A Good Man

"A harmless man

Is not a good man.

A good man is a

dangerous man who

has it under control."

Jordan Peterson

"Where is everyone? Where are you going?" Erik asks the stage manager, who brushes past him as he enters the theatre. From the suit jacket and derby hat covering his bald head, Erik understands the man is leaving for the day – most breaks involve eating some bagged food from home or a quick trip to a kiosk – more of which are now and open – neither of which requires dressing for the public.

"Missus Christine told me to have everyone go home because Miss Giry was having her baby."

"The entire crew and cast?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Y," he says, rocking on his feet, hands behind his back, looking over Erik's shoulder.

Erik turns around to see Maizie wiggle her fingers at him, the nails painted a bright red matching her cotton frock. The smile on her face mirrors the one on George's face – guilty and pleading at same time – reminiscent of the children when caught taking treats from the cookie jar without asking.

"Everyone is gone, then?"

"Aye, just the two of us left."

Erik purses his lips and sniffs. Shaking his head, he waves at the man to leave. "Go on, enjoy your half-day. That was quite kind of Missus Christine." Letting the man pass, he calls over his shoulder as he proceeds into the backstage area, "I shall expect you both back first thing tomorrow morning."

"Oh, yes, sir."

Stopping in his tracks, turning back. "Do you happen to know where Missus Christine happens to be?"

"The hotel." George halts, an apologetic look to Maizie who rolls her eyes. "They – she and La Sorelli were talking about what they would order for luncheon."

Erik sighs. "Gangle?"

"Last I saw, he was on the way to the infirmary."

"Before or after you were released from service?"

"Before – he checked in with me, then asked where Miss Giry was."

"And?"

"She had not arrived yet."

"Very well. Thank you – now go, enjoy your day."

Before Erik can ask another question, the couple is out the door, letting it slam shut behind them.

Flinching at the noise, Erik mumbles. "One would think they never had a day off." Trotting to the office, he picks up the telephone. "The main desk. Please."

"Albert? Perfect. Mr. Y here. I understand Missus Christine is in the restaurant."

Nodding, letting out a breath of relief. "Very well, could you pass her a note that I will be in the penthouse when she wishes to join me."

"Thank you."

Pressing down on the plunger to end the call, he releases it and ask the operator to connect him to the midwife. That call completed, he taps the plunger again and asks for the Infirmary.

Drumming the fingers of one hand on the stage manager's desk, he riffles through pages of the book recording the comings and goings of the cast and crew arriving with the other. Two names catch his attention. Not that the names should not be there, he is happy to see they both showed up for work on time – without any absences – at least in the week he is looking at. The timing of their arrivals at the same time, day after day are what gives him pause.

"Ah, Gangle," Erik says. "I am glad you are still here."

"Everyone else has gone home, that is why I said that."

"Nothing is wrong – no fires or bombs," Erik smiles at the smallest bit of anxiety in his master of ceremonies' voice. Whatever have they been up to? He wonders.

"I am at the theatre."

"Well, that is the reason I called. Meg has gone into labor – Christine gave everyone the day off."

"Yes, she is fine, but she wants you to be with her."

"Meet me here, I shall wait outside the stage door for you." With that he hangs up the receiver.

"Papa," Gustave calls out.

"I am in the stage manager's office," Erik replies, as he leaves the office to meet his son as he approaches. "Has Nadir left?"

"Yes, sir," Gustave says, bending over, pressing his hands to his knees to catch his breath. "He met us with the car, I told Raoul to just get in and ran back the rest of the way here to meet with you…like Uncle said."

"Let us go back outside, Gangle is meeting me."

Gustave frowns. "Why?"

"Meg was calling for him."

"Why?"

"Women having babies are not to be questioned, but I suspect it was because he is a doctor and has tended to her in the past." But Erik senses this is different. "I shall ask him – so we might both find out at the same time – if he is willing to tell us." He tousles the boy's hair. "Adults are very strange people, son. Can you think of a reason?"

"Well, at least the times I have been here, they are always together – but that is because of the show. He is usually around when she is rehearsing the children."

"I see."

"Is that bad?"

"No," Erik says. "Even when we were on the boat coming to America, he was very protective of her. I was just not aware that they were still such close friends."

