Chapter 12: The Night of the Storm
True to Arthur's words, that stormy night at The Gilded Cage crawled by at a snail's pace. Only a few patrons seemed willing to brave the elements to enjoy a bit of Friday night revelry. The occasional thunderclap could be heard even above the music coming from a band who seemed less than enthused to play for a virtually empty space.
Hours passed uneventfully, leaving Christine with no task to attend. She had sorted and organized the bar, cleaned the stockroom, and cleaned all the mirror and glass surfaces in the bar to escape the slow pace. Arthur had put a final stop on any garnish prep lest they unnecessarily waste any citrus, cherries or olives in the process. The two had resorted to playing 'I Spy' to pass the monotony.
Christine was looking around with a dainty finger on her cheek in contemplation. "I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with C." She grinned with delight "This is a difficult one, I am quite certain you will not be able to find it."
Arthur began looking around the club from where they stood with a scrutinizing eye, seeking the object Christine may have seen.
"Whatever happened that that male friend who used to visit you here?" Christine asked in hushed tones, lest someone overhear her.
"He and I have a frustrating on-and-off relationship." Arthur confessed lazily while continuing to scan the room. "It's my fault really. I can't give him what he needs, but I find it difficult to let him go." He sighed. "Is it that candelabra?" He pointed to the item in the far corner of the club.
"No." Christine shook her head while looking like the cat who ate the canary.
"Am I at least getting warm?" He insisted
"Not in the slightest. Arctic cold. You are looking on the wrong side of the room."
Arthur looked over her shoulder and let out an amused whistle. A handsome man was entering the club, rain streaming from the umbrella he has just folded up, his fine polished dress shoes and the bottoms of his expensive slacks wet from the rain. "Don't look now Christine, but I think someone is here to see you."
Christine turned to look over her shoulder and her lips turned down. "I knew it was only a matter of time." She lamented.
"Some men aren't very good at taking hints. Trust me on this. You may need to use a blunt knife to sever your ties with that one. So far, you've been using a scalpel and scalpels are too subtle." He whispered, then immediately turned away to act busy as Raoul approached the bar.
"What a terribly dreadful evening, Little Lotte!" The young, blond aristocrat greeted. "How lucky am I to have found the sunshine here!" He gestured to Christine who blushed with mortification but gave the man a timid smile. She could practically feel Arthur's enjoyment of the scene hitting her back in glorious waves.
"Raoul. It is nice to see you as well." She politely returned his greeting.
"I was driving home and I knew I had to stop in and see if you were here." His eyes had a somewhat fevered look to them, bright with optimism and confidence. "Oh, forgive my manners. I suppose I should order something first. What sort of lout enters a club without making a purchase?" He directed his attention to Arthur and said "Perhaps, champagne. To celebrate my good friend, Christine."
Arthur gave a mock bow that Christine did not miss and replied with overt professionalism "Absolutely, Sir. However, you must pay for the whole bottle, once open we cannot seal it again."
Raoul waved a dismissive hand as though to say, 'money is no object, I could burn it to keep my wood stove alight.' "Perhaps Christine would be permitted a glass?"
Arthur gave Christine a knowing grin and she subtly narrowed her eyes at him in contempt. "I don't see why not." He casually shrugged, then turned to Christine with a deadpan expression and said "Christine, please fetch your friend his Special #7."
The two awkwardly stared at each other. Christine was perturbed with Arthur, she knew exactly what he was doing, but she relented and left to bar to retrieve the bottle from the stockroom.
She nearly slammed the stockroom door behind her and put her face in her hands wanting to scream in aggravation.
"Is that young man bothering you, Christine?"
Christine's hands flew away from her face to see Erik standing on the other side of the stockroom. Oh, he is infuriatingly pristine in his crisp evening suit and bone white mask! She internally ranted. He had his head tilted to the side as he considered her and it angered her that the sight was somewhat endearing to her.
"Have you been spying on me?" He nearly snapped, folding two stiff arms in front of her and tapping her foot.
"Spying? My dear, as you already know, I prefer to stay abreast of the occurrences within my club. I am in a very lucrative and illegal business, there are inherent threats involved and I prefer to squash them before they arise." He smoothly replied with the confidence of an emperor.
"Why is it that you fail to appear to the rest of the staff here? Why only me?"
"You need to be watched more carefully. If you will recall, you did pull a knife on me." His lips quirked up on one side. Christine found the sight both charming and enraging. He was so suave with his responses; it made her blood boil. "Now, answer me, is that handsome aristocrat harassing my valued employee?"
"No, he is persistent, but nothing I cannot handle." She stubbornly insisted.
