My Father, My Son

"Are you busy?" Gustave pokes his head into Madame Giry's office. As unlike the woman as a room might be – every inch covered in frippery of some sort – plush red pillows lie on a sofa of forest green – accenting a deep red wallpaper with faint green and gold stripes line the walls. The furniture itself is of the Louis Phillippe era, heavy wood with intricate carvings. The only truly modern element is the lighting – the lamps are all ornate, but each burns an electric bulb brightening what might otherwise be a dark, confining space.

Julia looks up from her work, her cheeks flush as she smiles at him. Blonde locks tied into a pony tail, a few curls loose to frame her face belie stern work uniform she wears - a plain white blouse buttoned up to her chin, a black tie, and black gabardine skirt grazing her ankles revealing more black – stockings and boots.

Falling back in her chair, she drops her pencil and sighs, "Yes, but I am pleased at the intrusion."

Gustave continues into the room, closing the door behind him. "Is Madame away?" he asks, looking at the door to the adjoining office.

"Yes – she has gone off to question the carpenter on the cost of some materials just purchased for…" picking up a piece of paper, reading, "…a sloop, in need of repair. Not sea worthy."

"Oh, oh," he says, snatching it from her hand. "She was not supposed to see that."

"Why?"

"I ordered it for the new Pirate ship attraction."

"Where did you find it?"

"There was an ad in the newspaper – the photograph showed exactly what we were looking for." Pulling a folded piece of newsprint from his pocket, he shows it to her. "Quite something, is it not?"

"I suppose – the picture is not very clear – it is quite dark and there are no details." Handing the paper back to him, she asks, "Did you see it in person?"

"No, but it was exactly what I had in mind to use as a base for the ride."

"Does your father know?"

Gustave shakes his head. "No one knows…well except for Raoul…he found the advertisement. I used Papa's name on the order – since it was being delivered here…"

"Well, they want payment on delivery – how are you planning to take care of that?"

"I wanted to tell Papa first – I cannot believe the invoice is here already."

"It was hand delivered." Holding her hand out, she says, "Give it back to me, Madame will be angry if she thinks I gave it to you."

"Once I talk to Papa, he will explain it to her."

"I doubt he can explain why I would give you the bill – or even tell you about it," she argues. "This is my first real job, I cannot be put in jeopardy because of you. Give it back to me, she rises from the chair and moves around the desk trying to grab the paper back.

As she presses up closer to him, frustrated at his moving the paper from hand to hand, over her head and around his back, he kisses her.

Stepping back, she slaps his face. "You think you can come in here, disrupt my work and take something that might get me fired and expect me to warm to your kiss." Tears form in her blue eyes. "Get out – take your folly and get out."

Deflated – any sort of playfulness swallowed up in shame. He places the invoice back on her desk. "I am sorry, I was not thinking. I would never wish to hurt you or your job here."

"Thank you," she returns to her seat, sliding the invoice in a drawer, then puta her already orderly desk in better order – taking the time to quiet her agitation. Finally, she asks, "What are you going to do?"

"I best find Papa and tell him," he says, returning to the door. "I am sorry I was so forward – I meant no harm, I only wanted to…I want to spend some time with you. We never see one another anymore, it seems."

"If you are not put into isolation after this incident, I have a half day tomorrow," she says, dimpling, lowering her thick lashes.

The dark mood threatening to take him over, dissipates immediately at her invitation. "Tomorrow, then," he says, crossing his fingers as he leaves. "Wish me luck."

"If you are not locked up in the pokey as punishment," she calls after him.

Unable to calculate how long Madame Giry has been with Arnold, the head carpenter, he opts to speak with his father first. Knowing both of them – he is not certain if he will survive this incident unscathed whomever hears his story first.

Madame Giry stands in the doorway of the carpenter shop, tapping her stick rhythmically against the oak floor. She has been in the wood shop only long enough for Alfred to engage in his protests and feelings of indignation. After years of experience, she finds it best to allow him his arguments before attempting a rational conversation. Always the perfectionist, Alfred took every question personally and believes the best defense is defending himself.

"I did not order this what you call sloop," he says. "Why I order something I do not know what is?"