"Well, they are. Especially since the accident. He is still angry at Raoul," Gustave tells him. "Whenever he is around, Dr. Gangle is almost rude, telling him he is interrupting rehearsals. "

"Is that so?"

Gustave chuckles, warming up to his story. "Meg would giggle and tell Raoul to leave – that it was better if he did not stop by anymore – she did not want the Master of Ceremonies upset or something like that."

"And did he? Stop?"

"Once he got the Viking boat and began building the Pirate attraction, he stayed busy with that or we would be working in the Eyrie until recently. All he wants to do is build stuff."

"We must start having regular meetings for you to inform me on what is going on behind the scenes here," Eric remarks. "I believe I mentioned that once before, but need to follow up on that idea."

"Is what I told you important?"

"Possibly." Erik holds the door open for them.

Gustave's eyes widen. "You mean Meg and Dr. Gangle might love each other?"

"Oh, they love each other well enough. I am just wondering what kind of love."

"Boyfriend – girlfriend love?"

Erik nods.

"But she is with Raoul."

His father shrugs. "Raoul does appear to have a problem maintaining relationships. I cannot imagine why."

Gustave chuckles behind his hand. "Oh, here he comes." The chuckle becomes a full blown laugh at the tall man running toward them, his coat tails flapping behind him. "His legs and arms are so long."

"And what is wrong with that?"

"He just looks gangly – like his name…oh, that is how he got his name, is it not?"

"It is."

"Well, you do not look gangly when you run – even with your long legs and arms," the boy smirks. "I have long legs and arms just like yours. He just looks awkward."

"Shush – he does not need to overhear your criticisms – keep our rules in mind – even when talking to me." Walking toward the master of ceremonies, he holds up his hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Hello, Doctor," Erik says. "Do not stress yourself, everything is under control."

"Is…Meg…all right?" Gregory's breath heavy from running. The emotion on his face and reddened cheeks suggest an increased heart rate is from concern as well.

If Erik were to guess a few tears have fallen already as well. "She is fine – Christine and Margaret were with her when she felt her first pain. Margaret is still with her – along with Raoul and Adele. Nadir is driving them to our house."

"Yes, yes. She told me that was where she would deliver the baby," Gangle says. "You say Raoul is with her?"

"Of course, he is with her – he is the father," Erik says. "Interesting, she told you, but not her mother?"

"If she did not tell Madame, that is her business – we did not discuss that – only you were providing the room and midwife." Gangle pulls himself up to his full height – rivaling both Erik and Gustave. "Is there something else you want to ask? You are standing there smirking at me – like a cat who caught a bird."

"Is there something you would like to tell me?" Erik asks, taking some enjoyment in making the doctor uncomfortable.

"Like what?"

"Meg. She was most insistent I find you," Erik presses.

Gangle perceptibly relaxes, a small smile reveals his long front teeth. "Did she?"

"Very insistent."

The smile disappears as he clenches his fists. "Well that is none of your business – you are not the only freak a beautiful woman might wish to spend her time with."

Gustave's eyes widen as his gaze passes back and forth between the two men. This is something very rare – there are only a few people who will talk back to Papa like that and Dr. Gangle is not one of them – or so he believed.

"No, I suppose not." The corner of his mouth aching to quirk into a smile, Erik resists offending this man so important to his life. His discomfort quite great as it is without further teasing. Instead he pulls a key from a pocket in his vest. "Here is the key to my automobile. You and Gustave take it home so you can be with Meg as she requested."

Gangle just stands still for a moment, eyes shifts between Erik's face, absent of any hint of humor, and the key he extends toward him.

"Are you going to take it? The automobile will be faster than your bicycle or the tram. Gustave can drive if you prefer."

"I can? Oh, Papa, you will let me drive the car?"

Gangle snatches the key. "I will drive."

The boy's eager face falls.

"I will let you drive another time, son."

"What about you and Maman," Gustave asks.

"I think we shall stay here for a few days – if we need the auto, I can send someone to fetch it."

"Can I still go to Uncle Nadir's?"

"Yes. I have already telephoned Miss Fleck to ask her and Helen to stay with the children."

"You do not want to be there?" Gangle asks.

"I think not," Erik says, patting him on the back. "There are a number of guest rooms you can choose from. I am certain Gustave can put together some sleeping garments or any other clothing you might need – we are all about the same size. Toiletries are provided in all the bathrooms."

