"No."

"But, Emilie can…"

"Stop."

"I need to tell you…"

"At the moment I do not care about Emilie or Gustave or Joshua or Angelique or Margaret or Henry – is that all of them? All our children?" Christine says with a raised eyebrow and a petulant moue pursing her lips. She flops down on the long sofa in the Eyrie. Slipping off her leather pumps, she tucks her feet under her, pushing a loose hairpin in the chignon at the back of her neck. "I feel as though I missed someone." Closing her eyes for a moment, she nods, saying softly almost to herself. "Belle. Yes, even you, my little Belle – for now, even you."

Erik nods. "That would seem to be all of them." Taking a seat beside her, he wonders: What is this all about? Christine's odd recital and seeming lack of concern about their offspring is so unlike her. "Nadir…"

Pressing her slim fingers against his lips, she continues, "Nor do I care about Nadir, Adele, Gloria, Alexander, Veronique, Gregory, Raoul or Meg – most especially Meg."

Ah! "What happened with Meg?"

"Not now."

"But…"

"Shhh. Did I miss anyone?"

"Julia and Helen…. The list is endless, I agree…but Nadir agreed to teach Emilie Farsi – I thought you would like to know," he blunders on. "You know, so she can read the Rubaiyat."

"Erik Edward Charles Saint-Rein also known as Mister Y and formerly known as the Opera Ghost and the Phantom of the Opera hear me: I do not want to talk about our children or any other beings on this planet right now...is that clear?"

"I do not understand. At the end of the day, when work is finished, we always discuss what happened…the children. The work. The house."

"Not today. Did not Omar Khayyam himself say: Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life." Normally full lips form a straight line – her eyes no longer liquid, more like the gemstone than the water their color represents.

"I suppose he did." Erik cocks his head. "What is special about today – this moment, if you will, to have you so adamant?" A rush of adrenalin turns his stomach. Not sure if he should continue speaking or try to remember what anniversary he has forgotten, for certainly something of that sort is bothering Christine. The flame in her aquamarine eyes is informing him it is just that.

"Oh, do not look so terrified, you have not forgotten our wedding anniversary or my birthday."

"Well, thank God for that, after the one time – one time – I lapsed, I made it a point to write all such significant events on my desk calendar and nothing jumped out at me today."

"You did that?"

"My dear, there is nothing in life I hate more would be forgetting a day you or, if I may mention them now, our children hold close to their hearts."

"You are a most attentive and loving husband and father."

"Thank you. I aim to please." Taking a deep breath, he continues, "May I ask, then, why you are acting as if I had forgotten something I should have remembered? I am puzzled and at a loss."

"Well, it is an anniversary of sorts."

"At least I have not gone completely daft. You are somewhat transparent when it comes to celebrating events – some of which I will never understand, like the first date I spoke to you through the mirror."

"You do not think that was important?" she retorts, pouting, moving slightly away from him, smoothing the lace bib of her silk blouse.

Holding up his hand, he waves his fingers at her, attempting to backtrack. "In those days I was not particularly aware of dates. I seldom knew if it was morning or night, or the day of the week in some instances, much less the month, day and year. While I did know the days of the week in general because of the performances and rehearsal schedules, my habit was simply to wander about and if I heard activity, would assume it was daytime. When I heard you singing, I was making my rounds, which I explained to you later – once you knew I was a man and not an angel…"

"Stop. Stop," she says laughing. "You are the master of distraction, my loving husband. Blathering on until you think I have forgotten what I was talking about."

"You admit, though, that my recollection of that particular date was really expecting a lot from a befuddled man who had suddenly become an angel," he says. "I must say, however, I was quite honored when you told me you recalled the date. I had no idea my entrance into your life was as significant as yours into mine."

"You are doing it again," she says, shaking her head.

The music returning to her voice visibly relieves his tension. The shoulders beneath his soft cotton shirt relax and a racing heart resumes normal rhythm. "Yes. All right. Fine. I will shut up." Christine's anger is the only thing in life to terrify him. Even something like this, where she is decidedly not upset with him is unsettling.

