A/N The lyrics at the end of this chapter are from a song I sang in chorus
a couple of years back. I don't know when it came out, but I'm pretty sure
it came out in the last fifty years or so. Oh well!!!! Not to mention I
might have messed up lyrics, and I know I've missed some!
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Chapter 12: Opening Night
Erik still had no idea what had possessed him, in the few minutes Madeline was in such shock at receiving such a beautiful new home, that made him ask her if she'd let him stay in the house with them. Perhaps it was simply because he was tired of living in the worlds of darkness beneath the Opera House. Because he was finally desperate to live in the normal house he'd always dreamed about. The house where he'd always wanted to share with his own family. With Marguerite, Fleur, and Gerard, it seemed being able to stay in the house with them had made that dream come true. The only thing he was missing was a beloved wife. Even though there were no real emotional ties between he and Madeline, it seemed possible for him to picture her in that role, even if it wasn't true. He had his family.
It was a simple matter for Erik to move what was left of his belongings into the home only a block away from the Opera House. In the dead of night, he packed everything from his mothers' room, and a few other things left from his music room, and the Louise Philippe room, and brought them to the house where he was going to live with his new family of absolutely charming women. He gave the bedroom set that had belonged to his mother to Madeline, knowing it was in far better shape than the one left in the house by its' previous owners. He arranged his smaller bedroom so that everything he owned had its' place.
Then, with a desk in the library with all of his books, he began spending his time away from rehearsals re-writing all of the music that had been destroyed by the mob. It was going to be a hefty job, but knew he was perfectly able to handle it. Marguerite and Fleur often tried to tear him away from the task he'd taken it upon himself to complete, but they were happy to just sit and play by themselves in the room if he was concentrating too hard on his music to play with them. In a short amount of time, their life had set into an incredibly comfortable rut.
Every night, Madeline and Erik went upstairs together in order to tuck the twins into bed in their separate rooms. Often times, when they awoke the next morning, they would be found in the same bed, or together in Madeline's bed. Apparently, the move to the larger home was difficult for them to get used to. All of them had always slept in the same bed in the one room apartment he'd taken them from. Erik wasn't overly worried about their behavior by any means. Not until their behavior started disturbing *his* sleep.
The night before 'Don Giovanni' was to open, Erik woke from a sound sleep filled with soft dreams of Christine and him singing together, by a pair of small hands shaking at his shoulder roughly. It rocked his body as he lay on his side, and then another set of hands was shaking his legs. He almost fell off the edge of the bed from the infernal rocking.
"Papa, we can't sleep." Marguerite's little voice reached him as though it came a great distance away. With a groan, Erik rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to realize he'd almost rolled over right onto them. Two pairs of beautiful innocent eyes gazed down at him. "Can we stay tonight with you?"
"Doesn't your Mama usually take you into her bed?" He asked wearily. He needed a good nights sleep if he was going to get through the extra hard day and following night. The girls glanced at each other, then back at him sadly.
"She locked her door." Marguerite breathed, as though the idea of being locked out had devastated her. With a sigh, Erik glanced at his bed. Luckily, it was a good queen sized bed which would fit the three of them.
"All right . . . " He sighed. "Climb in." Then moved down to the foot of the bed so that he could throw down the covers, and then they came to snuggled against him, sandwiching him onto the center of the mattress. They helped him pull the covers back up over them, and then each rested a head on his shoulder. He put his arms around them gently, and simply knew that come morning, his arms would be all pins and needles.
"Papa . . ."
"Quiet, Cherie." He urged pleadingly. "We need to get some sleep, all right? Tomorrow is a very busy day for me. I want to get good sleep."
"Can't you sing to us a little bit?" Marguerite entreated. "It helps us sleep. Like you do when you tuck us in?"
Closing his eyes tightly, Erik simply began to hum. He hummed for what must have been a half hour, until finally his very own singing lulled him to sleep, and the room was filled with sublime silence. The little ones were curled up against him endearingly, one with a hand over Erik's heard, the other sucking on her two middle fingers.
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"Oh . . . not this again! Where's Lucille? . . .Christine? Where's *Erik*?" Monsieur Reyer certainly was in a frantic mood. It was the morning before opening night, and everything seemed to suddenly be falling apart. People were late, costumes didn't fit properly, and voices were cracking left and right. Not to mention that the leading role in their entire opera was late for rehearsals - for the first time ever!
"I don't know, Monsieur." Christine was replying as a stage hand - it happened to be Madeline - tightened the lacings on her dress as she waiting for everything to start settling down. "This is terribly unlike him. I'm sure he has a good excuse for being late."
"I could care less!" Monsieur Reyer exclaimed. "These people need their voices warmed up, and I have enough problems to deal with as it is!"
