At the end of the third show, Gustave ran out with the same bouquet for his mother. Meg breathed a relieved sigh at the sight of him. Christine was, of course, unaware of where he had actually been.
In between the third and fourth shows was another short thirty-minute respite. Meg changed back into her previous costume and then went straight to her room, desperately wanting to be alone. Her head was swimming with muddled thoughts. Her emotions were a conflicted mess. She felt guilty for not refusing to follow Erik's orders. She felt trepidation for Christine's departure and how much the short visit would affect the rest of Meg's life.
She looked around the room, searching for her mother's letter. She needed to read the words again. The slightest sliver of the parchment peeked out from underneath her vanity. Meg bent down to retrieve the precious item.
"I had a horrible premonition that Erik would retaliate, if his plans did not play out according to his wishes… as he has been known to do all his life… He is not a forgiving soul… He will always be infatuated with Christine."
Why, though? She thought as she reread her mother's advice. Why should he always be obsessed with Christine? Because he taught her to sing? Why can't his feelings transfer to another, especially if that person returns equally strong adoration?
Meg backed up and sat at the edge of her bed, still holding the letter.
Why, after eight years, is he unable to love me?
Aside from conditioning her voice, Christine only willingly aligned herself with the Phantom's wishes on one occasion: debuting in Hannibal. She ran away, when pushed into the part of the Countess in Il Muto, and she only agreed to perform in Don Juan Triumphant as a ruse.
Meg had done everything Erik asked of her. And, because of his undeniable musical genius, she had flourished into a person she never dreamed she could be. A choreographer. A solo act, capable of singing and dancing to enrapture an audience. A costume designer. She was proud of the partnership they had built. Her and Erik.
She was here. Willingly. Performing for him. Only for him.
Why can't he understand that? What must I do? What can I do?
A loud knock stirred her from her musings.
"ADDIE! ARE YOU IN THERE?! YOU'RE GOING TO MISS OUR SONG!"
It was Suzanne, and the panic in her voice made Meg jump up and throw the letter onto the vanity. She ran out the door and both girls ran for their places.
The fourth performance of the chorus girls' number did not go as smoothly as the previous three. Meg was out of breath from sprinting to start on time, and her singing voice suffered, as a result. The six other girls onstage were thrown off, by the usually dependable lead dancer's blunder. Dance steps were forgotten, girls were bumping into one another, and the occasional word was forgotten. All seven performers were relieved when the embarrassing moment was over, and they were grateful for the scant applause and no cries of outrage or mocking.
Having no time to collect herself, Meg ran past Christine, who looked both surprised and sympathetic, to the dressing room to change. Greta ordered the young woman to take deep breaths; the gruff seamstress successfully calmed the frazzled dancer and sent her on her way.
Christine looked like she wanted to speak a word of encouragement to Meg, as the blonde walked swiftly to her entrance for the duet, but she left her alone. Meg passed Squelch, once again with the stand-in for Gustave. Seeing the strange boy made Meg's pulse race, but she couldn't do anything until her duet with Christine was finished.
She stood at the upstage corner, waiting for the act onstage to be over and for her music to begin.
"Mr. Y requests your presence, directly after this number," Gangle whispered behind her.
The hairs on her neck stood up on end. She didn't acknowledge the lead emcee in any way, needing to concentrate on her upcoming performance.
Thankfully, the duet was perfect. The audience, recognizing the blonde dancer and enthralled by the brunette singer, loudly praised the brief act.
Meg felt redeemed, but she knew Erik would be displeased by her previous number.
She held Christine's hand once more, trying not to meet her friend's probing eyes, then released it to exit the stage. She slowly ascended the metal stairs, dreading what she might find waiting for her.
Fleck was at the top, taking a sudden interest in her fingernails, to avoid smirking directly at the reason for Mr. Y's ire. Meg frowned and made her way through the darkness, knowing that Erik would not appreciate being kept waiting.
He is not a forgiving soul…
The Phantom was on the same catwalk as earlier, as was Gustave. The boy smiled as Meg approached, but he didn't greet her. Erik watched the act below them, leaning over to point out different aspects of how the performance came together with cooperation from both those onstage and off. Gustave listened politely, but showed no real interest in the secretive world behind the scenes.
"…if not, then the audience's attention wouldn't be drawn upstage at the correct moment." Erik spoke softly, but Meg could still hear every word.
