"I'm going with Squelch, Mother!"
Gustave ran up to and then immediately ran from Christine to excuse his absence from his mother's side. She barely batted an eye, as the two unlikely friends made their way to the back corner of the wing, where they were mostly hidden from view.
As expected, Christine did not find Meg in the dressing room, when she arrived to be fitted into her large white gown. It was unexpected that her blonde friend avoided her for the entire first half of the fifth Saturday show.
At the end of their duet, Christine and Meg shared their most artificial embrace, holding hands briefly to bow and exiting as quickly as they both could. Christine noted the tension between them. And she knew that the tension arriving after her confronting Meg about her affection for the Phantom, for Erik, was the closest thing Christine would get to an actual answer to her question.
On the opposite side of the stage, Meg was far more concerned with what Erik could be planning. She couldn't believe he would harm the boy in any way, no matter who his father was. She was surprised that Erik hadn't abducted Gustave to use him as the ultimate leverage against his mother.
Then again, she figured, Christine is already singing for him. It's unlikely that he would take Gustave, before she finishes performing. Otherwise, she would be too panicked to execute her songs properly…
Meg stewed on the subject, determined to understand what was going on in Erik's mind.
Okay, I'm him. I'm obsessed with Christine. I want her to stay, but no words will sway her. I have to take action. Erik already used the Vicomte as a bargaining chip, but it didn't work.
Earlier, when she exited her bubbly number with the chorus girls, Meg had seen Fleck escorting Gustave up the winding staircase to where the Phantom was inevitably waiting.
Albert Mondego, son of Fernand and Mercédès. Befriended by Dantes, in disguise. He gains the boy's trust… How can Erik use Gustave's trust against his parents?
Idly, Meg looked toward the darkened rafters. As usual, she could see no movement above, but she wondered if Gustave and Erik were still hidden above Phantasma.
Her mother's words suddenly flashed in her mind: "…I can imagine that he saw you and acted rashly, as he has been known to do all his life." She had read her mother's letter so many times, she was sure she remembered the words exactly as they appeared.
Erik gave Christine an ultimatum: she could go free and forfeit her lover's life, or she could save Raoul's life and go willingly with the Phantom. Her thoughts raced, trying to understand Erik's fallible reasoning. If he has Gustave, Christine will do anything to save her son. Erik would never hurt him, but Christine doesn't know that. She believes he's the same remorseless killer he was back in Paris.
By the time Christine graced the stage for her spellbinding aria, Meg felt fairly confident that she knew what was coming. Her stomach turned, listening to her formerly best friend sing so beautifully onstage.
Gustave was present, once more, for the fifth curtain call of the day. He looked less excited than the previous performances. To the clueless audience, he must have seemed a tad shy. To the entire company of Phantasma, as well as his mother, the poor boy was obviously exhausted from the exceptionally long day. Only one more performance to go.
With another half-hour break between shows, Christine walked straight to the dressing room, holding her son's miniature hand. Meg followed, leaving distance between herself and the duo. The ladies' dressing room was buzzing with female performers. Most were already in their costumes, but a couple ran behind the silk screens to change, when they saw the little boy enter. Christine saw Meg's reflection standing behind her own, in the mirror. She turned around in surprise. Gustave only gave a tired smile.
"Meg - er, Addie! I didn't expect to see you!"
The blonde blushed at unintentionally scaring her poor friend. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I noticed Gustave is a bit tired. Are you, young man?" she addressed the young boy. "Are you tired? Saturdays are long for all of us, aren't they girls?" She posed the question to the entire room and received a fair amount of solidarity.
The boy nodded guiltily, embarrassed to be the center of attention in the room. Meg's eyes met Christine's and she continued.
"Let him sleep on the chaise in the corner," Meg pointed to the comfortable lounging chair. "Take your time getting ready, and we'll both return right after our duet. While you change, I'll take him to your room and put him to bed."
The young mother still looked surprised. And wary. Meg found Greta sitting in her favorite chair and repairing a torn seam from one of the show's many costumes.
"Greta?" The older woman gave the blonde dancer a critical eye. "Can you please watch Gustave for the duration of our song? It will be mere minutes, and then we'll be back. Please?"
The head costumer was relieved, apparently, that the request was a minor one, of little inconvenience. She nodded and grunted out a "ja."
Having tied up all loose ends, the brunette singer agreed to her friend's suggestion. Gustave crawled onto the chaise and was given a shawl from Suzanne, who sat nearby. He settled his head onto the round, plush pillow and quietly took in his surroundings.
The remainder of the half-hour passed quickly, and Meg used one of the changing screens to afford her some privacy. Gustave was still awake, although he was fading as the minutes ticked by. Places were called, and the majority of the room's occupants left to await the start of the day's final show. Meg left, too, and grabbed Christine's hand, as she passed.