"The car?"

"Just leave it in the driveway behind the house – Gustave will direct you."

"Thank you then," the doctor replies after a long look at his old friend and employer – a smile returns to his thin lips. "Shall we go, Gustave?"

"Be careful. Gustave call me when you arrive home, I shall be in the penthouse."

"Yes, sir."

"Give all the children a kiss for me. Tell everyone Maman and I will see them soon."

"Maybe I should stay home?"

"That is up to you – but I think Fleck and Helen can handle things if you still wish to take your little vacation."

Gangle gives Erik a puzzled look.

"Our memories are long, Gregory – I am happy to enable Meg to have the best care for the birth of her child. Beyond that, well…" he shrugs.

Gangle gives a curt nod, then puts his hand on Gustave's shoulder. "Shall we go? We can take turns driving."

"Papa?"

"Just be careful."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Gregory says. "I shall keep you apprised of everything."

"Only that which is my business," Erik laughs. "Go on – you are wasting time."

The calm of the room embraces him as he closes the heavy carved oak door behind him. Not taking his normal care to hang up his jacket, he drops it on the bench next to the armoire, along with his waistcoat and cravat, then toes off black leather shoes. Fatigue seems determined to overwhelm him, even the fragrance of lavender and rose, bouquets of both ordered as a surprise for Christine fail to soothe him.

Mask and wig settle atop the piano, allowing him to rub his face and massage his scalp, relieving the vague numbness that embraces his head with their wear. Despite his efforts to find finer fabrics for the base of his wigs and lighters material for the masks – having most of his head unable to breathe is close to unbearable after a few hours. Today being especially difficult because of the number of people he was forced deal with and the attendant chaos and arguments. Most days he can work in solitary with only one or two personal meetings, if that.

With the season opening soon, it has been too long since he had some time to himself. The thought brings a wry smile to his face – the idea that he, of all people, who spent the majority of his life alone – shunned, in fact – should crave solitude. Yet, right now, this is the truth of the situation.

Perhaps the knowledge that this is a temporary condition makes it tolerable and welcome – Christine will be here soon, he imagines, smiling. Happy she has a friend. The presence of Sorelli is good for her – both of them, he imagines. His own gratitude for the presence of Nadir is boundless – although he would never allow the Persian to know how much he values him.

What might his life have been if he had been present at any of a number of times during those years he lived beneath the opera house? Somehow that Mr. Leroux knew the complete absence of companionship would cause irreparable damage and wrote the Persian into his book. Raoul was not aware of how close he was to Adele – so his life was not completely void of companionship, however difficult it was for both of them at times. Adele was too much like him in some ways, not always in the best ways.

As a student of karma, wondering what he did in his past lives to deserve the circumstances of his birth, he is pleased he has somehow overcome or repaid some major sins to the point where he is so content…happy. Truly happy. Whatever the hectic activity at the park – the happy disorder of his home with the children is the best part of his life.

Opening the heavy drapes, the sun is still bright bringing welcome light to the room. Even so, he leaves the Tiffany lamp next to the Chesterfield couch turned on and lights the candles in the candelabra on the piano sitting next to a crystal vase of red roses. The thought occurs to him when looking at the family photograph, he will be required to have yet another sitting once the new baby is born. Something he dreads, but Christine insists he be in at least one portrait of the family

Christine and La Sorelli – were she still married to Raoul, they would be sisters – a different sort of family portrait might sit on another piano. Two prima donnas. Sorelli, of course the grande dame Christine would not even aspire to being. Still they were well matched – clever and kind in their own ways.

Sorelli. Sorry he never got to know her better at the Garnier. She has been a pleasant addition to both their lives as chance would have it. The lack of concern she has about what comes out of her mouth, amuses him beyond words. No wonder Christine admired her. An honest human being in the backstage world of the Palais Garnier.

Another unresolved issue. He hopes there will be word of Phillippe soon – one way or the other. The possibility of no definitive news was great, however. No point in lying to himself about that – the photographs and stories in the newspapers did not suggest a successful recovery effort. Nevertheless, one could hope.

Yes, choosing the office, his old apartment was a better choice than the Eyrie for the two of them to address the events of this day. Despite her love for more subdued tones, the ruby and sapphire of the office suited her well. The Eyrie was their special place, but now becoming too much a reminder of work. That, and Gustave would be there tomorrow completing the final drawings for the Pirate attraction. He wanted this time alone with Christine to be as much like a holiday as possible.

