Eleven

The Truth Comes Out– Or Does It?


Christine sat patiently outside Firmin and André's office, curious as to why they had called her here during the rehearsal, whatever it was, it had to be serious . . . VERY serious. Her hand against her cheek, her elbow of that hand on her knee she drummed her fingers against her flesh until the door opened. She shot up, sitting straight and poignant.

"All right Mademoiselle, come in."

Christine fought not to glare at Firmin, biting her lip but nearly spatting, "I am married, monsieur."

"Yes, yes of course. Come now, we haven't all day." He ushered her in and offered her a seat in front of their desk, which she graciously took.

"Let's come straight to the point, Madame." André said softly.

"You usually do." Christine joked, smiling playfully. The managers both smiled softly.

"There's been a source. They've told us something . . . Interesting . . . "

She felt fear flood her face but quickly replaced it with coldness. "Oh?"

"Madame," Firmin said uncomfortably, his face twisted in unsureness, his off to the side, back to her, then off and back again as he spoke. "We've gotten word that you're, well that you're pregnant."

Christine remained tight-lipped on the surface but inside she was bubbling with rage and fear. Raoul, you rat!

"If true, this poses a problem, as you can well imagine. We're having one of our best years ever, thanks to you, and if we send you out there, eventually, larger and obviously pregnant, well Madame, we'd lose money." André finished, anxiety overspreading his face.

"Messieurs," she said softly, smiling. "I can assure you this rumor isn't true." Here with the lies, she scolded herself.

Both sighed with relief, faces un-wrinkling and eyes closing, smiles apparent. "We needed that Madame."


"Is it true?"

"Do you think?"

"No, she couldn't be!"

"She'd be fat!"

"She must be!"

Erik listened intently to the gossip of the ballet rats, a smile spread over his lips. If they only KNEW. Of course, the rumor must have gotten around from Raoul, but quite honestly he didn't care. Rumors and viscounts and opera houses didn't matter now. What mattered was what he had, and what he had was Christine.

He decided to go to his passage near the managers office to see why they had called his wife at all. As he slithered behind room after room, her voice became more clear, a right here then up two little steps. Here, this was it.


"And so we figured, M. De Chagny knows you well, he MUST be telling the truth Oh but he wasn't! And this is such a happy thing for us! He must have been joking."

"I see," she said softly. "Messrs., why would a pregnancy pose a problem? If I were, and I'm not saying I am pregnant, the child would not be born until Christmas, some time during our break!"

"You do have a point there," André froze. "I'm going to rephrase our previous question, is there any chance that you could be pregnant?"

She bit her lip. This could be helpful. "Well . . . y-yes . . . there could."

Firmin breathed deeply. "Well I'm sure we could work it out, go home Christine, thank you for coming and clearing this up."

She nodded and gathered her things, stepping out the door with an air of dignity. This way, I can discuss this with Erik before making any announcements.

She sighed, after having turned to go to her dressing room when her husband's voice startled her. 'The wall Christine, no, no, turn left.'

She did so with a giggle her hand pressing the cool plaster. She jumped as a panel opened and she was pulled in, but laughter took place of her fear, and as he held her, she could almost see him smiling at her, even though it was impossible to see anything.

"You're all right?" He asked softly.

"Yes, yes I'm fine."

His lips pressed her temple. "Why did you lie?"

"Well," she calmed. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, I mean, if you hadn't wanted anyone to know about the baby. So I figured if you don't mind then it's yes and if you do it's no."

He smiled softly. OUR baby. "We can discuss it at home. Come, I don't want you to freeze." And so he guided her to their home.


Meh, ideas are running out. Have any? Lemme know!