He saw her approaching, and when she was close enough and his sentence concluded to the boy, he stood up fully. Before she could speak, Erik motioned behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to find Fleck pushing past her.
"I think that's enough, for this show," the words seemed to be directed to Gustave, but he looked at Meg and waited on Fleck. "I'll see you soon, young man."
Christine's son nodded noncommittedly, and he obediently followed Fleck across the elevated paths and down the staircase. Erik stared at Meg the whole time, sending chills down her spine, without saying a word. Once the boy and assistant emcee were completely out of sight, he finally spoke.
"What do you have to say for yourself? You just ruined an entire number, at the beginning of one of our busiest showtimes."
Meg's brows lifted high on her forehead, somewhat surprised to have so much blame heaped upon her.
"I lost track of time, Erik," she stated plainly. "I needed time to myself. You know how pressured I've felt, ever since Christine arrived-"
"This has NOTHING to do with her," he hissed.
"I beg to differ," Meg shot back. "Everything seems to revolve around Christine. And I haven't been able to go out to swim in almost a week. My head-"
"And that's why you are suddenly sabotaging my show with your carelessness? When I have so little time with Christine, you are pulling my focus with sloppy showmanship?"
The accusations were too brutal for Meg to bear. She shook her head at his single-mindedness. For the first time in eight years… Have I wasted my time here? I knew I wasn't Erik's first choice. I hoped he would be satisfied with me. But was this all for nothing? Am I expendable?
"I can't…do this, Erik," she swallowed the lump in her throat. Her mouth felt drier than cotton. "How dare you come down so hard on me! Why am I held to a higher standard than anyone else in Phantasma? And after you've treated me so poorly…I make one mistake, and I'm rebuked this savagely?"
"Don't try my patience, Addie," he spoke with a menacing growl.
"I told you never to call me that, when it was just the two of us." She turned to leave, unceremoniously.
Although she didn't turn around, she could feel his eyes burning into her retreating form. She quickly made her way to the stairs then descended with soft footfalls. Gangle was leaning against the rail at the bottom and he gave her a cursory glance before looking away. She walked behind the stage, out of sight of the audience. Fleck was walking back toward her with a young boy about Gustave's age. But, when Meg came closer to crossing their path, she saw that, aside from his build and basic coloring, he looked nothing like Christine's child.
Squelch and Gustave were in their favorite corner, playing a game involving multiple lengths of sticks that looked as if they were thrown into a jumbled pile on the floor. Neither noticed her, as they were both entrenched in their gameplay, but Meg could tell that Gustave was more at ease and genuinely happy with Squelch than he had been in the rafters with Mr. Y.
Christine was waiting, stately and elegant as always. Her glittering jewels caught some of the backstage light, but not enough to reflect onto the stage. She smiled as Meg approached her, darting a glance behind her friend to her son and his companion.
"I have to admit," she whispered to Meg, "this has been a more pleasant experience for Gustave than I could have ever foreseen. Everyone has been incredibly kind to him. I know he'll be talking about this short visit for months to come."
Meg felt a muscle in her jaw spasm, and she couldn't help but attribute it to the discomfort she felt over having escorted her friend's adorable son to the very man Christine feared.
"Yes, he's a very…compassionate child."
"Compassion?" Christine questioned, looking directly to her friend. "That reminds me. What made you suddenly have more compassion for the treacherous Mr. Y? Don't tell me it was him revealing his background to you. Nothing he went through can excuse the terror he inflicted upon others."
Meg looked around with a sweeping glance, worried that someone might overhear the damning accusations. There were no performers near them, thankfully, and the crewmen were too focused on their duties to worry about the gossip between ladies. Saturday was already taking its toll on all of Phantasma.
The blonde woman relented, then.
"I…I suppose it was my vanity, at first. He appealed to my love of performing. He promised to help me achieve notoriety as a solo act, let me design costumes, and choreograph numbers for the show."
"Why didn't you continue dancing en pointe, then?"
Meg couldn't help but be suspicious of Christine's new nonchalant delivery. Light conversation. That's how her talented friend wanted this to feel. But "Love Never Dies" was almost nigh. Christine couldn't keep up this charade for long.
"Er – um, he didn't feel that it was necessary, due to the more casual nature of this show. And performing this many shows a week…it would be too much of a strain on one's feet."
Christine looked at her probingly, waiting. Meg felt the awkward silence, wondering if she had missed something.
"Um, and he didn't like seeing how my feet were so bruised and abused by dancing en pointe."