His golden eyes seemed to glow with something she couldn't read, something almost dangerous. I gave her an unexpected thrill. "I will happily have the muscle remove him in such an embarrassing manner he would never dare show his dandy face around here again." Erik lazily curled one of his hands and inspected his nails.
"You sound jealous."
"Jealous?" Erik placed his hand on his chest with fingers spread out, his mouth agape in mock offense. "Do not flatter yourself, my dear. I have no time for such a trivial emotion."
"Good, because it would be quite silly to be jealous. You and I hardly know each other." She turned the dial on the vaults combination lock and entered the space to fetch the bottle of Champagne. Once she had exited and the vault door was secure, she turned to Erik who was giving her a burning expression. As though being pulled by an invisible tether, he took one long stride toward her.
"Your hair…" He mused almost dreamily.
She self-consciously patted the chin length golden curls that had become wild and unruly from her run through the rain. Now dry they were refusing to stay down, instead framing her face like a frizzy halo of ringlets. "Oh, I know. They look a fright."
He reached a lithe arm toward her, the fingers of his thin, dexterous hand ghosting her hair. His yellow eyes adopted an almost hazy quality. "I think I like them best like this."
Molten heat flooded her cheeks. Suddenly breath seemed to fail her. Dizzily she tipped her head to him. "Thank you." She nearly whispered. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to the duties for which you hired me. I must deliver this illegal giggle water to that man at the bar," Here she softened and said almost timidly while averting her eyes "who I have no interest in pursuing."
She did not wait for Erik's reaction before spinning towards the exit and leaving the room.
Raoul was all smiles when Christine returned with the bottle. The band was playing Blue Skies, a song Christine loved but it seemed all wrong at that particular moment. How peculiar the effect can be when a jovial song accompanies such a cumbrous situation. Inside she was cringing, the whole circumstance was tying her stomach in sailor knots. Raoul was an incredibly sweet man; Christine could tell he must be, his very demeanor oozed of chivalry. He carried a sort of innocent obliviousness she found adorable while simultaneously unattractive. Never before had she found herself in a situation in which she would be required to reject a man. Oh, how awful she felt.
The club was nearly empty, the hour growing late. When the cork of the champagne bottle was loosened, Christine flinched. Arthur caught her eye and winked to which she responded by subtly shaking her head and giving him the look of death. As he poured the two glasses, Christine was somewhat relieved for the tall bubbly glass of effervescent booze. One glass was sufficient to give her head a slight spin.
In Paris she and Meg would often drink wine with their meals together at this lovely bistro down the street. On one particularly celebratory evening Christine had consumed three glasses. Her lack of coordination was so poor that, slumped against Meg's shoulder, the petite ballerina was obliged to half-carry her all the way home. Meg teased her relentlessly the following morning, insisting Christine said and did things for which she had no recollection. 'You can get drunk on a thimble of wine' Meg had jabbed.
Raoul handed her the glass flute; she observed the tiny bubbles frantically rushing to the surface of the glass. The fizzing liquid tickled her nose when she held it close to smell the tangy bouquet of the sweet drink.
"To old friends meeting anew." Raoul toasted while gently clinked his glass to hers. She sat on a bar stool and crossed her legs. Christine took a large sip from her drink, the fermentation and bubbles tickling her throat. She gave Raoul a polite smile, desperately hoping he would not take any of her kindness for more than what it was. Leading him on was certainly not her objective.
"Christine," He began "You have been ever present on my mind since I saw you last. I was not given an opportunity to speak with you, but I feel that our lives intersecting once more has surely been fate."
Internally Christine grimaced, she was afraid the conversation would head in this direction. "It may just be a very small world, Raoul." She glanced up to see Arthur on the other side of the bar, pretending not to eavesdrop, but he was doing a poor job of it.
"No, Christine. I believe I may be falling in love with you."
Christine began to choke on her second sip of champagne. Coughing and patting her chest, her eyes burning from the small amount of champagne that managed to creep into her sinuses. "Oh Raoul. There is no way you could possibly. We don't know one another at all." It suddenly occurred to her it was the second time that night she had used that sentence, albeit under very different contexts.
"But I feel it Christine! You can't deny there must be some purpose to our meeting once more."
Christine took a steadying breath and set her glass of champagne down, lamenting she could not finish the rest of the alcohol infused beverage. Perhaps it would make this next part much easier. She leaned forward and grasped Raoul's hands in hers, a hopeful expression lit up his eyes and she immediately felt horrible.
"Raoul, I don't feel it. I am so sorry. I'm not the woman you are looking for." Her voice was etched in deep sympathy.
