Christian sighed tiredly as he awoke. He stretched to best that he could as to not awaken Erik. A weary smile crept over his tired lips as he watched Erik's gentle breathing. With the right side of his face turned away from him, Christian nearly forgot in those moments that Erik had to conceal his face much of the time, save for when they were together, with nobody else around.
"How could such a dear man be branded as so horrible?" Christian mused, "I won't deny that he's, well... quite homely... but he's adorable for me, nonetheless!"
Erik stirred and opened his eyes gingerly. Placidly, he turned over to face his beloved, his face lighting up as he saw Christian.
"Good morning, darling." Erik said tiredly as he pulled Christian in for a kiss.
"Good morning, love." Christian murmured, smiling as they gazed into each other's eyes. Christian caressed the scarred side of Erik's face and then cuddled into the warmth of Erik's exposed bosom. The soft thicket of hair tickled his face.
"I missed you... while you were asleep." Erik spoke into Christian's dark curls. They rested there for several moments, enjoying each other's presence.
Still sleepy, Christian suddenly wondered about the time, although he really didn't want to go back up to the opera house. Being in Erik's arms was good enough for him. "Erik, what time is it?"
Fumbling for his watch on the table nearby, Erik found that it was almost ten-thirty.
"You'd better go, love. It's ten-thirty. They'll be looking for you."
"Ten-thirty!" Christian leapt from the bed, grabbing up his clothes. Erik looked on, slightly amused by the sudden rush, and rose too, his eyes occasionally gazing at his sweetheart's pale body as they dressed.
"Yellow parchment is his skin... a great black hole serves as the nose that never grew... the right of his face is laden with craters and boulders... he will catch you with his magical lasso..."
Among other things, these were the most distinct things that Christian heard from Buquet as he and Erik approached the opera house.
Christian's lip curled back into an angry sneer at what he was hearing. He was stunned at first when he first saw his lover without his mask... but that was months ago; now he could not care less about what his darling Erik looked like. The twisted right side of Erik's face did not hold any horror for him anymore
He and Erik exchanged a look as they listened. Suddenly Erik pulled back his cape. Christian's eyes widened with horror, knowing what Erik was about to do.
"No Erik-!" he began... but it was too late.
They materialized before the chorus girls and Buquet. The chorus girls shrieked and clustered around Buquet, raising their hands to the level of their eyes. Christian rolled his own eyes as he recalled that story.
Back in the guise of the Phantom, Erik's eyes, soft and vulnerable when he was alone with Christian, had become harsh and piercing as he glared at Buquet. As they rushed off, they heard Madame Giry chastising Buquet.
"Those who speak of what they know find too late that prudent silence is wise," Chistian heard a loud slap and Buquet groan, "Joseph Buquet hold your tongue...!"
Christian smiled, grateful for Madame Giry.
"What is this?" Firmin snarled in frustration. "First Ubaldo Piangi takes ill and now Christian Daaë has vanished!" The business with the Opera Populaire tenors was becoming a bad one. And the mysterious "Opera Ghost" had sent them rather unsettling messages concerning the performance from the previous night and a payment to him.
Andre looked over his note, his brow knitted with frustration and confusion.
"Dear Andre,
what a charming gala!
Christian was in a word sublime!
We were hardly bereft
when Piangi left -
on that note
that divo is horrific;
is terrific
when he's seasons past his prime?"
Firmin fared no better as he read his note.
"Dear Firmin,
just a brief reminder:
my salary has not been paid.
Send it care of the ghost,
by return of post
P.T.O.:
No-one likes a debtor,
so it's better
if my orders are obeyed!"
"Who on Earth sent these?" Andre groused. "Do you expect me to know?" came Firmin's pithy response.
"Of course I'm not! I was being ironic!"
"Both are signed 'O.G.'. Who on Earth-?"
Their eyes went wide. They'd answered their own question.
"What right does he have to order us about?" Andre said tartly.
"And he expects us to pay him? He's mad!"
Before Andre could say anything more, Jezebelle burst into the office, her hair wild, her face perplexed.
Jezebelle had ran into their office the night before as they were cleaning the place up, ready to depart for the night, claiming that Christian had vanished. They told her to go home, that they would see to it... but nothing came of the morning search.
"Where is Monsieur Daaë? Where is he?" she shrieked.
"How are we supposed to know?" an already frustrated Andre growled.
"You don't know?"
"We do not," Firmin sighed in exhasperation.
"Then who sent me this note?"
"Another note?" Firmin cringed at the thought of having to read another note.
"What is it this time?" Andre took the note and looked at it wearily.