"Here I am, Monsieur Reyer!"
Erik came running down the isles of the theatre seats, looking a little bit tired, and most definitely winded. But his clothes were immaculate as always, and he came up onto the stage with his usual unending grace. Christine smiled at him warmly as he glanced in her direction, and then turned to finish getting her costume and wig together.
"Erik, Thank God!" Monsieur Reyer sighed heavily. "Please, take them into the practice room and get them warmed up! I have far too much to do in the next hour, and that's the only time I can spare of it!"
"Don't worry about a thing, Monsieur Reyer." Erik said gently, trying to calm the man down a bit. "Everything is going to go smoothly tonight. Everyone has been perfect thus far. Nothing is going to change that within these few hours."
"Aren't you even nervous about your debut?" The choral instructor asked, looking at Erik with astonished eyes. Erik simply chuckled.
"Should I be?" He asked. Then, he turned and motioned for those Monsieur Reyer had indicated to follow him into the nearest practice room. Christine followed, quickly catching up to his side.
"What happened this morning?" She whispered to him as they moved down the corridor. He shook his head, sighing for a long moment.
"I hadn't realized that two little girls could be so heavy when they were fast asleep across your belly." He murmured. "They decided that they couldn't sleep unless they came into my bed last night and had me sing them back to sleep."
"Oh, lord, Erik!" Christine giggled. "You're taking this father routine far too seriously!"
"I don't believe that I am." He said defensively, but good-naturedly. Then, he opened the practice room door, walked over to the piano, and began warm ups without a single hesitation. It took a moment for everyone to get situated and start singing along with him.
Erik winced almost immediately. Monsieur Reyer had been right. These people needed help this morning! Sighing, he simply shook his head, and took them through a forty-five minutes worth of warm up exercises until they were perfectly pitched once more.
"Those who have sore throats must drink plenty of tea." He instructed. "Tea with honey, but only a tiny bit of it. It will help your voices, unless you take too much. After rehearsal, take tea with lemon. Then I want you to again drink tea with honey before warm ups tonight. After the performance, more tea with lemon. Do you understand?"
Everyone nodded. Satisfied, Erik stood from the piano and simply walked away from them to hurry to his dressing room and get into costume. It was barely eight o'clock in the morning. Usually rehearsals didn't start until ten or so. Yet today was going to be hectic and busy. It always was, the day before a performance.
"Erik?" A knock came at the dressing room door, just as he was straightening out his costume. "Monsieur Reyer wants to talk to you on stage."
"All right." He called out. "Thank you, Christine."
Looking at himself in the mirror, he huffed out a weary sigh.
"How did you ever get involved in all this to begin with, old man?" He asked himself mockingly. The answer, of course, was a kiss. A kiss was what had started it all. Every time that answer came to his mind, his mouth began to tingle as though Christine's lips were still pressed to his. Yet he was finally starting to get over just a little bit of the heartache he always felt when thinking of her with the Vicomte.
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"They love you, Erik! I knew they would!"
He stood staring out beyond the brightness of the staging lights that blinded the cast through most of the performance. The crowd was deafening him with applause and cheers. They had been for several minutes. Behind him, much of the cast was applauding and cheering for him as well, along with many of the stage hands and the orchestra. The cast behind him on stage was stomping there feet, shaking the planks under him. He didn't know how to react to such admiration. It was the first time he'd ever been acknowledge for his talent with music, and that alone. For what had to have been the twelfth time, he bowed to the crowd before him humbly. He then stepped back, reaching out insistently for the hands of Christine and Monsieur Jacques Lefeúre - the man who had played Leporello -- so that they would join him in one final bow. They took his hands easily enough, bowing with him several times before the curtain finally closed before them, blocking out all the light and most of the sound beyond.
Christine turned immediately, throwing her arms around Erik's shoulders excitedly. There were tears in her eyes. Erik didn't realize it, but he himself was having a bit of trouble seeing for the same reasons. Yet he wasn't openly crying. He had too much will power to do that. He squeezed her against him tightly in an equally impassioned hug, kissing her cheeks and then giving her a very quick but sincere little kiss of affection on the mouth.
"I knew they would love you!" She whispered into his ear fiercely. "I knew they would love you just as much as I do!"
Erik drew back, staring at her with mildly shocked eyes. He saw a blush add itself to the heat that infused her cheeks, and then laughed, touching her face lightly. She blushed more, and then shook her head, reaching up as though to slap him playfully. Yet she didn't even touch him.
"Don't give me that look! You knew what I meant!"
"Did I?" He asked saucily, thumbing her under the chin so that he lifted it quickly in a teasing gesture. "Careful what you say, Cherie."