A look of pure mortification crossed his face and he pulled his hands away. Blushing deeply, he pulled out his wallet, yanked a few errant bills from within and slid them across the bar next to the bottle of French contraband. Standing abruptly, he tipped his head to Christine and said. "I'm not sure if I can just accept that, Christine. I am certain fate will bring us together again."
Turning on the heels of his expensive dress shoes, he exited the club, opening his umbrella as he exited.
Christine picked up her glass and swiftly downed the last of her drink. Arthur approached her with an impressed look on his face. "I could learn a thing or two from you, Christine. If only I can only tell my friend what you did there, perhaps it would save us both some future pain."
She sighed. "I feel so terrible. It wasn't my intent to harm anyone's feelings."
He picked up the bottle and shook it. "Looks like you and I are celebrating that lovely spine you've grown. We have a couple more glasses left." Turning he poured himself a glass and poured Christine a second. "I give up, what was the C you spotted?"
Christine grinned, turning around on her stool she pointed up to the ceiling in the corner of the club. "See that little cherub there carved into the design of the wood ceiling?"
He squinted his eyes and whistled. "You're observant. I would have never noticed that, and I consider myself to have a keen eye for detail."
The two finished their drinks in relative silence as the band began to pack up their instruments. Closing time was upon them and Christine was glad of it. Her head was spinning from the two glasses of champagne, giving her a warm, sleepy, floating feeling. Certainly, it took the some of the discomfort of her rejection to Raoul away.
Her closing tasks were few, as the night had proven to be so slow. Keenan came to the bar to bid the pair farewell. He typically left once they had locked the doors. Christine waved him off.
"You can head out too, Christine." Arthur winked "You've had an interesting evening of turning down professions of love."
She dramatically rolled her eyes. "Very well. I'll see you tomorrow night." She gently touched his shoulder. "Goodnight, friend."
As she exited into the back alley, she was thoroughly relieved to see the rain had let up. The air was warm, full of moisture. The sounds of the city were eerily quiet, the storm had chased most of the citizen inside. Closing the back door behind her, Christine made her way towards the street.
Turning the corner, she was surprised to see Keenan. He was facing four men all dressed in dark clothing and caps pulled down over their faces. They were having some kind of argument, but she could not make out the words. There was a strange familiarity in Keenan's tone, it was obvious he knew these men.
Christine was readying to pass them when she saw the flash of a knife appear in one of the men's hands. Keenan suddenly aware of the blade and Christine's sudden presence, turned to her and cried. "Run!" That was when the first man lunged forward, getting a clean swipe of his sharp blade in the side Kennan's throat. The moment seemed to drag in a slow blur, so surreal that Christine could not fathom it was occurring. Surely, she would awake from this lucid nightmare at any moment.
Christine felt the warm spray of something hitting her face as she let out a soprano scream of sheer terror. Her voice was no longer her own. As she stumbled backward another man leapt onto Keenan and fervently shanked him repeatedly with the blade of his knife a dozen times. She could hear the wet, punching sound of the blade entering his body over and over again. Keenan was moaning and gurgling, his death rattle ringing in her ears as he dropped to the ground.
Yet another man turned his attention onto Christine. The two made eye contact, his eyes carried a dangerous gleam. She could only register the fact that this man had the reddest hair she had ever seen and a nose that was noticeably crooked from a prior injury. Then he pulled a small gun from his pocket. It was then that she drew enough presence of mind to flee. Her legs scrambled to run in the opposite direction, towards the opposite end of the alley. The street was looming far ahead, so close yet seemingly so far. She could hear their hard footfalls echoing behind her, then a man cried out. Pistol fire erupted at the precise moment the heel of one of her treacherous dilapidated kitten heeled shoes decided to break clean off. Hurtling towards the ground, her hands spread palms out in front of her to take the fall. Before the unyielding ground could greet her, a pair of talon sharp hands grabbed her waist and yanked her upright. A hand was covering her mouth to keep her from screaming. The gun fire continued, ricocheting around the brick and cobblestone of the alleyway like fireworks.
She heard a heavy sound, a clicking and then darkness. Hot blood was racing through her ears, the sound of the frenzied pumping was deafening. Shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, her breath coming out in shallow gasps, she tried to make sense of where she was. Suddenly aware that the hand had been removed from her face, she could still feel the length of a body holding her close.
"Be still, ma chérie." The smoke and honey voice purred into her ear. "You are safe, Christine."
She nearly cried in that moment, her relief radiating off of her in palpable waves. "Erik." She breathed. Turning in the dark towards him she threw her arms around his waist and began to sob. A pair of stiff arms enfolded them around her in the pitch black and patiently held her as she cried heavy tears into his chest.
For now, she kew she was safe.