"Let's sit down to eat, shall we?" Erik gave Christine no room to respond, instead passing through the threshold and toward the round dining table that held the silver cloched dish.
Gustave followed the tall man happily, blissfully unaware of the history between the three adults in the room. Meg followed, as well, seating herself next to Erik, while the boy flanked him. Christine was the last to arrive at the table, looking reluctant to obey any of the Phantom's requests.
Erik lifted the cloche to reveal a breakfast platter of fresh fruit slices, toasted breads, and sausage links. Butter pads and ramekins filled with pureed fruit jams were artistically placed on the platter, as well. Gustave hastily grabbed a handful of apple slices, not awaiting his mother's permission.
"What would you like, Christine?" the Phantom gestured to the tray.
"I would like for you to leave me and my son alone, please, Monsieur Danton," she replied calmly, not wishing to alarm the unwitting boy.
Meg looked over at Erik with raised brows, curious as to why her friend chose to use Erik's pseudonym. Erik did not notice Meg's questioning glance, choosing to narrow his eyes at his angel's dismissive comment.
"You may believe that you are only performing for me under duress, or to placate me in some vouchsafe manner, but you are being paid to perform, which makes you under my employ for the duration of this weekend," he pointed out icily.
"And for the weekend, alone," she stressed. "We do not need your money, sir, as you already know. The contract you drew up as 'Mr. Y' served only to legitimize my delaying Mr. Hammerstein to Raoul."
"Do you know my mommy and daddy?" Gustave's voice interrupted the dueling words. He looked at the mysterious Mr. Y with inquisitive interest.
Erik smiled down to the boy, leaning toward where he sat. Christine's form visibly tensed, while Meg placed a comforting hand on her lap under the table.
"I know your mother," he corrected. "I was the one who taught her to sing." His eyes hardened, then, as they swept back up to his former pupil.
"Had I known the cost, I would have refused your instruction," Christine replied in kind, with equal iciness. "Then again, what impressionable young girl would think to ask an angel of his intentions?"
Erik smirked, unbothered by her cutting reflections.
"Ah, but then, your Vicomte might never have noticed you," he silkily countered. "I invented you, distinguished you amongst your peers. And he only saw you once you were in the spotlight."
Meg removed her hand, then, bristling at the Phantom's cruel description of her and the other dancers at the Opera Populaire. She was the prima ballerina, not chopped liver. But, having no aptitude for singing, she was only a piece of the background to Erik. And, with Christine back, she had been relegated back to that same unimportant position.
"I recognized Raoul as soon as I saw him, the very moment he was introduced as the new patron, did I not, Meg?" Meg looked up from the table, uncomfortable with being pulled into their argument. Christine glared at her friend expectantly, but continued when Meg did not offer her immediate support. "I would have reintroduced myself to him, at my next opportunity, no matter what role I played."
"He would not have been seen with a chorus girl!"
"HE DOES NOT LOVE ME FOR MY VOICE!"
The heightened voices startled both Meg and Gustave, with the latter looking to the only calm adult left in the room. Meg gave him a sympathetic smile. It did nothing to calm the boy's nerves, as his eyes darted between his mother and the strange man on opposite ends of the table.
Erik's face was bathed in frustration and anger, and Christine also looked unhinged. When the two noticed the cringing expressions of their tablemates, both returned to a more serene visage.
"Raoul loves me. He supports my musical career, but he would happily see me retire and never sing another note on stage…or off," she added, as an afterthought. "You know nothing about me, nothing of my dreams, my wishes. You love my voice. Not me. It's never been about me. And that is not love. That is obsession."
He stood then, his sight never leaving Christine, whose own glare matched his own. Glancing at the mantle clock, he took a moment to breath in and out deeply, before looking back with practiced apathy.
"You have a little over an hour, before your call time," he simply stated. Then he briskly left the room without another word, closing the door behind him.
Christine turned her gaze to Meg. Gustave seemed relieved to have half of the source of tension removed from the table, and he happily set back to task in feeding himself whatever he wished.
"Meg," Christine called out to her friend. The blonde woman gave her a pleading look, lightly nodding toward the young boy. "Fine," the brunette rolled her eyes in frustration. "Addie? What happens next? What are his plans?"
