you expect her to sing popular music with a dance band."
"That was Meg's decision, not mine," he says, a muscle twitching under his eye, his voice cold and hard. "We were working carnivals and fairs – not too many people interested in Swan Lake at the venues we worked."
"Still, when you opened this theater…"
"Meg was given the opportunity to dance – to be a star – she never complained."
"You would not have listened."
"Adele, both of you were free to leave any time. I told Meg she should go to Manhattan and audition for the ballet."
"You did? She never told me."
"She said you needed her here," he spits. "Had I known why…"
"Stop it – both of you." Christine covers her ears.
Erik stands up taking her by the shoulders, but she shakes him off, taking a step toward Adele's chair. "Madame, with all due respect, my singing career is really none of your business. So, if this is truly why you are here, I suggest you leave now. I am quite frankly tired of hearing how terrible Erik has been to you and Meg. You are grown women, financially secure – more fortunate than many."
Adele pulls back at Christine's vehemence. One last sneer curves her thin lips, colored a deep berry red, before she breaks down, unable to sustain what might have been a last ditch effort at bravado and strength. "I am no good at being soft and needy, yet, here I am."
"This is what you consider soft and needy?" Erik chuckles at the ridiculous statement, satisfied that Christine will do no bodily harm to her former mistress. "You obviously have not watched many romances, Adele. Were you a man, I would have tossed you out on your tail five minutes ago."
"I came to throw myself on your mercy – if you have that potential…"
"So you are looking for what? A job? Yet you preface your request with a full-on assault on Christine and myself – then follow it up with an insult in lieu of an apology?"
"Erik, hear her out," Christine joins him on the piano bench, pressing her body close to his. To Adele, she says, "I suggest you start over again. Whatever history you have with one another…and me – much has changed. I am weary of your complaints, but am open to a new beginning."
"You have certainly taken charge. No longer the shy little bird."
Careful of Christine, Erik stands up, squeezing her shoulder and growls, "Get out. There was a time when I let your tongue run and did nothing to stop you, but things have changed. Neither Christine nor I deserve your obvious contempt."
"Erik."
"No," he says to Christine, taking her hand in his. "She can speak to me however she likes – I owe her a debt and I suppose I deserve her contempt. You, however, have done nothing."
"You are correct. I have lost my ability to be human, it would seem. If Nadir was not present in my life, I would probably die of the rot in my soul," she snickers. "Self-hatred has a way of poisoning everything around you. I feel I am going mad. You would know of that my old friend."
Erik takes her measure. The dark eyes, while still piercing and cold, do hold a bit of sadness. Once again he notices her physical demeanor – shrunken and brittle. "Yes, I understand." He returns to his seat at the piano next to Christine, taking her hand in his. "If you feel you are finally purged of your venom, tell me…us what it is you want."
"A job – something to do." The absence of rage leaves her almost limp, a rag rung dry – her body slumps on the chair, the stick with its handle carved in the shape of a wolf's head, the only thing seeming to keep her upright.
"What sort of job?" Erik asks. "The season is over, you know that staff is limited right now."
"I was busy in years past…"
"Keeping the books – making certain the business was being run properly," Erik says. "You expect me to turn that over to you again after all that has happened?"
"I could work with the wardrobe mistress – I am a competent seamstress…she has been giving me some work to do." Looking at Christine, she says, "Altering your dresses from France – letting them out – while she was making your wedding dress." The deep brown eyes, run up and down Christine's body. "She told me to stop the work a few weeks back – said to wait."
Christine stiffens, squeezing Erik's hand.
"I am sorry," Adele says, finally. "The rumors were all over the place – happily so. Despite our differences, I was pleased to be a part of the new family even in such a small way."
"Since you are already involved with Nadir, it would be easiest to work with him," Erik stands, pressing a hand against Christine's back. Leaning over, he whispers, "I shall be right back."
Walking over to Adele, he takes her arm, helping her from the chair. "He has taken over the finances, such as they are, for the moment. You can probably help him catch up and explain how the books were set up."
"Thank you," she says, looking over his shoulder at Christine, who sits staring in front of her. "I am sorry. I truly did not mean to upset either of you."
"Of course not, you have always been the gentlest of souls, Adele."
With that he helps her down the stairs, to the exit next to the stage. "I trust you know where to find Nadir from here rather than through the lobby."
"Yes."
"Good-bye, then."
Returning his focus to Christine, his eyes go to her hands, her fingers digging into the thick linen of her green dress. The glance to her face confirms his concern – her chin juts out, lips pressed together – in an effort to prevent the tears falling from her eyes. He runs to Christine taking her into his arms, allowing her to release the storm of tears she struggles to hold back. "Damn her," he says.
"If not her, then someone else," Christine says pressing her fingers into his shoulders, gulping back her sobs. They sit for a moment, gathering themselves, riding the wave of a too familiar grief one more time to a relative calm.
"Damn her. Your first time out and she has to fly in like a harpy to disrupt our lives again."
"Whatever her earlier anger, the last comments were not hateful or mean."
"Just nosy."
"A leopard cannot change its spots," she manages to chuckle. "Perhaps this is what dear Gangle had in mind…not Adele, of course, but returning to the scene of the crime – like in mystery books – revealing the truth."
"But there was no crime, please do not tell me you feel you committed some sort of crime."
Bending into him, she rests her head on his shoulder, petting his chest with her hand. "Quite the opposite – I found myself again today. The old bat made me so angry…for you, for Meg, for myself. She is so full of self-pity, I saw how ugly it made her. Then I realized I was falling into a similar pit."
"You are the most positive person I have ever known," Erik protests, wrapping an arm around her. "The light to my darkness."
"You have not be subject to my private rages – the moments when I am alone – when I curse god for everything taken from me. You mistake my quiet for meek acceptance."
"Never have I considered you meek – you are incredibly brave and strong."
"Well, when I lost the baby, all the rage I bottled up throughout my life overwhelmed me. I was horrified by the depth of my own darkness." She turns to look in his eyes. "I think it was the first time I came close to understanding how much like you I really am."
Erik shakes his head. "You? No. Never."
"Yes, I believed losing the baby was punishment for the ugliness I was hiding. The resentment toward my father…Raoul…Meg…Madame."
"Me? If anyone is ugly…"
"No. Stop. You are beautiful – all that beauty underneath you sang about with Gustave is true."
"What does this mean? Dare I ask?"
"Perhaps we need to have a meeting with the staff…let them know the situation, rather than have them guessing and making up stories."
"Are you sure?"
"I want to get married. Let us decide on a date – we can make that announcement and tell them about the baby at that time."
"All of that?"
"Yes. I expect to cry at odd moments – probably for the rest of my life – but live I must."
"Very well – a wedding you shall have – all the bells and whistles, if you like."
"I think I should like a carnival wedding – with the organ playing and colored lights."
For the first time in weeks, Erik sees a spark of light he feared had completely abandoned her eyes. "I suppose we must invite Adele – she seems to have been instrumental in this breakthrough."
"She shall be my matron of honor," Christine laughs.
"That will certainly be a shock to her," Erik says. "I cannot wait to see the transformation of the dour look she always wears."
"Or not see a transformation – that would be more in character."
"True enough," he chuckles. "in either case, worth seeing."