"I'm sorry for avoiding you, earlier."
Christine gratefully smiled. "You know how much I care for you, don't you?"
Meg nodded. "Yes. And you know I feel the same for you, right?"
"I do."
Their hands squeezed lovingly, then released to part their connection. Meg left for the stage, and Christine let Greta's assistant pin her curls into the hairstyle desired for the duet.
The purple carousel dragon, christened "Louis" by Gustave, was left unridden. Boys from the audience were on every other carousel prop. Meg knew the performers considered the purple dragon to be reserved for him. Only for him.
The number concluded, and Meg hastened to center stage behind the colorful scrim. Next to the chorus girls hidden in the stage left wing, Gangle hissed to the main dancer.
"Where is he?"
Meg shrugged, as she took her first pose. The lead emcee was unable to question her further, as the scrim raised and the welcoming song began. When it concluded, she rushed offstage to the dressing room. She was relieved to find Gustave there, asleep and undisturbed. Changing into her white tutu, there was no time to hold a conversation with Christine. The soloist was already dressed and ready. Once Meg, too, was in costume with her hair half down, the two nodded to Greta and went to leave the room.
Outside, Fleck was waiting near the door. Meg gave her a knowing look and leaned back into the room, speaking loudly enough for the small woman to easily overhear.
"I'll be right back to take him to his room, Greta. Don't let anyone disturb him, is that clear?"
Meg heard the deep-voiced "ja" in response, as she left the room. Fleck glared at her but said nothing, as the graceful blonde took the brunette songstress's arm. The two walked briskly to their entry positions, on opposing sides of the stage.
Greta might be the only other person, besides Erik, that Fleck begrudgingly respects. And, if he's planning what I think he's planning, she'll report back to him before making a decision that he might not approve of. Also, she knows Christine and I will be returning, now. Christine will be expecting to see her son.
The duet went smoothly, and, this time, the heartfelt moment shared onstage was genuine. The final audience of the night boldly applauded, with the occasional cat-call and whistle for the two beauties. Christine and Meg reunited, walking back to Greta's domain.
Fleck was nowhere in the vicinity, and Gustave was still sound asleep. Greta and her assistant rose from their seats to attend to Christine's change. Before allowing them to dress her, she bent over the chaise and gave her boy a light peck. Meg grabbed her robe from the chair she'd laid it on earlier, removing the tutu and placing it on the hanging rack with her other costumes. Once the robe was securely fastened, she gingerly picked the young lad up in her arms and nodded to Christine.
The hall was mercifully empty, and Meg made the short trek to the guest room without a confrontation. Gustave was hunched over her chest, his head supported on her shoulder, and his arms wrapped around her neck. She shifted her weight slightly to free her right arm to open and then shut the main entrance into Christine's living area. There was no hesitation with what to do with Gustave. He was placed in the large bed, his shoes removed, still in his clothes.
Meg looked at the precious boy. He slept deeply. She envied how relaxed he was. Completely serene. Satisfied that he was as comfortable as he could be, she left the room to sit in the parlor and wait.
She didn't have to wait for long.
The door handle slowly turned, and Fleck peeked into the room. Seeing Meg sitting on a chair near the door to the bedroom, she narrowed her eyes and stepped in. Followed by Gangle.
"Is he in bed?" The lanky man asked without pretense.
"He is. And what, may I ask, are you two doing here?"
Both emcees advanced toward Meg, who stood and took a strong stance in front of the closed door. The small defiance stopped Gangle and Fleck, who used the dead space to try a new tactic.
"You're needed onstage," Gangle tried.
"I doubt that."
He sneered at her refusal and walked closer.
"Come one more step, and I'll scream. Gustave will wake in a panic, and I will order him to run from you."
As he neared, her words became louder, solidifying her threat. He stopped in his tracks. Meg rewarded his compliance with a quieter volume.
"I may not be aware of what he is up to as you are, but I'm fairly certain that he'd prefer Gustave to not be frightened of whatever he has planned for him."
Both lackeys frowned and said nothing.
"Tell him I said no. I won't move from this spot. Not until Christine comes back."
Fleck looked to Gangle. His eyes were trained on Meg, completely furious. She stared back, resolutely. "Go," she said firmly.
He straightened, stiff as a board, looking especially thin. Fleck turned as if bored by the exchange, and he soon followed. They left the door open, and Meg crossed the room after their departure to close it. Then she returned to the chair, waiting for the next wave.