Besides, the special birthday gift he purchased for her was installed sooner than expected and he hoped the surprise would please her and take her mind off of not being home. Why he suggested Meg have her baby at their house eluded him now. The idea seemed generous and he did care she have the best. Her words so long ago about her unborn…unwanted babies – were etched in the back of his mind. If she was to believed – and there was no reason not to – he understood perfectly the way dancers were encouraged to use their bodies to gain rewards from patrons – most, if not all the babies were conceived in her efforts to support Phantasma. Him. To please him. Unbidden or not – the thought still haunted him.

And, yet, Christine, for her part, not entirely happy with the arrangement is, in her usual pragmatic and compassionate way, accommodating.

"It will repay a debt. One you do not owe, by the way. Meg was a grown woman when she made those choices. But if this will finally salve your guilt, then the child shall be born in the best place in the world."

"I created the room for you – if you do not wish it…"

"That is why it is the best place in the world. After this, however, no more. One can only play the victim for so long before people grow tired. You seem to be the last one to understand this about her."

"Nadir and Adele?"

"My word, yes. Darius, many of the crew – only Margaret and you are still victim to her teary blue eyes."

"We are?"

"You are."

"Oh. I see. At least I think I see. We believe she needs us?"

"Something like that. I shall remind you if I notice your attention waiver."

The last words were spoken with a smile. For that he is grateful. The disdain is not for him, but for her former friend and confidant. Another change he supposes he is responsible for. Meg did not want to come to America. Perhaps, he can shift the blame for that onto Adele's plate – as her daughter seems to. Now, though, it appears everyone must pay for that decision of long ago. How would she have fared in Paris – one can only guess? Dance? Alone without resources…there was no choice and at some point he hopes she will realize that. Since the conversation with Christine – his thinking was fraught with all the times plans or ideas were shifted because of the teary blue eyes.

Christine failed to include Gregory in her comments. Margaret and Gregory, it would seem are still in Meg's thrall. Perhaps Raoul's interest in building was simply a desire to distance himself. They were so happy at Christmas, but who knows what may have happened between them. A question about the child? Is she still wearing the ruby ring? He cannot recall.

He becomes aware of his fingers moving erratically – his emotions always tending to find their way to his hands – often taking him to the piano to create whatever music they would play. But this movement is not musical at all – there is no sense of creation in his agitation. What good is the calm atmosphere if he continues to upset himself with these thoughts? Will his brain just stop thinking – for a few moments of peace?

"Arghh," he cries out, arms waving in the air – happy for the privacy to release his frustration about the current situation. Everyone looking to him for answers. Him looking to the heavens to take the responsibility from him for at least a little while. My Opera House, he used to crow. Well, now he wants a period of rest.

"What are you up to – crying out to the heavens and pacing the floor in your stockinged feet?" Christine chuckles, coming up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist to press her head against his back. "I expected you to be at the Eyrie, but Albert gave me your note. It has been some time since we stayed here."

"I am exercising my right as king of the manor – releasing the angst of so much power and feeling oh, so weary for the effort." He takes her hands, drawing her closer, grateful for her presence.

Christine's laugh is more of a choking sound than her usual bell- like tone. Some might call it a guffaw. "Being dramatic are we?"

"I feel somehow freer here. Is that all right? The Eyrie has become such a busy place with others coming and going."

"This is perfect – I have always loved this room – with the photos all around. This is more like our home." Removing her hands, she unpins her bonnet and returns to the armoire at the front door to relieve herself of her outdoor clothing. "The scream is a bit much, but if it makes you feel better, by all means bellow away. I can see you are truly rebelling – your clothing is still draped on the furniture, but at least nothing is broken. I would say your temper has been well contained."

How does she put up with him?

Not sure which way to move. Why were they not in their home? His decision to help Meg seems so foolish now. The teary look was there today in the car – holding up Margaret's hand. Driving to his home…displacing his entire family. "I am sorry," Erik says, locked in the space at the middle of the room.

"Sorry for what? Darling, what is wrong? You seem completely out of sorts."

"Damn it. Damn her. Damn me."

"Stop it."