She laughed, and he turned to congratulate Jacques with equal excitement.
"You stole the ladies hearts tonight with that delightful character." He said admirably. Jacques laughed, shaking his head.
"No, no, no . . ." He insisted. "You yourself will have your fair share of admirers after tonight! I bet your room will soon be filled with invitations when you get there."
"Possibly." He admitted. It wasn't so unusual for women to send invitations of all sorts to the male opera stars they admired. Men did it do the Prima Donnas and Prima Ballerina's. Why shouldn't women send men tokens of affection? "I'll see you in the morning, Jacques."
Turning, he headed off stage and towards his dressing room. He found it odd that very few people that had nothing to do with the production were about. Usually there were swarms of opera fans attempting to reach the dressing rooms. When Christine caught up to him from on stage, she leaned up to whisper into his ear as though she knew some juicy gossip.
"They had to lock down this wing of the Opera House." She whispered. "Apparently . . . your voice has made these people go mad! They're swarming the back stage doors!"
Erik frowned a bit, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of some people. For Heaven's sake! It was only a singing voice! Certainly, it was a very good singing voice, but there was no need to trample the Opera House to get a hold of him. He certainly didn't want to leave the usual way if he had to walk through that.
"Monsieur Erik! Monsieur Erik - wait a moment!"
Turning, he and Christine watched as Meg Giry came running towards them eagerly, still in her ballet costume, her hair let mostly loose except for a ribbon that gathered some of the long strands back from the her temples. Her soft shoes made light slaps against the floor under the pounding of her ungraceful run.
"I have something for you that someone asked me to bring to you!"
"Oh . . ." Was all he said, accepting the envelope that Meg handed to him. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Giry. Thank you very much."
He then turned without any further niceties, and moved into his room. Christine stared after him for a long moment, as though she wanted to follow. But Meg was already talking her ear off excitedly. When Erik closed the door to his room behind him, she sighed and turned to smile at Meg happily, abruptly becoming just as excited as the slightly older girl. In his room, Erik rubbed at his temples briefly to calm himself from the exhilaration before tearing open the envelope, and unfolding the sheet of paper inside.
Dear Monsieur Génie,
I greatly admired your talent tonight. You have one of the greatest voices that I have ever heard. Congratulations on your success tonight.
I have heard my share of voices, Monsieur, and I find you to have the greatest in the world. I am a patron of the Opera House, and therefore have contacts with much of the staff. When speaking to Monsieur Reyer briefly during tonight's intermission, he mentioned that you often helped him in being a vocal coach to the principal cast who worked along beside you, and that you are one of the greatest voice tutors he has ever met.
As you might have guessed, I have a proposition for you. My daughter is seventeen years old, and I would very much like it if you would accept a tidy sum of 800 francs per lesson to be her voice instructor. I believe she has a sweet voice, and could one day challenge Mademoiselle Daaé to a fine vocal duel one day. Not that I would allow her to do so. I simply believe that she has a talent that should be further explored and developed. Please consider my request Monsieur. I shall eagerly await your reply.
Madame Develõngê
Erik wondered to himself why a woman would be willing to pay so much for her daughter to receive vocal lessons. As he moved further into his room, as he'd barely stepped away from the door, he crumpled the letter and tossed it onto the vanity set against the wall. No doubt the woman's daughter was a pampered little brat like the Raoul. Yet if she had a reasonably attractive voice, Erik could well find it in his total disdain for spoiled brats to tutor her. He didn't have to be afraid of bringing out the girls full potential. After all, very few aristocrats would accept their child going into such careers as those found at the Opera. All women actresses - including Opera singers - were often considered fallen women. That stereotype, of course, made him infuriated that they might think that of his darling Christine.
Yet they loved her even if they believed her to be a fallen woman.
After he had changed from his costume and washed all of the ridiculous stage make up from his face, Erik moved back to the door, and stepped out into the hallway. The corridors were quiet, except for behind a few closed doors where others had undoubtedly just gotten the chance to change. The only door open was at the very far end of the hall. . . away from the others. The light poured in a warm glow out onto the wooden floors of the hallway.
"Christine, are you still there?"
"Yes, Erik, I'm here." She called back, the sound of her voice obviously quite pleased. Yet he stopped moving towards her room when he heard another voice inside.
"That voice still sounds extremely familiar."
"Really, Raoul, you're letting your imagination run away with you. You've never heard him sing before your entire life. This was his debut."
Sighing, Erik continued moving until he stood in the doorway to Christine's dressing room. In the middle of it stood Raoul, watching as his wife brushed out her hair. They both looked at him with quiet smiles, although Christine looked at him over her shoulder through the reflections in her vanity mirror. She was dressed, but apparently just fixing her hair.