"Good." Nodding her head, she sniffs and once again adjusts the hairpin in her chignon before fluffing the shortened curls falling over her ears.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to tell me why I am not to mention, um, any other people?"

"Oh, yes, that," she says, rolling her eyes. "You can be quite disconcerting. I quite forgot what we were talking about."

A smug smile crosses his lips.

"Too clever by half."

"A curse, I am afraid," he laughs. "Sometime the gift comes in handy, most often people are annoyed though, as you are now."

"I am just surprised you can still get away with your trickery with me after all these years…which is the point of my not wanting us to be intruded on by any other people – even our children."

Taking her hands in his. "What is it, my love? My angel. My adorable wife. What wonderful moment in our lives have I forgotten – dastardly beast that I am?"

"The carousel. The day we sat watching Gustave on the carousel. When we began our courtship."

"Is that what our walk through Phantasma was – the beginning of our courtship?" he asks, eyebrow raised. "I suppose, you could call it that. I must admit I was not so certain."

"Oh, you were, too," she taps him lightly on the cheek. "That evening was the first real conversation we ever had as real people – all the subterfuge and fear finally left behind. Just a man and a woman who despite all odds loved one another, trying to decide if they could make a life together."

"You were quite adamant about Gustave being your son…not our son."

"Did you really think a courtship should have started with us being parents?"

"Frankly, I was thrilled you wanted to have anything at all to do with me…your determination about making your own way was frustrating, however."

"I had never taken care of myself – even though Pappa and I were without funds many time - he still took care of me."

"Well, you did so – quite admirably." Sliding an arm around her shoulder he pulls her close. "It was a rather odd courtship, I suppose. My ignorance about such situations in general was obvious from our earlier interactions. Coming to call, asking for your hand – those sorts of things – you are my first and only love."

Pulling away, she sits upright. "Even more reason you recall that day."

"I shall never forget that day, however, I believe you are the one who has made a miscalculation."

"Oh, I know this is not that day – it was too close to when Gustave almost died. Every autumn, when we are preparing to close the park, my heart aches and the fear returns. Not so much now – enough time has passed, but..."

"And even more time has passed since we were new to one another."

"Exactly!" she says, taking his hands in hers. "I want to feel that spark of mystery again. Getting to know you as my lover anew."

"After all my work becoming a perfect husband," he groans, pressing a hand against his heart. "You wound me, Christine."

"You dolt – you know what I mean," she giggles. "You are quite perfect in many ways." Eyeing him up and down, her face flushes. "As you well know."

"Yet you want to ride the carousel and eat an ice cream cone?"

"I do. I want to pretend it is just the two of us – while we are still young…"

He clears his throat. "I was hardly young…"

"Younger then – you are much too concerned about your age."

"If I do not concern myself with my age, I might cease to be and there is much more I wish to do in this life."

"Like what?

"To reiterate the words of Omar Khayyam you referred to earlier – let us be happy for this moment." Ride the carousel with you and have that ice cream cone…even having some of that god-awful cotton candy sounds like pure bliss right now."

Clapping her hands, she says, "That would be lovely."

"Perhaps we might even indulge in a ride through the Tunnel of Love?" Removing the recalcitrant hairpin and a few others, allowing her chestnut locks to flow down her back, Erik leans in to nuzzle her ear. "Or simply make use of our personal getaway here?"

"That would somewhat defeat the purpose of pretending we are only just beginning our courtship." Christine's eyes follow his to the doorway at the end of the hall off the main room.

"Would that be so terrible?"

"I suppose not. The carousel is so much more exciting when the sky is dark, and the lights of the boardwalk are on."

"Perhaps then you will tell me what you are really upset about."

"Perhaps. For now, do not press your luck."

Rising from the sofa, he takes both her hands in his, helping her to her feet.

"Should we telephone the children…to tell them we will not be home for dinner?" She asks, as he guides her toward the bedroom.

A soft chuckle precedes a kiss to her forehead. "Children? What children?"