"It is a boat – a very large, expensive boat that is not even sea worthy," she counters.

"Why I order boat – I build rides, fix buildings.

"I did not say you ordered the boat. I asked if you ordered it – which is very different."

"If need boat, I build." He face purples deeper and deeper as he argues. "Over Luna Park they have ride with boats, maybe it is their boat."

"It is not that kind of boat – this one is for the ocean – for sailing."

"I do not know then. Just not me."

"Then do you know who did?"

"Mr. Y?" He shrugs.

"He would tell me – we are planning a new attraction."

"Yes, pirates. We build what he draws, like always. Leading her to a drafting table he shows her architectural drawings of a large building, the exterior resembling a pirate's schooner with plans for the interiors. "No old junk. New. No sloop boat."

"Thank you, Alfred."

"Harrumph," he growls, returning to his work table.

"I am going to have to put a trap outside that door – does no one ring a bell or even take a moment to knock anymore?" Erik grumbles, looking up from the large sheets of paper he has been shuffling through on his drafting table. "Who is it?"

Storming into the room as best she can with the help of her cane, she says, in a most sarcastic tone, "It is I – the keeper of the purse for Phantasma – the person appointed by consent of each investor into this amusement park to be responsible for all purchases and payments to vendors for such purchases – or at least that was what my understand was until today."

In all their years of acquaintance, he seldom saw her quite so undone. The level of sarcasm was tinged with hurt. This is not to say she was never in bad temper. In truth, her natural essence was one of criticism and seeing the negative more often than the other way around. Perfection was bred into her as much as her refusal to wear anything other than black or to alter a hair style chosen when she was a young ballerina to keep her long, dark locks under control. A quality many people found difficult to live with – especially her daughter.

The daroga, however, unlatched the key to her heart revealing her charming and amusing nature, thus giving her the permission for others to see those qualities as well. Erik often wishes the Persian came into their lives sooner. The very lack of control she is expressing now finds him slightly amused and very curious. Anger mixed with hurt – much like the tiger Darius rescued during the fire. Best he keep his distance – figuratively, if not literally.

"Judging from your tone, someone made a purchase without your approval," Erik responds, the ghost of a smile on his face. "A significant purchase if I were to guess. Who did it?"

"You. Or someone pretending to be you. Your name is on the invoice."

"What invoice might that be?"

"It is in the office – I left in a rush and did not bring it with me. We received a bill for a sloop and not even a new sloop, which might make some sense. An unseaworthy sloop for the sum of $1000 C.O.D. to be delivered tomorrow."

Erik frowns. "I made no such purchase."

"Then who?"

Running steps sound in the passageway from the door into the Eyrie.

"Yet another rude human being invading my territory," Erik mutters. "Who is it now?" He roars.

"Gustave, Papa," the boy says, catching his breath, holding up a piece of paper. "I need to speak with you." He stops short when he sees Adele standing with both hands propped on the head of her staff. The look on her face advising him anything he says will not be greeted warmly.

"Can it wait? Madame Giry and I were just discussing some financial business."

Releasing the breath he has been holding, Gustave smiles, ducking his head, preparing to make his exit. "Of course, Papa, I shall come back later – after luncheon. Would that be convenient? Any time you wish."

Erik raises his eyebrow and holds up a hand. "Wait? You were so anxious to speak to me, you were out of breath coming in here. I do not think Adele would mind my taking a moment to hear what you are anxious about." To Adele, he says, "I believe we have the answer to our question."

"It is all right, really, Papa," Gustave protests, jamming the paper into his pocket, he backs up on his way to the door. "It can wait."

Adele purses her lips as she catches Erik's eye, cocking her head to the boy's actions. "I agree. Gustave, please tell your father what has you so flustered, I could not live with myself if I believed you were in crisis and I prevented you receiving aid."

"It is nothing really. Nothing at all." Making one last attempt to reach the door before his father raises his voice again to stop him, Gustave gives each of them his best smile. "Actually, I believe I am supposed to meet with Raoul about now to discuss…"

"A run down sloop to be delivered to Phantasma tomorrow with a price of $1,000 attached to it?" Erik asks.

"Raoul?" Adele asks. "What does he have to do with this? I thought we were building a Pirate's Treasure attraction – not a real boat – illusion, as always. Alfred just showed me some of the plans."