"You outdid yourself tonight, Christine." Erik said quietly. "I just wanted to congratulate you on a booming success. And . . . speak to you privately for just three minutes if it's all right."
Raoul immediately seemed on guard as such a request, but Christine nodded immediately. She turned to look at Raoul expectantly. After a long moment, he let out a huffed sigh, and stalked from the room. Erik took his place, and closed the door behind him. Moving over to Christine, he took her hands to lightly kiss them, and then whispered.
"Might I be allowed to use your mirror, Mademoiselle? I can't exactly go out the crowded exits. Do you understand?"
"Of course I understand, Erik." She chuckled, reached up to lightly touch his cheek. Erik was tempted to give her another kiss, on any part of her face would have been fine with him. The moment was perfectly acceptable for it. Especially after emotions had been running so high all night. It had been a wonderful night. "Go right ahead."
"Thank you, ma Cherie." He said softly. "I will see you at our next rehearsal, dearest. Take care of your beautiful, beautiful voice."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that." She promised quietly. As Erik moved towards the mirror, she turned to again brush her long hair. Then, before she could even follow his motions, he was gone, and the mirror was firmly closed behind him. She laughed. "Erik, you are incorrigible." She breathed.
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"Papa!"
Marguerite tackled Erik when he walked through the door at quarter past midnight that evening. He nearly fell back against the front door as it he locked it behind him, and then finally caught the little bundle of energy up in his arms. She had gained a perfectly healthy amount of weight since when he'd first met her. She was getting heavy, just like her sister. It was about time he saw at least some meat on her bones.
"Marguerite!" He exclaimed softly, assuming that everyone else in the house was fast asleep. "What on earth are you doing up at a time like this? It's very much past your bed time!"
"Mama came home from the Opera saying I could wait up for you." She insisted. "Besides . . . I couldn't sleep! Erik, was it truly wonderful? Was everyone beautiful, and were their voices just as pretty? Mama said it was beyond her wildest dreams!"
He laughed, kissing her cheeks softly. Madeline had been at the performance that evening, but not in the audience. To earn a little bit extra money, which is always helpful, she agreed to work during performances as a costume girl. She did more than just help out with the costumes, though. If any of the stage hands needed help in doing anything at all, she was there. Of course she couldn't very well have painted the sets they were using as the performance was occurring. So they found different odd jobs for her to do. She'd even helped the box keepers during intermission when everyone was calling on them all at once.
"Everything was perfect." He promised her. "Maybe next time, I'll let you come and watch the Opera. Would you like that? You'd have the best seats in the house."
"Really?" She exclaimed happily, hugging him so tightly that she nearly strangled him. Erik hushed her gently, and began walking upstairs with her in his arms. "Papa . . . you're going to tuck me in, aren't you?"
"I would never miss a night of tucking you in, Cherie." He whispered soothingly. "At least you're in your nightgown already."
Moving into her room, he lay her gently down on the bed, drew the covers up over her, and kissed her forehead. She put her arms on top of the blankets, folded them on her chest, and then smiled as he put his hands over hers - just as he always did. He leaned down until their faces were only inches apart - just like always.
"What do you want me to sing for you tonight?" He asked in a whisper- soft voice. Marguerite seemed to think this over for an endless moment, and he smiled. Even having been awake for nearly nineteen hours, he wasn't lacking one bit in patience. Not where she was concerned. Finally, she shrugged. "Shall I decide for you?"
She nodded.
"All right."
He thought for a long moment himself, and then nodded, smiling with inspiration.
"Seasons come and seasons go, and some how they were meant to show that life and love are never really gone. So when my journey here is through, I'm certain there is just a new hello. And so, when I travel on . . .
Let me be the music. Let me be the music of love I have known. Let me be the melodies in the wind and the trees that sing to the lost and alone.
Let me be the sweet refrain. The sound of the rain. The sweet refrain of a rippling stream. Let me be the lullabies that close the eyes of children, when they dream. . . For music has no walls or bars. It bridges time and space. It only asks the senses to surrender. It sweeps us through the stars and makes us one with its' embrace. It had no fences. It has no gender. . . Let me be the melodies, through the wind and the trees, that blossom and grow. . .
Oh let me be the music . . . To live again as music! Oh let me be the music . . . when . . . I . . . go!"
Marguerite was asleep when he finally kissed her for the final time that night, and he stood to watch her for a long minute. Smiling, he backed out of the room, leaving her door slightly ajar as she always insisted on having it. Then, he crept into Fleur's room. She was fast asleep, as he had expected her to be. He leaned down over the bed to give her a kiss on the forehead. He watched her shift and roll onto her side under the pile of blankets that covered her small frame, and then he moved into his room.