As soon as she'd finished the sentence, Meg wished she had stayed silent.
Christine narrowed her eyes shrewdly at her companion. But, before she could speak, applause broke the tension and reminded her that she was due to enter.
The curtain call came swiftly after Christine's performance, and Meg avoided the diva's stare. Gustave ran out with the roses, and his mother's attention was effectively shifted to her son and his antics.
Leaving the stage, Gustave pulled on his mother's arm, while Christine deposited the roses onto the same set piece she had previously discarded it. Meg heard the two of them exchange a quick conversation, before ducking out to her room.
"Mama, can I go with Squelch and Gangle and Fleck and the other performers to the kitchen? Can I have dinner with them? Please?"
"Oh, I-"
"Please?"
Meg didn't hear more than that, trying to remain hidden from Christine's view. The cast had an hour to eat before places for the fifth show of the day. Some would go to the kitchen, where Erik always had a simple catered meal ready for them. Some chose to leave the premises, to find food more palatable to their particular tastes.
Truthfully, Meg was hungry, but her desire for solitude outweighed her need to fill her stomach. She went straight to her room and closed the door behind her, breathing deeply. She took deep breaths and walked back to her bed to lie down. Before doing so, she put a robe over her pristine white costume. Part of her wanted to leave the room, change into the majority of the pieces for her opening number, then return to rest. But even that extra amount of movement seemed like too much effort to exert at that moment.
She had only been on her bed for minutes, when there was a knock. She groaned bitterly.
"Who is it?"
"It's only me," Christine called from behind the door.
Meg clenched her fists and reluctantly hoisted herself up to let her friend in. Christine entered, also in her robe, pushing the food tray that had most likely been delivered to her own room.
"I let Gustave go to the kitchen with his friends, and I thought we might take our supper here," she said, the same air of nonchalance and calmness.
Meg crossed to the vanity and hastily placed the letter out of view, in one of the drawers. She offered the seat to Christine without a word, then took her own seat back on the edge of her bed. Christine wheeled the wooden cart toward the space between the bed and the vanity. Once she turned the vanity's seat to face the cart and the bed, Christine perched daintily upon the chair.
The tray was a spread of various charcuterie items, a light supper. And most definitely more lavish than what the rest of the ensemble would be eating for their meal. The ladies picked at the meats and crackers, taking their time. It almost filled the silence between them, concentrating on their eating.
Christine looked around the room, occasionally letting her eyes alight on Meg, who, in turn, would smile politely and look away. The songstress' sight fell upon the trash can next to the vanity.
"Oh, Meg! I think your book fell into the waste bin…" She bent down to pick it up.
"Oh! No! That's just…I threw it away-"
"Why would you throw out a perfectly good book?" Christine was holding the tossed item in her hand and examining the title. "Le Comte de Monte-Cristo? I don't know if I've heard of this. Is it not good?"
Meg bit her lip, frustrated to her very core. "I – Yes, it's good."
"Neither of us were much for reading in our spare time in Paris," Christine reminded her former confidant.
"We didn't have much spare time, back then," Meg countered quietly.
"True," the brunette beauty admitted. "What made you take the activity up now? Or, should I say, whom?"
Meg felt it, again. The gentle prodding.
"When we were on the ship, there wasn't much to do…"
"What happened, on that voyage? Where were you, and why were you unable to find help?"
Christine's calm demeanor was diminishing, as she couldn't help but show genuine concern for what her friend had been through.
"I-I-I don't want to talk about it," Meg shook her head avidly.
"Was it that terrible?" Christine whispered back, her eyes filled with horror.
"No, it was…he had some novels with him, that's all I meant to say, and he let me read them. That one was my favorite, so I bought a copy when Phantasma returned profits and I was making a salary."
"Your favorite." Christine's words were a statement. A challenge. "Then why did you throw it out?"
"May we please discuss something else?"
"Can you at least tell me what it's about?"
"You may keep that copy, if you'd like, and find out for yourself."
"That's not what I asked, Meg." Christine placed the novel onto the vanity and sat back in the seat, apparently finished with her portion of the meal. "Tell me what it is about, please, so that I might know why it's worth reading."
Meg sighed and chewed a cracker thoughtfully. There were cups next to a teapot, and she took the initiative to pour herself some of the hot liquid. It's just a synopsis, Meg, give her what she wants. Maybe she'll drop this conversation, afterward.