Erik took longer to arrive. Longer than she anticipated. She was almost nodding off, her cheek resting against the hand held up by the armrest. So tired…so tired…
He burst through the door; no timid entry, no polite greeting. Meg snapped to attention, standing and resuming her vigil.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"It took me some time to figure it out. But, I should have guessed. You are Edmond Dantes, after all, aren't you, Erik?"
"What are you babbling about?"
I suppose I do sound a bit delirious, she inwardly grimaced. "You gained Gustave's trust, just like Dantes did with Albert. But you had a different purpose in mind than revenge. Where were you going to take him?"
Erik's eyes appraised her, a modicum pleased with both her deduction and the literary comparison. He slowly crossed closer to her, but froze in place when she went rigid.
"You aren't going to stop me, Meg," he stated, ignoring her question.
"You aren't giving me a choice, Erik," she shot back. "Am I right? Were you going to take Gustave somewhere, tuck him away, and then force Christine to come with you to retrieve him? Then what? Stay in hiding and hope that you can, over time, convince them to love you? Convince her to love you? And just hope that, against all odds, her husband would not scour the earth for her and his son? Are you mad?"
He glowered at her. "Leave me, Meg," he growled. "Get away from that door right now. I don't have time for this."
"No! Stay away, or I'll scream!"
The smile that swept across his face was menacing. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly stepped toward Meg.
"I mean it, Erik! Stay back or I'll scream!"
"And I will muffle the sound. As I did eight years ago. I will leave your unconscious body here, take the boy, and have Gangle drag you back to your room." He gave her a pitying look, then, slightly softening his crazed expression. "You can't win, Meg. Please step away. I don't want to have to do this…"
He's right, she thought sadly. I can't overpower him. I doubt I'll outlast him. Christine, hurry! If I can get around him, I can run down the hall, making a fuss…
She hesitated. He held out the handkerchief, almost within an arm's length of her. She nodded quickly and moved from his path. The pitying look was wiped from his face and his countenance hardened. As she stepped around him, she felt his hand wrap firmly around her forearm. She faced him and he stared into her.
Meg realized, then, that he was in a conundrum. He didn't want to let her go; he knew she would warn her friend. There was no choice, really. He held the white cloth up, and Meg could see that it was dampened with some type of chemical. As it neared her, she flinched. And he hesitated.
She took the brief opportunity to take up more of his precious time.
"When you told me about the choice you gave Christine…eight years ago…"
He was frozen in place, his hand still a vise on her arm, the drenched fabric in midair. The Phantom was too interested in what she had to say to silence her at that moment.
"You said…you said…"
His jaw clenched, impatient for her to finish.
"You gave her a choice? Stay with you, and the Vicomte would live? Or run away and know that, in doing so, she would forfeit his life?"
He nodded stiffly.
Her voice came out as a whisper, and she took a bold step closer to him. "If she had left, and you had killed him, would you have left her alone? Truly? To live her life without you?"
The hand holding the handkerchief dropped to his side, but his hand on her arm held tightly as he pulled her closer. "Never!" he declared.
"Are you ready, then, for her husband to do the same? Hunt you down, making you flee with your prize, not being able to have your little songbird perform in front of thousands?" Her eyes pleaded, tearing up as she leaned into his chest. He looked down at her to meet her sorrowful gaze. "Are you willing to abandon Phantasma, your life's true work, a labor of love…for her?"
His head tilted in silent contemplation.
"I knew, I knew that something was wrong," Christine's voice rang out in the heavy moment. Erik and Meg stepped away from each other and faced the diva. She was still in full costume. "I finished my song and came straight here. Meg, you know when I am distressed. I daresay, I'm quite knowledgeable when it comes to your moods as well, even after all these years apart."
Erik grabbed Meg's upper arm and pulled her toward the door. Christine watched with her mouth agape, wondering what could have transpired between them. He shoved the former ballerina through the door and spoke so that only she could hear him.
"You'll regret this," he threatened, then closed the door to shut her out.
Meg paused, utterly confused about what to do next. Should I go back inside? Is Gustave safe? Is Christine safe? What can I do? She listened for a minute, her ear straining to hear anything on the other side of the thick plank of wood. She heard nothing.
Something in her broke, then. For seemingly no reason at all. She felt weighted down by the emotional convergence of everything the past week had put her through. Trudging back to her room, she was too tired to yawn. Too exhausted to cry. Too beleaguered to care. About anything.
By the time she made it to her door, she made a decision.
In Christine's room, the married woman crossed to the bedroom to check on her son. Gustave was, miraculously, still fast asleep, and unburdened by the drama that had apparently taken place before her arrival. She closed the bedroom off and only then looked to the Phantom, who was staring at the door he had closed on Meg.