"What is this all about, son?"

"You are not angry?"

"Not yet, convince me why I should maintain my good temper," he says. "Madame Giry has suffered enough rage and concern for all of us – however, my moods are often mercurial and I can accommodate your fear if it suits me." Taking a seat in his leather armchair. "Sit – both of you."

Gustave takes one end of the long sofa, Adele the other, they side-eye one another, neither seeming prone to open the conversation.

"Gustave?"

"What?"

"Do not play stupid – of the three of us sitting here, I suspect you know exactly what the invoice Madame Giry is apoplectic about, what it is for, how it came into being and how someone other than Phantasma was going to pay for it."

"Did you go to my office before coming here?" Adele asks him.

Gustave grunts his response.

"You hoped you could get the invoice before I could see it?"

He shrugs.

"Gustave," Erik says, pounding his fist on the arm of his chair. "Were you trying to hide it?"

"You tried to get Julia to help you?" Adele says, her tone angry.

Gustave casts a sharp look at her. "No, I would not hurt her."

Erik's eyes narrows. "You did try to use her – I can tell when you are lying. Why mention hurting her? She told you it would hurt her. You seem more concerned about your own state."

"That damned Raoul," Adele says. "What did he tell you?"

"I was just trying to help him – he really wants to be a success and be welcomed here."

"So you think buying a very expensive boat, then trying to conceal the purchase would make everyone love and trust him?" Erik asks. "I assume you were going to hide the invoice because the money was to be provided by another source before we found out about it."

"Something like that," Gustave mumbles. "He was supposed to get a wire from his brother. It was expected yesterday, but he told me that sometimes these things get held up."

"So you were sent to find the bill to hold off our knowledge a little longer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just the other day you told me you did not trust him – what brought about this sudden change of heart."

"He wanted to surprise Meg – to show her he could do something right," Gustave says, folding into himself. "I thought if he and Meg could make things right between them, he would change. I always keep thinking he can change."

Erik goes to the telephone. "Connect me to the concierge." Tapping a rhythm on the table, rapid and angry while he waits. "Yes. This is Mr. Y. Has a cable come through for the vicomte – a wire for funds, perhaps?" Turning to Gustave and Madame, he places his hand over the receiver. "A cable from his brother – no money." Speaking to the concierge again, "Has he collected the message yet?" With a short nod, he says, "Thank you," and hangs up the receiver.

"He picked up a cable from his brother about half an hour ago – the concierge said he has haunted the desk since yesterday. There were no funds wired."

"So he was trying to be honorable," Gustave says.

"Honorable would be to have the money beforehand and not ask a young man to lie to his father and business partner about making a purchase without their knowledge."

Adele gets up from the sofa. "What do you want me to do…about the delivery?"

"Pay them."

"As you wish." Only her widened eyes suggest any emotion. "I shall take care of it now – if Raoul asks?"

"Refer him to me."

"Very well." The conversation ended, she takes her leave without further comment.

Erik moves to the window, looking out on the ocean – already churning the angry white caps announcing the change in weather – a reflection of his mood, yet, calming him at the same time. The years spent beneath the opera house were made almost bearable by the pseudo-lake outside his door. The Atlantic was infinitely more satisfactory when dealing with his frustrations. What was this business between Gustave and Raoul? Had he made an error encouraging the boy to make peace with the vicomte? Was he going to lose him?

"Papa?" Gustave's hazel eyes brim with tears. "I am sorry – I just wanted to help. He was so excited about having a chance to do something himself for once."

"He said that to you?" What was this pain he was feeling so deep inside of him, crushing his chest affecting his breathing. All these years being a good father to this beautiful child – his son – and Gustave was still trying to please the man who rejected him. He should have known.

How like him Gustave is – was Raoul any less cruel to an innocent child than Madeleine? Why was he feeling this emotion he could only identify as jealousy? This horrid selfish human being still disrupting his life – hurting those he loves. Using the story his life to gain a moment of acclaim, then scorn from the social set in Paris with the book. Pressing himself on Christine. Now, Gustave – using the boy to buy a boat. A damned boat. Did the fool have no awareness if it was not for his good will, he would not find himself welcome at Phantasma – Meg's interest in him be damned?