How oddly fulfilled he felt as he slipped between the covers of his own bed, and closed his eyes.
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Chapter 12: Opening Night
Erik still had no idea what had possessed him, in the few minutes Madeline was in such shock at receiving such a beautiful new home, that made him ask her if she'd let him stay in the house with them. Perhaps it was simply because he was tired of living in the worlds of darkness beneath the Opera House. Because he was finally desperate to live in the normal house he'd always dreamed about. The house where he'd always wanted to share with his own family. With Marguerite, Fleur, and Gerard, it seemed being able to stay in the house with them had made that dream come true. The only thing he was missing was a beloved wife. Even though there were no real emotional ties between he and Madeline, it seemed possible for him to picture her in that role, even if it wasn't true. He had his family.
It was a simple matter for Erik to move what was left of his belongings into the home only a block away from the Opera House. In the dead of night, he packed everything from his mothers' room, and a few other things left from his music room, and the Louise Philippe room, and brought them to the house where he was going to live with his new family of absolutely charming women. He gave the bedroom set that had belonged to his mother to Madeline, knowing it was in far better shape than the one left in the house by its' previous owners. He arranged his smaller bedroom so that everything he owned had its' place.
Then, with a desk in the library with all of his books, he began spending his time away from rehearsals re-writing all of the music that had been destroyed by the mob. It was going to be a hefty job, but knew he was perfectly able to handle it. Marguerite and Fleur often tried to tear him away from the task he'd taken it upon himself to complete, but they were happy to just sit and play by themselves in the room if he was concentrating too hard on his music to play with them. In a short amount of time, their life had set into an incredibly comfortable rut.
Every night, Madeline and Erik went upstairs together in order to tuck the twins into bed in their separate rooms. Often times, when they awoke the next morning, they would be found in the same bed, or together in Madeline's bed. Apparently, the move to the larger home was difficult for them to get used to. All of them had always slept in the same bed in the one room apartment he'd taken them from. Erik wasn't overly worried about their behavior by any means. Not until their behavior started disturbing *his* sleep.
The night before 'Don Giovanni' was to open, Erik woke from a sound sleep filled with soft dreams of Christine and him singing together, by a pair of small hands shaking at his shoulder roughly. It rocked his body as he lay on his side, and then another set of hands was shaking his legs. He almost fell off the edge of the bed from the infernal rocking.
"Papa, we can't sleep." Marguerite's little voice reached him as though it came a great distance away. With a groan, Erik rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to realize he'd almost rolled over right onto them. Two pairs of beautiful innocent eyes gazed down at him. "Can we stay tonight with you?"
"Doesn't your Mama usually take you into her bed?" He asked wearily. He needed a good nights sleep if he was going to get through the extra hard day and following night. The girls glanced at each other, then back at him sadly.
"She locked her door." Marguerite breathed, as though the idea of being locked out had devastated her. With a sigh, Erik glanced at his bed. Luckily, it was a good queen sized bed which would fit the three of them.
"All right . . . " He sighed. "Climb in." Then moved down to the foot of the bed so that he could throw down the covers, and then they came to snuggled against him, sandwiching him onto the center of the mattress. They helped him pull the covers back up over them, and then each rested a head on his shoulder. He put his arms around them gently, and simply knew that come morning, his arms would be all pins and needles.
"Papa . . ."
"Quiet, Cherie." He urged pleadingly. "We need to get some sleep, all right? Tomorrow is a very busy day for me. I want to get good sleep."
"Can't you sing to us a little bit?" Marguerite entreated. "It helps us sleep. Like you do when you tuck us in?"
Closing his eyes tightly, Erik simply began to hum. He hummed for what must have been a half hour, until finally his very own singing lulled him to sleep, and the room was filled with sublime silence. The little ones were curled up against him endearingly, one with a hand over Erik's heard, the other sucking on her two middle fingers.
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"Oh . . . not this again! Where's Lucille? . . .Christine? Where's *Erik*?" Monsieur Reyer certainly was in a frantic mood. It was the morning before opening night, and everything seemed to suddenly be falling apart. People were late, costumes didn't fit properly, and voices were cracking left and right. Not to mention that the leading role in their entire opera was late for rehearsals - for the first time ever!
"I don't know, Monsieur." Christine was replying as a stage hand - it happened to be Madeline - tightened the lacings on her dress as she waiting for everything to start settling down. "This is terribly unlike him. I'm sure he has a good excuse for being late."
"I could care less!" Monsieur Reyer exclaimed. "These people need their voices warmed up, and I have enough problems to deal with as it is!"
"Here I am, Monsieur Reyer!"