"I honestly don't know," Meg replied, with genuine confusion.
Christine regarded her skeptically. "You always seem to know more about him than you are willing to share, Addie."
Meg shrugged. "I only know what he will tell me, and, when it comes to you, I'm afraid he keeps most of his designs to himself."
"He has a giant portrait of me in his room?" she asked with obvious disgust, sharply changing the topic of conversation.
"Yes," Meg quietly confirmed.
"You've seen it?"
The dancer hesitated, then, remembering the circumstances. "Yes."
"You've been in his room?"
"No," Meg shook her head.
"Then how have you seen it?"
"I-" Meg cut herself off. This was a delicate matter. A matter of the heart. Something too vulnerable to share. "I was checking for Gustave, and I spied through the keyhole." Gustave looked up and gave a large grin at the mention of his name.
"You 'spied through the keyhole'?" Christine asked flatly.
Meg finished the toast she had been nibbling at, then wiped the crumbs away with a napkin, before standing.
"I really must be going," she excused herself. "I'll see you at call? We have such a long day. And a late one. I'll see you soon, Gustave!" The boy nodded and kept eating. "And you, too, Christine," she added softly.
The songstress did not reply, staring at her friend's retreating figure with a shrewd expression.
Meg sighed with relief in the hallway, no longer under Christine's scrutiny.
This is one big mess, Meg thought sadly. And I don't know how it will end…I just know that nothing will be the same. Nothing will ever be the same, again.
She reached her room and walked straight in, right into the Phantom's presence.
"Erik!" she exclaimed. "What-"
"You will bring the boy to me after the opening number of the third show," he harshly demanded. "Gangle and Fleck have their instructions, and you will bring Gustave to me on the catwalk from where I frequently watch." He gave her a knowing look, then. "I believe you already know to where I'm referring."
"No!" she forcefully refused. "Christine expects-"
"She won't know he's gone. Not that that's any of your concern."
"What are you going to do to him?" Meg's voice wavered, unexpectedly, finding that the possibilities scared her.
Erik's lip curled in distaste. "I would never harm the boy. And my plans are mine to know, and you to execute! Do as I say, Meg. Or do you wish to try my patience?"
Meg passed by Erik, turning her back to him and angrily pulling at a small compartment door on her vanity.
"I expect your silence is your promise to be obedient to me. Me, who made you out of nothing!"
She spun around in outrage, but he was only a step away from her door. And there was nothing she could say before he was gone.
Meg gritted her teeth, wanting desperately to scream. Eight years! He STILL doesn't appreciate me! I helped him build this! I was prima ballerina of the Paris Opera, not some uncultured amateur!
The hour passed by tediously. It was just enough time to mollify Meg, who took great care to focus on her appearance and not on the infuriating conversation that still weighed on her mind. She made her way to the stage for the first of the six shows. Christine caught her eye as she entered, giving a curt nod, and Meg was displeased to see that she was the last to arrive. Gustave sat on the floor with Squelch, playing a hand-clapping game and giggling. Fleck and Gangle were slightly off in the wings, still visible to Mr. Bailey, but away from the rest of the theatre troupe.
After the normal physical and vocal preparation, the cast dispersed to their places for the opening number. Squelch left Gustave with another performer and ran to join the rest of his trio at the front of main valance. The thick red curtain was raised, but the front of the stage was still bathed in darkness. A single spotlight shone straight down, the white light dissipating in the long journey from the top of the theater to where the actors posed below. Gangle began, the effervescent emcee, with Squelch hunched and motionless behind him, and Fleck hidden more easily behind the larger of the two men.
"Coney Isle…glistening and glimmering!
Rising bright…
Drenched in light…
See it smile…beckoning and shimmering!
All a-gleam…
Like a dream…"
Meg watched the three masters of ceremony with mild interest. Gustave was already on a carousel animal, placed by a friend in the cast. Christine approached her, no longer worried about constantly monitoring her son's whereabouts during the performances.
"I'm sorry about this morning…Addie." Christine's tone was polite, but not particularly convincing. "And thank you, for finding Gustave."