"Has he provided any suggestions for the Pirate Ship attraction?"

The boy shakes his head. "I showed him some of your drawings. He likes them, but…" Gustave runs to his father. "I am sorry."

Erik opens his arms to embrace the boy who was so quickly becoming a man, pressing his son's head to his chest. "I opened the door for him. That is the only way a vampire can get in – did you know that?"

Gustave pulls back, frowning at his father, who looks at him with a grim smile on his face. "Vampires? Raoul is a vampire – I do not understand."

Erik guides him back to the couch, taking a seat, patting the cushion next to him for Gustave to join him. "In literature vampires are presented as dark creatures of the night who live off the blood of humans – literally."

"Like Dracula."

"Yes," Erik replies. "In reality, vampires are people like Raoul – who have no talent or skills to take care of themselves, but live off the labor of other people. Reality is not as romantic as the old horror tales."

"What did you mean about inviting them in?"

"Much as I hate to admit the weakness, I am still jealous of him…I wanted to appear the better man."

"Why, Papa? Maman?"

"Your mother, yes. You – this incident." Rising again, he says, "I am going to have a small brandy – would you like a root beer?"

Gustave nods, folding his legs under him. "I wanted you to be happy – to not be angry anymore. I thought if I helped him, he could make up for being mean to Maman."

Handing Gustave his drink, Erik returns to his seat next to him, swirling the brandy in his snifter, breathing in the fragrance of the amber liquid, before taking a small sip. "What about him loving you?"

Gustave lowers his head. "I suppose you are right," he says. "I never knew what was wrong with me – why he did not love me. I asked Maman, she told me to look with my heart."

"And what did your heart tell you?"

"That he did not love me," Gustave give a short, rough laugh. "Why do we do that, Papa, try to make people love us when they do not?"

"It was the same with my own mother," Erik says. "One small kiss was all I ever wanted."

"She never kissed you?" He places his hand on his father's, their fingers entwine, almost matching in length.

"Your mother was the first person to kiss me."

"She did not love him," Gustave asserts, taking a deep swig of his soda.

"Oh, but she did...then."

"No, Papa. I know. She was always sad – she would try to be cheerful – when she was with me, she was fine, but with him…well…"

"And now?"

"Oh, she is very happy, except when he is around." Straightening up in his seat, he turns to face Erik. "I wanted to make him happy with the boat so he would have something to make him smile. Everyone is so gloomy when he is around. If he loved me because I helped – that would be nice, too."

Erik wraps his arm around the boy, kissing him on the forehead. "You are your mother's son."

"No – you are kind as well, Papa, you are good."

Erik raises an eyebrow. "So, what are we to do about the money owed for this boat?"

"I will pay it back – from my savings."

"You have savings?"

"For a car – I have been saving for a car."

Erik raises his eyebrow and smiles at his son. "Have you now? You would give Adele the money?"

Gustave nods, happy for Erik's pleasure at the news.

"You did not have to tell me about your thrift."

"I know."

"Do you think he will pay you back?"

"If he wants the boat, he will. Otherwise, it is my boat...or will be. I will fix it up and sell it for a profit, then I will buy my automobile."

"What if he gives you the money?"

"Where will he get it?"

"Meg?"

"She should not give it to him."

"But, if she does?"

"Then he can have the boat, but he has to pay for all the repairs. If he wants to give boat rides, he has to work for it."

"You seem to have thought this through – I am impressed." Erik gets up. "Another root beer – or shall we get something to eat?"

"Food…and a root beer." Gustave jumps to his feet and heads toward the door. "I am starving."

"Hold on," Erik laughs. "I do not have the same energy you have."

"Sorry." He stops to wait for his father.

"One thing."

"Yes, sir."

"No more secrets – you see how many people were upset by this – even though you meant no harm."

"Yes, sir."

"Good – now food – something warm – looking at the ocean just now, I felt the desire for a bowl of hot soup."

"Or chicken pie."

"Or chicken pie – or both."

"I love you, Papa – I loved you the first time I saw you. I looked with my heart."

"Did you? I am so happy you did. I loved you then, too."