She sat on the sofa, her gown uncomfortably restricting her breath. Eventually, the Phantom turned and walked toward her. He looked restless, annoyed, impatient. His eyes darted to anything but her, and Christine had the distinct feeling that he wished to pace the floor to release some of the energy flowing through him.
"Is there something you want to say, Erik?"
He looked at her, then. It was his turn to drop his jaw at hearing his love speak his given name for the very first time. But it wasn't what he wanted to hear. Years of waiting for her, years of wanting her to call out to him lovingly…but not like this. Not taunting. It made him angry.
"She told you my name?"
"No, she didn't, actually."
He scoffed at the denial. Curse you, you little lying Delilah…
"How long has Meg known your name, then? Your real name?" she calmly questioned.
"I don't want to talk about her!"
"And I don't wish to talk about anything else, so I'm afraid we're at an impasse." She stood up with enough confidence to make a charging animal retreat. "Either answer my questions, or leave me to retire for the night. I have three shows tomorrow, and my contract with you is fulfilled. Then, Raoul, Gustave, and I will leave Coney Island."
"No more talk of taking Meg with you? Leaving your poor friend to the mercy of the savage Phantom?" His tone was acidic.
Christine studied him, before answering. "I would never force her to leave. And nothing I say seems to change her mind. Unlike present company, I cannot fathom tearing her away from where she wishes to be."
Erik smiled triumphantly, despite the attack to his character. It's not ideal, but I will postpone taking her child until tomorrow. During the first show, as soon as-
"I answered your questions. The least you can do is answer mine."
He was pulled from his scheming with her confusing words. The look on his face was enough to convey this, as Christine continued.
"How long has Meg known your name? How did she find it out?"
"I told her," he spoke without giving a thought. The answer was reflexive. Simple.
"When?"
He narrowed his eyes at the emphasized word. Why does she care to know? "Eight years ago."
Christine gave a shrewd smile, putting a puzzle together piece by piece that only she could see. She slowly lowered herself to be seated. "Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised she wouldn't share it with me. Unless…did you order her not to tell me?"
"No." Why are we still talking about Meg? Why am I answering her?
"Why did you tell her your name?"
"She asked," he blurted out.
Christine nodded. "I never did."
"No." Why didn't you ever ask me, Christine? How could you be satisfied with calling me "Angel" or "Phantom," once you knew I was a man?
"Do you wish I had asked for you to tell me your real name?"
He paused, thrown off by her pulling the question from the thoughts that were still fogging up his mind. He was confused and worried about where this conversation would lead.
"Yes."
"And surely you must know, deep down you must know…why I never did," she spoke evenly. Unaffected by the monster in her room. He held his breath. Whatever came next would be hurtful, he knew it. "First you were my angel. The Angel of Music. Sent by my father in heaven. Who asks an angel for his name? Either it is given to you, or it is withheld. I had your title, that was enough.
"But then, that night in my dressing room after Hannibal, you appear in my mirror. And as soon as I take your hand, the idyllic picture is replaced. With you. The Phantom of the Opera. A man, a mortal being who terrorizes our theater. I realize, in that moment, that you are no angel. You only manipulated me into believing those lies. And I was a fool to trust you so blindly. Why would I want or need to know the name of the Opera Ghost?
"And still, there was magic in that moment. I saw beautiful things, heard beautiful things. But I awoke from that trance, and sought you, hoping that there was something in your soul that was redeemable."
"You unmasked me, stripping me of my dignity," he spat through gritted teeth. "And then you recoiled in horror at what you saw!"
"I was terrified by your appearance, initially, but you rounded on me in the next instant, roaring at me and threatening me. That was what made me 'recoil in horror,' more so than your face."
Erik paused, again, remembering the interaction from so long ago. He could recall the fury he felt, when he had been so unceremoniously unmasked. "You little viper! Now you cannot ever be free! Damn you! Curse you!"
"I don't think I will ever understand how she can love a cruel man like you."
The statement was too stark a transition for him to process it correctly. His mind was still in the past. He squinted his eyes at the brunette and repeated her words in his head, but they made no sense. Before he could say anything to refute the sentence, Christine continued.
"When you returned me to the Opera House, my thoughts, when it came to you, were of one thing and one thing only: escape. I don't know what you've done to Meg, but I fear that you will be her undoing." She stood, wearily. "I can't take her away from you because that's the one thing she doesn't want. And I am not cruel. Not like you."
Christine walked to her bedroom, but paused with her hand on the door handle. She turned toward him again and saw that he was waiting for something more.
"You don't deserve her love."
She opened the door slowly, quietly. When she walked through the door, she went to close it behind her. His strapping, black-clad form was still there. A statue in the middle of the room.
"Leave me, Phantom."