Meg nodded, her eyes still on the stage.
"I'm so scared, Meg," the young mother whispered. There was no one near them, at the moment. Most of the cast were already onstage, behind the second curtain or hiding behind travelers, waiting to emerge at their choreographed moment. "I don't trust him. He's taken Gustave once-"
Panic suddenly filled Christine's voice, her volume elevating, and the worried soprano reverted back to the same over-protective mother that she had been three days ago. She craned her neck, trying to see her son over the multitude of performers that surrounded him. As her feet led her instinctively closer to Gustave's place under the carousel tent prop. Meg reached out for her, both gently and firmly, not wishing Christine to interrupt the musical number.
"Christine," she pleaded softly. "He did not take your son. Gustave was right down the hall from you, the entire time we were looking for him. He would never hurt Gustave. I know him well enough to know that."
"He has killed before!" Christine's eyes flew toward the roof of the stage, scanning the darkness for any sign of the Phantom.
"Yes, Buquet and Piangi, all those years ago," Meg acknowledged. "But he's…changed in the time I've been with him. He's not that same man. He's not a murderer."
"He will always be a murderer!" Christine quietly snapped back. "No amount of time can change that fact!"
Meg chose not to argue the matter further, needing to get to her place before her welcoming number. Gustave, thrilled as ever to be included in the show, was gleeful after his short stint onstage, and Meg watched as Squelch led him to his mother. When they reached Christine, she looked relieved to see her son. Gustave asked her something, which made his mother pause, before nodding her answer. The unlikely duo happily pranced away, followed in step by Gangle and Fleck who darted glances at Meg as the foursome ran by.
"Welcome…each and everyone
To our festival of fun!"
At the end of Meg's number, both she and Christine were expected in the ladies dressing room, to don their newest costumes. Christine looked after Gustave's wellbeing again and was pleased to see him in the back corner of the same wing she occupied, playing an enthusiastic game of jacks on the ground with Squelch. She walked with Meg, satisfied that her son was in too public a place to be in any real danger.
The ladies dressed quickly and silently, with Greta and two others' assistance. Christine's hair was pinned away from her face, with jeweled clips that were almost identical to the starbursts of crystals that had graced her curly locks for her role in "Hannibal." Meg carefully removed her bright pink feathered tutu ensemble and the outrageous headdress that accompanied the look. The white tutu and corset were a perfect fit, although she expected nothing less from Greta and her team. She loosened her hair, running a comb through the curls, until they were flowing golden waves. One of the assistants secured the top half of her hair with a band and then a single white ribbon, while Meg changed her shoes from pink heels to white ballet slippers.
When the girls turned to face each other, they both audibly gasped. Christine's hands flew to her mouth. Meg gave her a sad smile.
"The only thing I'm missing are my pointe shoes," Meg commented quietly.
But not quiet enough for Greta to dismiss as private conversation.
"Was ist das? I have die Ballettschuhe! No one say Spitzenschuhe! No pointe!"
"No, no, I'm sorry, Greta," Meg quickly calmed the older seamstress. "These are perfect. Um, perfekten? I was…" She went to explain the comment, but the woman was already onto the next task, shaking her head.
Christine bit her lip to keep from laughing, and Meg allowed herself to chuckle at the misunderstanding. The two old friends left the dressing area, after checking themselves from head to toe.
Back in the wings of stage left, Christine once again checked for Gustave and relaxed when she saw that he was still much occupied in the game with Squelch. They were odd playfellows, to be sure, but she could see that the large man had no ill intentions toward her son.
Meg still had to use the crossover to get to stage right, where she would enter for their number. But, before heading to the back of the wing, she took Christine's hands in her own.
Her hands were always warmer than mine…and they are warmer, now. Some things never change.
Christine seemed surprised at the sudden show of affection, but she smiled winningly at her blonde friend and then enveloped her in an embrace.
They exchanged no words, but their parting was mutual. Just as every hug they had shared in Paris, once upon a time.
Meg trotted away, needing to hurry to make it to the other side of the stage. She smiled down at Gustave and Squelch, but they did not notice her. Reaching the other side of the stage, she saw Gangle and Fleck in deep conversation.