"Do not fear for Monsieur Daaë.
The Angel of Music
has him under his wing.
Make no attempt to see him again."
"Then who wrote this?" Jezebelle screamed at the baffled managers.
"Where is your precious little patron?" a harsh tenor voice trumpeted. Piangi and Carlotta barged into the room, with Piangi brandishing yet another note.
"Welcome back." Firmin tried to dispel the soured mood with little success.
"I have a note that I'm not happy about... Mademoiselle de Chagny!" Piangi addressed Jezebelle with disdain.
"I beg your pardon?" Jezebelle replied, slightly insulted by this sudden onrush of blame toward herself. "I have sent nothing to you, Signor!"
Almost shoving the note in her face, Piangi demanded that Jezebelle read the note. Taking the paper from Piangi's hand, Jezebelle read yet another cryptic message.
"Your days
at the Opera Populaire are numbered.
Christian Daaë
will be singing on your behalf tonight.
Be prepared
for a great misfortune,
should you attempt
to take his place."
"Why is there all of this hubbub about Christian Daaë...?" Andre groaned. At that moment, Madame Giry and Meg stepped into the room.
"Monsieur Daaë has returned." Madame Giry said dryly.
"I trust that his midnight oil has been well-used." Firmin snorted. Madame Giry glared at him.
Jezebelle leapt towards her. "Where is he?" she inquired eagerly.
The older woman stepped back, keeping her distance from the eager young lady.
"I thought it best that he was alone."
"He was weary." Meg added.
"May I see him-?"
"No, mademoiselle, he will see nobody." Madame Giry said curtly.
"What about tonight? Will he sing?" asked Carlotta.
"I have a note." Madame Giry produced a note from the folds of her skirt.
Everybody clustered around her, ready to hear the news.
"Please!" Firmin took the note, reading it... the Phantom's voice seemed to speak the words aloud.
"Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the
most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be
run. You have not followed my instructions.
I shall give you one last chance . . .
Christian Daaë has returned to you,
and I am anxious his career
should progress.
In the new production of "Manon",
you will therefore cast Piangi
as Guillot, and put Monsieur Daaë
in the role of Des Grieux.
The role which Monsieur Daaë plays
calls for charm and appeal.
The role of the Guillot has neither -
which makes my casting,
in a word...
ideal.
I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in
Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should
my commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your
imagination will occur.
I remain, Gentlemen,
Your obedient servant, O.G."
"Christian!" Carlotta shrieked. "It's all a plan to help that insignificant chorus boy!"
Piangi threatened to leave the opera house unless he would be cast alongside his beloved Carlotta.
"Does nobody care about me anymore?" he bellowed, "Mai non insulti la I stata in modo da!"
"Signor Piangi, please," Firmin groaned, "Why would we send you away?"
"I'm sure that you want that untalented ingenue of a tenor and not a real talent like Ubaldo!" Carlotta snapped, "Che cosa accadrà noi se esige la nostra fama?"
Firmin and Andre looked wearily at the distraught Italian divi and looked at Madame Giry, who gave them an equally distressed look.
"Silence!" Firmin roared, fed up by the tantrum. "Christian Daaë will play Guillot! Piangi will play Des Grieux, the lead role!"
"You're just trying to please me, that's all!" Piangi howled, "Rifiuto di giocare qualche cosa affatto a meno che gioc il hero con il mia Carlotta cara!"
"We're leaving if you're just saying this to appease us!" Carlotta shrieked, "O Dio! Perchè? Sarà l'estremità di noi!"
"Non posso vedere la conclusione di questo! Don't deny it; you want Monsieur Daaë, the world wants Monsieur Daaë!" Piangi barked.
"No Signor, the world wants you. I assure you that this is so!" Andre pressed.
"Yes. We are speaking the truth." Firmin coaxed.
The two Italian singers looked at their managers long and hard. A slow smile over their lips showed that they were convinced.
"Come, cara mia, we must prepare for tonight!" Piangi took Carlotta by the arm as they strode from the office.
"Christian spoke of an angel... but what could this mean?" Belle thought, semi-aloud. She couldn't say it to the managers. Perhaps they would think her mad.
"So you suspect something, do you?" Madame Giry thought. Although Belle had spoken more to herself, Madame Giry heard her clearly.
Far below them, two amber eyes glittered with fury. "So it is to be war between us... remember, my fine friends: if my commands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!"
There is an opera by Jules Massenet entitled Manon (1880s or so) and another by Giacomo Puccini, Manon Lescaut (mid-1890s). I own neither of them, and I'm showing neither of them in this story; just an opera based on the plot of these operas.