"It's about a man named Edmond Dántes. He's a merchant sailor from Marseille, and he's in love with Mercédès. Unfortunately for him, Mercédès is also the object of affection for Fernand Mondego, who then conspires with other enemies of Edmond's to have him charged with treason. Edmond is sentenced to life imprisonment, where he eventually meets another prisoner, whom he calls Abbé Faria. The two men agree to help each other, Edmond helping the elderly man dig toward freedom, and the well-educated Faria teaching Edmond everything he knows about the world. Faria dies, but not before telling Edmond about a treasure located on an island called Monte Cristo."
"Ah," Christine nodded, only partially interested in the story Meg was quickly weaving. "I was wondering what the title meant. Let me guess: Edmond escapes, somehow, finds the treasure, and purchases the title?"
"Well, yes," Meg confirmed, dumbfounded by Christine's astute prediction.
"And? Then what?"
"Um," Meg closed her eyes, trying to speedily recall where she had left off, and what came after Christine's addition. "Um, he then goes about getting his revenge on those who conspired against him." Edmond earns the trust of Albert, son of Fernand and Mercédès, so that he can manipulate him into agreeing to his wishes…oh no…
"How does it end? Does he successfully kill all of his enemies?"
"No, um, not exactly. He… has moments when he goes too far. Ultimately, he is changed. By love."
"Changed by love." Another bland statement from Christine. Unconvinced. "He wins Mercédès back from her husband."
"No, actually," Meg shook her head.
"Mmmm," Christine sardonically murmured. "Well, I'm not convinced that I should enjoy that particular plot as much as you. But thank you for enlightening me."
Meg glanced at the mantle clock in the room.
"We need to be going. I do, anyway. I need to change back into my first costume."
Christine did not move from her seated position. "There's enough time for you to answer one more question." She used the teapot to pour herself a cup, and she took a sip immediately.
Meg was impatient to leave, but she figured one more question about the discarded novel would be quickly answered.
"Yes?"
Christine dabbed the napkin in her lap to the corners of her pursed lips. She laid it back in her lap and placed the cup on its saucer, before leveling her gaze to the obviously anxious blonde woman.
"Answer me truthfully: Are you in love with him? Are you in love… with the Phantom?"
Meg stood fretfully, unable to compose herself. Unable to hide the emotions permeating from deep within her soul. She glanced at the clock, then the door. Then she brought her eyes down to Christine's seated form. The brunette was unbothered in appearance, almost icy, in comparison to her friend's agitated state.
"I-I-" Meg nervously stuttered, again. "I can't say! I must go!"
The former ballerina fled the room, closing the door behind her and trotting toward the sanctuary of the less private areas of the backstage area. Her heart was beating so hard, as she made her way into the dressing room, she imagined it might break through her chest.
Still in Meg's room, Christine continued to sip on the lukewarm tea with worry. She turned in the chair to face the vanity. Her concern for Meg could be seen in the wrinkles above her furrowed brows. She set the cup down, next to the book.
Edmond, a man in love with a woman whom he is unable to be with, she mused. She marries another. He takes his revenge. And then, what? He is changed by love? How so?
Christine had plenty of time until her first number onstage, the duet with Meg. Gustave was with friends, and she no longer feared him being out of her sight. He always returned to her.
She opened the small jewelry box on the vanity, and she immediately spotted the familiar cameo ring once worn by Madam Giry. There were a few brooches along the bottom, but she had no idea which one was the one.
She opened the main drawer and the aforementioned letter was perched atop buttons, pictures, coins, and less valuable objects.
"The Phantom…Erik. That is his true name…
…I am telling you all of this to take the full blame…
…I am happy for Christine…But I paid too high a price…
…his fiery obsession with her will reunite the two of you…
I do not know what tactics Erik will use, to keep you under his control…
He will always be infatuated with Christine…
…Do not follow in my footsteps… Stay out of his way…if he seeks to steal her back…
…please protect yourself…"
Christine looked up at the picture of Meg and her mother, still leaning against the vanity's mirror. She wanted to hate the woman. But, as a mother herself, Christine could not condemn Madam Giry for acting in her daughter's best interests. But the fierce matron in the photograph no longer held the same nostalgic place in Christine's heart.
She placed the letter back where she had found it, righted everything she had moved out of place, and pushed the cart out the door, so that whomever had dropped it off could pick it up.
Then the beloved singer walked to the dressing room, where she was sure she wouldn't find her dear old friend.