That could mean anything, she reasoned. Those two are always butting heads over every decision to be made.
She reached her destination, upstage right, and waited for the music to begin. The stage emptied of the previous act, Sid the Swordsmith, a man who was a well-trained sword-swallower. The audience was not full, but it was never expected for the first performance of a Saturday for the venue to sell-out. Many of the long-standing cast members whined frequently for the morning show to be canceled. Meg was not one to complain, but she had brought the matter before Erik, knowing that Mr. Bailey and the emcee trio would never willingly bring him anything other than good news. And, to Erik's credit, he was contemplating the idea.
The first few notes of the dreamy, languid song played, and Meg twirled and turned onto the stage, heading toward downstage left, where Christine would soon enter.
The singing goddess in white emerged, and the audience, small though it was, appeared to be awestruck by her beauty and opulence. She remained stationary, in an especially bright spotlight downstage left.
"It seems a hundred years ago,
Since you and I were both on show…"
Meg danced all across the more dimly-lit stage, occasionally sharing the spotlight with her friend. At the end, they held hands and hugged in a more theatrical manner. Not completely disingenuous, but not as heartfelt as the one they had just finished sharing backstage.
They had forgotten to discuss their exit, assuming that they would be given definitive instruction as to what either Mr. Bailey or Mr. Y preferred. They hesitated, during the applause, then turned to the front to give humble bows of appreciation, Meg's left hand encased in Christine's right one. Meg pulled away, back to stage right; Christine in her cumbersome ensemble, stayed in place.
They looked at each other, as their hands slowly pulled apart and dropped to their sides. Each exited the way that they came. Meg gracefully walking upstage right, Christine demurely walking the few paces offstage.
Meg knew Christine would undoubtedly be hurrying back to Greta, in order to change her attire for the final number. She, on the other hand, was finished for the duration of the show, except for the curtain call, but she would keep her current dress on. The soft tulle fell in long layers, down to her knees. The costume was mercifully more comfortable than the stiff features of her more vivid ensemble.
Fleck and Gangle were still talking in hushed voices, but they ceased when Meg drew near.
"What has Mr. Y asked you to do?"
Gangle raised an eyebrow at her question, and Fleck gave her a strained smile.
"We are to see to it that the vicomtess, your friend, is reassured of her son's safety," the little woman shared.
Well, that's hardly helpful, Meg thought. "And how will you do that?"
"By doing our job," Gangle answered pointedly. "We will work out the details entrusted to us. Why don't you make sure you do the same?"
Meg rolled her eyes, no longer interested in trying to probe either of them for more information. She made her way back, through the crossover, and stopped next to Squelch and Gustave.
"Gustave? Do you want to go say hello to Mommy? And, afterwards, I can show you my room. You haven't seen it, yet!"
Squelch frowned, apparently unhappy to see his friend taken from their game. His eyes darted behind Meg, toward the opposite side of the stage. Gustave jumped up and politely addressed his friend.
"I'll see you after lunch? For the next show?"
"Yes!" the grown man rejoiced. "Do you know how to play checkers?"
"Oh, yes, I'm very good at checkers. I win all the time!"
Meg gave Squelch a nod and held Gustave's hand as they made their way to where Christine was changing.
Entering the room, Christine was already in her final costume, a bejeweled lilac gown with a plunging neckline that was made only slightly more modest with a necklace that had so many large gemstones, that it covered a fair amount of exposed skin. Christine didn't seem to be able to sit down in the form-fitting dress, so the ladies were working around her, removing the many jeweled clips from her curls and working on pinning it into an elegant hairstyle.
"Hi, Mommy!" Gustave called out, which alerted Christine to their presence. "I'm going to go see Miss Addie's room!"
"You are? Well, now," Christine played her part well. "I will do my best not to be jealous. I have yet to be invited to see her room."
"It's smaller than yours," Meg offered as a lame excuse. "Nothing much to see, but I figured Gustave would appreciate the change in scenery."
"Wouldn't we all," Christine dryly responded.
Greta looked up at the two friends with an astute expression. But, as usual, she said nothing.