Erik came running down the isles of the theatre seats, looking a little bit tired, and most definitely winded. But his clothes were immaculate as always, and he came up onto the stage with his usual unending grace. Christine smiled at him warmly as he glanced in her direction, and then turned to finish getting her costume and wig together.
"Erik, Thank God!" Monsieur Reyer sighed heavily. "Please, take them into the practice room and get them warmed up! I have far too much to do in the next hour, and that's the only time I can spare of it!"
"Don't worry about a thing, Monsieur Reyer." Erik said gently, trying to calm the man down a bit. "Everything is going to go smoothly tonight. Everyone has been perfect thus far. Nothing is going to change that within these few hours."
"Aren't you even nervous about your debut?" The choral instructor asked, looking at Erik with astonished eyes. Erik simply chuckled.
"Should I be?" He asked. Then, he turned and motioned for those Monsieur Reyer had indicated to follow him into the nearest practice room. Christine followed, quickly catching up to his side.
"What happened this morning?" She whispered to him as they moved down the corridor. He shook his head, sighing for a long moment.
"I hadn't realized that two little girls could be so heavy when they were fast asleep across your belly." He murmured. "They decided that they couldn't sleep unless they came into my bed last night and had me sing them back to sleep."
"Oh, lord, Erik!" Christine giggled. "You're taking this father routine far too seriously!"
"I don't believe that I am." He said defensively, but good-naturedly. Then, he opened the practice room door, walked over to the piano, and began warm ups without a single hesitation. It took a moment for everyone to get situated and start singing along with him.
Erik winced almost immediately. Monsieur Reyer had been right. These people needed help this morning! Sighing, he simply shook his head, and took them through a forty-five minutes worth of warm up exercises until they were perfectly pitched once more.
"Those who have sore throats must drink plenty of tea." He instructed. "Tea with honey, but only a tiny bit of it. It will help your voices, unless you take too much. After rehearsal, take tea with lemon. Then I want you to again drink tea with honey before warm ups tonight. After the performance, more tea with lemon. Do you understand?"
Everyone nodded. Satisfied, Erik stood from the piano and simply walked away from them to hurry to his dressing room and get into costume. It was barely eight o'clock in the morning. Usually rehearsals didn't start until ten or so. Yet today was going to be hectic and busy. It always was, the day before a performance.
"Erik?" A knock came at the dressing room door, just as he was straightening out his costume. "Monsieur Reyer wants to talk to you on stage."
"All right." He called out. "Thank you, Christine."
Looking at himself in the mirror, he huffed out a weary sigh.
"How did you ever get involved in all this to begin with, old man?" He asked himself mockingly. The answer, of course, was a kiss. A kiss was what had started it all. Every time that answer came to his mind, his mouth began to tingle as though Christine's lips were still pressed to his. Yet he was finally starting to get over just a little bit of the heartache he always felt when thinking of her with the Vicomte.
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"They love you, Erik! I knew they would!"
He stood staring out beyond the brightness of the staging lights that blinded the cast through most of the performance. The crowd was deafening him with applause and cheers. They had been for several minutes. Behind him, much of the cast was applauding and cheering for him as well, along with many of the stage hands and the orchestra. The cast behind him on stage was stomping there feet, shaking the planks under him. He didn't know how to react to such admiration. It was the first time he'd ever been acknowledge for his talent with music, and that alone. For what had to have been the twelfth time, he bowed to the crowd before him humbly. He then stepped back, reaching out insistently for the hands of Christine and Monsieur Jacques Lefeúre - the man who had played Leporello -- so that they would join him in one final bow. They took his hands easily enough, bowing with him several times before the curtain finally closed before them, blocking out all the light and most of the sound beyond.
Christine turned immediately, throwing her arms around Erik's shoulders excitedly. There were tears in her eyes. Erik didn't realize it, but he himself was having a bit of trouble seeing for the same reasons. Yet he wasn't openly crying. He had too much will power to do that. He squeezed her against him tightly in an equally impassioned hug, kissing her cheeks and then giving her a very quick but sincere little kiss of affection on the mouth.
"I knew they would love you!" She whispered into his ear fiercely. "I knew they would love you just as much as I do!"
Erik drew back, staring at her with mildly shocked eyes. He saw a blush add itself to the heat that infused her cheeks, and then laughed, touching her face lightly. She blushed more, and then shook her head, reaching up as though to slap him playfully. Yet she didn't even touch him.
"Don't give me that look! You knew what I meant!"
"Did I?" He asked saucily, thumbing her under the chin so that he lifted it quickly in a teasing gesture. "Careful what you say, Cherie."
She laughed, and he turned to congratulate Jacques with equal excitement.
"You stole the ladies hearts tonight with that delightful character." He said admirably. Jacques laughed, shaking his head.
