Chapter Nine: When sound is bliss
She entered through the back entrance of The Gilded Cage, an entrance reserved for employees and band. In her mind the book was glowing red hot within her bag. During the course of the twenty-minute walk from her reading spot in the park and the alleyway beside the club Christine had internally debated how to approach Arthur with her newfound knowledge. A small part of her fretted over whether he would take offense that she had so doggedly pursued his written works and discovered the secret he so clearly must hide from the world.
Pulling out her key to the rear entrance, Christine felt her stomach churn as she contemplated the words she would say to Arthur. It was of the utmost importance that he feel respected by her. The air that wafted towards her upon opening the door was that of cigar tobacco, illicit alcohol and some spice she could not quite name. Latching the door behind her, Christine made her way down the hall towards the bar room.
Arthur was there standing on the customer's side of the bar, in his usual black dress shirt with sleeves rolled up his forearms. He was engaged in conversation with a man Christine had never seen. The man was adorned in a soft brown, double breasted suit and neatly coifed black hair styled away from his face. As Christine entered the room the man stopped his indecipherable conversation with her friend and turned in her direction. The light seemed to catch his jade eyes as she drew closer and he smiled warmly, which in turn lit up the features of his face. He smiled, his teeth gleaming white and contrasting beautifully with the color of his cappuccino skin.
"Christine!" Arthur greeted. "Please meet Nadir, he co-owns the club."
"Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you." Christine extended her hand which he took in his. "I was not aware that Erik had a partner."
Nadir raised an eyebrow an amused expression on his face. "You've met Erik? He generally prefers that I interact with the staff. Not fond of people."
"He seems fairly agreeable to me." Christine coolly responded.
The man only chuckled, a genuinely humorous sound. "That's only because you do not know him as I do."
"Christine. There was a murder nearby." Arthur gently placed a hand on her shoulder, as though he was certain she needed some support upon hearing such news. "Nadir will be keeping an extra eye out as added security. He was informing me of the recent event."
"If I do my job correctly you should hardly know I'm here. Please, do not feel uncomfortable by my presence, this is simply a precaution for your safety."
Christine smiled and nodded. "I feel safer already."
Nadir turned towards Arthur, shook his hand and bid his farewell to the two. He took his leave via the storage room hallway, presumably towards one of the mysterious doors she had never entered.
"How many people own the club?" Christine inquired.
"Just the two." He tilted his head, catching the anxious expression in her eye. "What? You look like you have a cat in a bag and you need to let it out."
Christine had not realized she was holding her breath until it came rushing out. "Am I truly that transparent?"
Arthur grinned. "It's one of the qualities that make you so endearing. Now spill your guts, darling."
"Very well," Christine sighed. "I found one of your books. A Peculiar Torment."
Arthur stilled, his eyes widening before prompting dropping towards the ground to avoid her gaze. His hands thrust nervously into his pants pockets as though he suddenly was not quite sure what to do with them. "I see…" He swallowed. "And…so now you know."
She placed a small hand on his strong shoulder, she could feel his warmth through the fabric of his dress shirt. "Arthur, I need you to understand that this changes nothing. You are still my very dear friend. I will maintain your privacy; this information does not leave me. I am grateful to be your trusted confidant."
He let out a pained sigh of relief. "Oh, Christine. I have never felt so relieved…You must understand that I rarely divulge this information to others. It's a burden that I must carry, this need to hide who I am all the time. Having someone whom I may confide in, it is an immense joy."
"What about your family?" She queried.
"Especially not my family. Conservative Religious types, I would never speak to them again if they were to know." He shook his head aggressively. "I knew when I was only ten years old and it's been hell keeping that part of myself hidden from them, like being locked in a cage."
"I am so sorry to hear that. It must be awfully terrible to carry that burden." She sympathized. "Well, as you may confide in me, I only ask that I may confide in you." Christine gave his shoulder an encouraging rub. "If ever I have a secret to reveal, I'd like very much for you to be its recipient."
"Agreed!" Arthur pulled her into his arms in a friendly embrace before pushing her back to look in her face, a playful smirk about his lips. "I must admit, it is somewhat humorous to imagine you reading some of the chapters of that book. I would pay to have seen your face when you got to chapter four."
She affectionately slapped his arm. "I was given somewhat of a shock. Although," She tried to shrug nonchalantly. "Some of the acts described were not too dissimilar from those I've heard ballerinas whispering about during my visits to Paris Opera house."
"Only through word of mouth? I'll take it you've never indulged in such carnal revelry?" He pried, with one handsome eyebrow raised in anticipation.