"Gustave is running off to Nadir's. We are here, back in the hotel and she is in your birthing room."

"If it took this to show you you are not responsible for everyone else's life here, then I am happy."

"What? Everyone's life?"

"You do not have to take care of everyone. Particularly the woman who was intent on killing our son. I don't care what she believes led her to the act – you took care of her in every way you could – you did nothing wrong. You cannot force yourself to love someone – I tried that as well." Her jacket removed and hung in the armoire, she, too, takes off her beige leather pumps decorated with a small silk flower dyed to match her suit…a pale green moire cut just above her ankles…and sighs.

"She is not a bad woman."

"Maybe – maybe not. I really do not care anymore," she says, leaving her shoes next to his, not bothering to put them away.

"Margaret?"

"Margaret will be fine – she is star struck and Meg can teach her a lot. I suspect, however, once the baby arrives – she will not have much time for our little girl. I am happy Sorelli is here – she is a much better role model…and dancer, for that matter."

"Gregory – I think he is in love with her."

"Good, then he can take care of her. It appears Raoul has learned his lesson. From what I hear among the crew – he works on that attraction more than he is home."

"But it is his child."

"Is it?" Christine quirks an eyebrow, padding to the hutch to heat the kettle on the hot plate for tea. Removing two cups and saucers from the cupboard, she sets up a tray for their refreshments. "Are there any cookies or crackers?"

"In the kitchen, I shall get them." He returns with a bakery box. "Macarons. There is a cold supper as well…for later."

"Perfect. You seem to have thought of everything. The flowers are lovely."

"Do you think the baby is Gregory's?"

"I doubt it. She became pregnant in New York – it could have been the manager of the theater where she was working, but she may convince him the baby is his. I myself have been guilty of that – it is not hard when the potential father wants it to be true. He and Raoul can toss a coin."

"Christine!"

The kettle whistles. Christine pours the boiling water into the teapot, covers it with a cozy and carries the tray to the coffee table.

"Phillippe?"

"The father?"

"No, silly. I think he wants to protect Raoul. Veronique told me as much today. He suspects there were some theatrical negotiations in New York Raoul did not participate in. Raoul never was very good at finances – when I performed, I generally negotiated the terms after he botched them with being overbearing. Nevertheless, Phillippe would like an heir to the family name and would like Raoul to believe he fathered a child."

Erik flops down on the tufted velvet couch. "Enough of this insane talk – come to me, my woman," he says, opening his arms to her.

"Oh, are we demanding your needs be met, dear sir?" She giggles as she sashays over to him.

"Only if you wish it, Madame," he says, pulling her onto his lap. "I merely desire your gentlest touch to sooth my fevered brow."

Tickling his rib cage, she giggles, "So much for your fevered brow."

"No. Stop, I cannot breathe. You are a terrible vixen, Christine Bridget Daae Saint-Rien."

"All my names! You are fevered." Jumping up from his lap, she runs to the bathroom. "Perhaps a bath will sooth you – a bath scented with more of the lavender."

Opening the door, she stops to catch her breath. Turning back to Erik, a look of shock and joy on her face. "Whatever is that?"

"What?" Erik gets to his feet, moving up behind her to place his arms around her waist. "Oh, that. That is a very large piece of rose quartz carved into a bathtub. I understand the stone has the power to relax and calm the heart."

Walking into the room, running her fingers over the elegantly carved piece of stone, she sighs. "It is so beautiful and perfect."

"Just as you are beautiful and perfect."

Looking over her shoulder back into the room. "Our tea…"

"You would choose tea over a bath with your husband?"

"No, I suppose not," she teases, stroking his chest.

"Thank goodness for that," he says, unbuttoning her blouse. "Or I might never recover."

"My dearest, I shall always be here for you – even when you act the madman. You must know that by now."

"Whatever the day may be – you make everything right. I was a dead man before I heard you sing that long ago day in Paris, and was blessed again when you arrived on the Persephone."

"You know I sometimes think I brought havoc with me to you."

"If joy is havoc, then I will gladly suffer it for the rest of my life," he says, nuzzling the base of her throat, as he slips the silk blouse from her shoulders. "I shall run your bath while you disrobe."

"Will you join me?"

"Only if you promise to create more havoc or whatever you wish to call it. You are my salvation."

"I promise, but you must disrobe as well."