"No, no, no . . ." He insisted. "You yourself will have your fair share of admirers after tonight! I bet your room will soon be filled with invitations when you get there."
"Possibly." He admitted. It wasn't so unusual for women to send invitations of all sorts to the male opera stars they admired. Men did it do the Prima Donnas and Prima Ballerina's. Why shouldn't women send men tokens of affection? "I'll see you in the morning, Jacques."
Turning, he headed off stage and towards his dressing room. He found it odd that very few people that had nothing to do with the production were about. Usually there were swarms of opera fans attempting to reach the dressing rooms. When Christine caught up to him from on stage, she leaned up to whisper into his ear as though she knew some juicy gossip.
"They had to lock down this wing of the Opera House." She whispered. "Apparently . . . your voice has made these people go mad! They're swarming the back stage doors!"
Erik frowned a bit, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of some people. For Heaven's sake! It was only a singing voice! Certainly, it was a very good singing voice, but there was no need to trample the Opera House to get a hold of him. He certainly didn't want to leave the usual way if he had to walk through that.
"Monsieur Erik! Monsieur Erik - wait a moment!"
Turning, he and Christine watched as Meg Giry came running towards them eagerly, still in her ballet costume, her hair let mostly loose except for a ribbon that gathered some of the long strands back from the her temples. Her soft shoes made light slaps against the floor under the pounding of her ungraceful run.
"I have something for you that someone asked me to bring to you!"
"Oh . . ." Was all he said, accepting the envelope that Meg handed to him. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Giry. Thank you very much."
He then turned without any further niceties, and moved into his room. Christine stared after him for a long moment, as though she wanted to follow. But Meg was already talking her ear off excitedly. When Erik closed the door to his room behind him, she sighed and turned to smile at Meg happily, abruptly becoming just as excited as the slightly older girl. In his room, Erik rubbed at his temples briefly to calm himself from the exhilaration before tearing open the envelope, and unfolding the sheet of paper inside.
Dear Monsieur Génie,
I greatly admired your talent tonight. You have one of the greatest voices that I have ever heard. Congratulations on your success tonight.
I have heard my share of voices, Monsieur, and I find you to have the greatest in the world. I am a patron of the Opera House, and therefore have contacts with much of the staff. When speaking to Monsieur Reyer briefly during tonight's intermission, he mentioned that you often helped him in being a vocal coach to the principal cast who worked along beside you, and that you are one of the greatest voice tutors he has ever met.
As you might have guessed, I have a proposition for you. My daughter is seventeen years old, and I would very much like it if you would accept a tidy sum of 800 francs per lesson to be her voice instructor. I believe she has a sweet voice, and could one day challenge Mademoiselle Daaé to a fine vocal duel one day. Not that I would allow her to do so. I simply believe that she has a talent that should be further explored and developed. Please consider my request Monsieur. I shall eagerly await your reply.
Madame Develõngê
Erik wondered to himself why a woman would be willing to pay so much for her daughter to receive vocal lessons. As he moved further into his room, as he'd barely stepped away from the door, he crumpled the letter and tossed it onto the vanity set against the wall. No doubt the woman's daughter was a pampered little brat like the Raoul. Yet if she had a reasonably attractive voice, Erik could well find it in his total disdain for spoiled brats to tutor her. He didn't have to be afraid of bringing out the girls full potential. After all, very few aristocrats would accept their child going into such careers as those found at the Opera. All women actresses - including Opera singers - were often considered fallen women. That stereotype, of course, made him infuriated that they might think that of his darling Christine.
Yet they loved her even if they believed her to be a fallen woman.
After he had changed from his costume and washed all of the ridiculous stage make up from his face, Erik moved back to the door, and stepped out into the hallway. The corridors were quiet, except for behind a few closed doors where others had undoubtedly just gotten the chance to change. The only door open was at the very far end of the hall. . . away from the others. The light poured in a warm glow out onto the wooden floors of the hallway.
"Christine, are you still there?"
"Yes, Erik, I'm here." She called back, the sound of her voice obviously quite pleased. Yet he stopped moving towards her room when he heard another voice inside.
"That voice still sounds extremely familiar."
"Really, Raoul, you're letting your imagination run away with you. You've never heard him sing before your entire life. This was his debut."
Sighing, Erik continued moving until he stood in the doorway to Christine's dressing room. In the middle of it stood Raoul, watching as his wife brushed out her hair. They both looked at him with quiet smiles, although Christine looked at him over her shoulder through the reflections in her vanity mirror. She was dressed, but apparently just fixing her hair.
"You outdid yourself tonight, Christine." Erik said quietly. "I just wanted to congratulate you on a booming success. And . . . speak to you privately for just three minutes if it's all right."