Her blush was instantaneous. She averted her eyes and shyly giggled "No…I've been with a man once…I was nineteen, we were both novices…it was somewhat embarrassing for both parties involved. We never spoke to one another again." She anxiously confessed. "I would say my experience is quite limited. I've never indulged in anything quite like that…" She grew a bit redder as images from the book appeared in her mind, then she straightened her posture and boldly added. "Although, if I ever choose to do…that, I'll know what to do since you have practically written the manual on it."
"Indeed!" Arthur declared, with a devilish smirk still wrapped tightly to his face.
The conversation had come to a natural end. Christine felt buoyant, grateful she could speak so freely with another person about topics she had been taught to be taboo.
The Thursday evening transitioned into night as the club filled with music, smoke and laughter. Patrons from the top of the socioeconomic ladder mingled with one another. Women were adorned with the most intricately crafted evening gowns, chiffon with meticulous beadwork, silks elegantly draped, layers of fine ecru lace and all the decadent accessorizing that accompanies such outfits. Christine could practically feel her femininity salivating over such displays of beautiful fashion while being quite certain she would never grace the world in such finery. Her poor shoes were hanging together by a very thin thread as it was.
As she searched in the stock room vault for an expensive bottle of imported Russian vodka she mentally weighed the pros and cons of buying a new pair of shoes versus attempting to repair her nearly dilapidated pair on her own. The sound of a bell rang loudly in her ear, violently yanking her from her thoughts.
Letting out a yelp she spun around, only to find Erik a few feet before her holding a tiny silver bell between two very beautiful fingers.
"I felt it was perhaps best that I announce my presence." He gestured to the metallic object and said smugly. "I believe the bell was your idea."
"You are doing this intentionally." She huffed, attempting to sound angry but too charmed to sound convincing. "You've learned that I am quite easy to scare and you are doing this for your own amusement." At this she fought back a smile.
"That is simply not true." He replied smoothly, his voice like butter on a stack of warm flapjacks. "I came here to speak with you about something pressing."
"And what could be so pressing you felt it necessary to give me a mild heart attack?" She folded her arms over her chest in a weakly authoritative gesture.
"We need to discuss your voice." He snapped his fingers and the bell in the other hand seemed to vanish in midair.
Christine's mouth dropped open in wonder, her arms fell to her sides as though she was placed in some stupor. "How on earth did you just do that?"
"Magic, my dear. Did you enjoy it?"
She giggled like a child and nodded enthusiastically, forgetting her previous fright. "Do you know more?"
"Indeed, I shall show you all the magic you like, but first," He held up a very elegant finger. "We need to discuss that gift of yours."
Her hand flew to her throat, the way a woman's hand will go to her hair in response to a complimentary remark on its style. "It isn't that remarkable. It was my dream to sing for an Opera chorus." She shook her head dismissively. "I fear that will never be the case."
"Chorus?" He said the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. "You are not fit for a chorus. No, you, my dear, are lead soprano worthy." He held up his finger again, a gesture that informed of the importance of his next statement. "You need work, however, and I would like to teach you."
Up until this point Christine had become familiar with the bizarre nature of her conversations with Erik. The slender man was wrapped in a cocoon of intrigue and mystery, one which Christine felt compelled to grab hold of and unravel as one would a knitted sweater. There was something so alluring about his aura, his presence made her heart pound like the frantic hooves of a racehorse making the final stretch to the finish line. Of all their pervious conversations, this was possibly the strangest.
"You want to teach me to sing?" She placed one defiant hand on her hip, an expression of pure speculation on her pretty features. "And what, may I ask, are your credentials for such an occupation?"
In response he flashed her a sharp-toothed grin, like a wolf that was eyeing a tasty lamb, then parted his thin lips and began to sing.
No voice like that could exist on Earth. Christine was overwhelmed by its ethereal beauty as it wrapped itself around her like an audible embrace. Her knees grew weak, her breath rushed from her chest in a euphoric sigh, her heart seemed to melt into a puddle within her chest. A story from her childhood came to mind. The Angel of Music. Her father reveled in telling her the Swedish folktale of an Angel that appeared to those who were destined to be great musicians. He had insisted one day she too would be paid a visit by the heavenly entity.
Christine suddenly had the sense that under different circumstances, she could have been led to believe that Erik was that angel. An absurd thought to be sure, but true, nonetheless.
The song was brief but had its intended effect. When it was done, silence fell once more in the small space of the chilly vault, with the low murmur of the sounds from the nightclub filtering in through the door. Christine felt like she was having something precious ripped from her. She mourned the sudden loss of the audio bliss.
Her lungs were burning, she had forgotten in take in air when she had last expelled it. She felt incredibly disoriented, as though having awoken from a hundred-year sleep.
Christine stared at his gold eyes like a woman who had been enchanted. His gaze was knowing and smug. Together they stood there staring at one another as the world around them ceased to exist.
When she finally spoke, her voice did not sound like her own.
"I consent. Please, teach me."