Raoul immediately seemed on guard as such a request, but Christine nodded immediately. She turned to look at Raoul expectantly. After a long moment, he let out a huffed sigh, and stalked from the room. Erik took his place, and closed the door behind him. Moving over to Christine, he took her hands to lightly kiss them, and then whispered.
"Might I be allowed to use your mirror, Mademoiselle? I can't exactly go out the crowded exits. Do you understand?"
"Of course I understand, Erik." She chuckled, reached up to lightly touch his cheek. Erik was tempted to give her another kiss, on any part of her face would have been fine with him. The moment was perfectly acceptable for it. Especially after emotions had been running so high all night. It had been a wonderful night. "Go right ahead."
"Thank you, ma Cherie." He said softly. "I will see you at our next rehearsal, dearest. Take care of your beautiful, beautiful voice."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that." She promised quietly. As Erik moved towards the mirror, she turned to again brush her long hair. Then, before she could even follow his motions, he was gone, and the mirror was firmly closed behind him. She laughed. "Erik, you are incorrigible." She breathed.
/////////////////----------------------------------- ///////////////////////////////////
"Papa!"
Marguerite tackled Erik when he walked through the door at quarter past midnight that evening. He nearly fell back against the front door as it he locked it behind him, and then finally caught the little bundle of energy up in his arms. She had gained a perfectly healthy amount of weight since when he'd first met her. She was getting heavy, just like her sister. It was about time he saw at least some meat on her bones.
"Marguerite!" He exclaimed softly, assuming that everyone else in the house was fast asleep. "What on earth are you doing up at a time like this? It's very much past your bed time!"
"Mama came home from the Opera saying I could wait up for you." She insisted. "Besides . . . I couldn't sleep! Erik, was it truly wonderful? Was everyone beautiful, and were their voices just as pretty? Mama said it was beyond her wildest dreams!"
He laughed, kissing her cheeks softly. Madeline had been at the performance that evening, but not in the audience. To earn a little bit extra money, which is always helpful, she agreed to work during performances as a costume girl. She did more than just help out with the costumes, though. If any of the stage hands needed help in doing anything at all, she was there. Of course she couldn't very well have painted the sets they were using as the performance was occurring. So they found different odd jobs for her to do. She'd even helped the box keepers during intermission when everyone was calling on them all at once.
"Everything was perfect." He promised her. "Maybe next time, I'll let you come and watch the Opera. Would you like that? You'd have the best seats in the house."
"Really?" She exclaimed happily, hugging him so tightly that she nearly strangled him. Erik hushed her gently, and began walking upstairs with her in his arms. "Papa . . . you're going to tuck me in, aren't you?"
"I would never miss a night of tucking you in, Cherie." He whispered soothingly. "At least you're in your nightgown already."
Moving into her room, he lay her gently down on the bed, drew the covers up over her, and kissed her forehead. She put her arms on top of the blankets, folded them on her chest, and then smiled as he put his hands over hers - just as he always did. He leaned down until their faces were only inches apart - just like always.
"What do you want me to sing for you tonight?" He asked in a whisper- soft voice. Marguerite seemed to think this over for an endless moment, and he smiled. Even having been awake for nearly nineteen hours, he wasn't lacking one bit in patience. Not where she was concerned. Finally, she shrugged. "Shall I decide for you?"
She nodded.
"All right."
He thought for a long moment himself, and then nodded, smiling with inspiration.
"Seasons come and seasons go, and some how they were meant to show that life and love are never really gone. So when my journey here is through, I'm certain there is just a new hello. And so, when I travel on . . .
Let me be the music. Let me be the music of love I have known. Let me be the melodies in the wind and the trees that sing to the lost and alone.
Let me be the sweet refrain. The sound of the rain. The sweet refrain of a rippling stream. Let me be the lullabies that close the eyes of children, when they dream. . . For music has no walls or bars. It bridges time and space. It only asks the senses to surrender. It sweeps us through the stars and makes us one with its' embrace. It had no fences. It has no gender. . . Let me be the melodies, through the wind and the trees, that blossom and grow. . .
Oh let me be the music . . . To live again as music! Oh let me be the music . . . when . . . I . . . go!"
Marguerite was asleep when he finally kissed her for the final time that night, and he stood to watch her for a long minute. Smiling, he backed out of the room, leaving her door slightly ajar as she always insisted on having it. Then, he crept into Fleur's room. She was fast asleep, as he had expected her to be. He leaned down over the bed to give her a kiss on the forehead. He watched her shift and roll onto her side under the pile of blankets that covered her small frame, and then he moved into his room.
How oddly fulfilled he felt as he slipped between the covers of his own bed, and closed his eyes.
