I could not believe what I was hearing!

The Phantom of the Opera meant for me to sacrifice my body to his lust in exchange for his genius! How violently he would use me, how helpless I would be in that strong grip, forced to meet any demand that he wished! Just the very idea made my insides quiver in a way which to my dismay was not entirely unpleasant.

I leapt off of the bed and away from his touch, just to bang against the nightstand with a resounding crash.

"Really, sir! I have never been so insulted in all of my life!" I cried out. "Do you honestly expect that I would sacrifice my virtue just for the honor of having your help? I am a true artist, not a courtesan!"

A large guffaw of laughter escaped him. The thin walls of my room practically shook with his mirth.

"You young ladies are all alike! Truly, you all have minds steeped in the gutter! I was only hinting to get credit through a pseudonym, Mademoiselle."

"A..a..a ps...pseudonym?"

"Of course! Well, it's hardly fair for me to toil at this romantic claptrap and for you to take all of the credit now, is it?"

I had my doubts of his sincerity. I suspected that he was toying with me in the most sadistic sort of way.

"What sort of a love story is this opera anyway?"

"It's based on Beauty and the Beast."

Suddenly, the Phantom grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me roughly against a nearby wall.

"Is this some sort of sick joke, Mademoiselle?"

"N-no. N-not at all. Please unhand me, sir. You're hurting me."

Violently, he turned away from me.

"I am not in the mood to play games with a little simpleton like you!"

"My opera is not a game!" Again, my impulsive nature came to the rescue. "Beauty and the Beast is a lovely story. It's about how love conquers all. And how beauty is on the inside, not just based on exterior looks."

And then I took a gamble with him.

"If indeed you are truly as misshapen as they all say, Monsieur, you of all people should appreciate the moral of the story."

"Fascinating analysis of my psyche," he sneered.

"Well, if you're not interested, you don't have to kill me over it!" I retorted.

Searching in the dark, I found a kitchen match and lit a candle placed upon the piano. My hands were shaking so I feared I would burn myself.

"Here," I gathered up various sheets of the music I had stolen. "Take your blasted music! I won't say anything about your whereabouts. Just go away and we'll forget this ever happened."

I turned away, not looking at him. I didn't want to see him leave because with him went any hope of ever seeing my dream reach fruition. The countryside of Tennessee was yawning before my eyes.

"Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask for your name?"

A small glimmer of hope arose at the Phantom's question.

"Angelica. Angelica DuBois."

"Ah!" he chortled. "Angelica. Angel of the White Woods." He laughed again, oddly enough without any real amusement in it. "Angel...how ironic."

"I'm afraid I don't get see the humor in that, Monsieur."

Nothing but silence.

"Actually," I said, trying to cover up the moment of awkwardness. "I am not particularly fond of the name. It sounds like the name of some gothic heroine in a penny dreadful romance. However, it is my birthright and I am resigned to it."

"It is a beautiful name," he responded. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. In this life, one should hold on to all of the beauty that one has. If you are fortunate enough to have any beauty at all."

I didn't know what to say, so for once I decided to be wise and say nothing.

"I sense a rather peculiar accent, Mademoiselle. Are you from these parts?"

"No, I'm afraid not," I answered. "I've only been in Paris for about a year now. I'm from Tennessee in America."

"Oh, yes," he replied with some interest. "I've heard some fascinating stories about your part of the world. Nasty little war they had in that country, I believe. I'm particularly interested in New Orleans and Mardi Gras. It sounds quite interesting."

"Well, I'm really just a country girl," I smiled, trying to repress my urge to flirt. "I've never even been to New Orleans."

"And yet your name is French?"

"My father was of French descent."

"Ah, I see. That explains your fluency with the language. Are you staying with family here in Paris?"

"No."

"So you are here alone?"

The questions were starting to unnerve me. I didn't really want to discuss how I ended up here in Paris with nothing to sustain me but my inheritance and my dreams of writing an opera. I didn't want to remember the past that I had run so far away from.

My hesitation to answer irritated him.

"Answer me, girl!" he snapped, making me jump out of my skin."Why aren't you on some plantation somewhere drinking...what do they call them? Mint juleps?"

"Look, Phantom," I answered back, miffed. "I think if we are truly going to work together, we need to agree right here and now that there will be no prying into each other's personal lives and pasts. I won't ask you about the murders and Christine and all of that rot. And you mind your own business regarding my life. Understood?"

"It's immaterial to me," he shrugged. "A woman with a past. This gets more intriguing by the second."

"You're one to talk!" I rejoindered. "I know that I should be locked away in an insane asylum for even speaking to you right now. But I promise that I will not inquire into all of the mysteries of your past. Indeed, that doesn't interest me. I only want one thing from you: your musical genius."

"One final matter. How do I know that I can trust you, Mademoiselle DuBois?"

"Trust me about what?"

"To keep silent about me. If I indeed choose to help you, it must be on my terms. You must keep everything a secret. My help. My home. My very existence. It could be my life or death. How do I know you aren't some trap that the Viscount has dreamed up for me?"

"I have no way that I know of to prove worthy of your trust, Monsieur. If you can think of anything, I will be happy to oblige."

"Perhaps I can. You will live with me while we work together, Mademoiselle."

"What?" I cried out. "Didn't we just discuss that I am not that sort of woman?"

"You misunderstand me. If you live with me in my new abode, at least I will be able to keep a close watch on you and know if you're up to something. I did not mean to imply anything of an intimate nature. At least, nothing without your permission."

"My...?" I literally could not continue from the shock. "How do I know that you will not take advantage of me under such circumstances?"

He smiled, wryly. "Consider the matter, madam. If I were a rapist, I would have had ample opportunity to commit my crime already. We are after all quite alone in this dark room. Outside is a landlady who has been sufficiently well paid enough to turn a deaf ear to any screams you might make. I easily could have done whatever I wanted with you by now."

Again, Meg's words haunted me. It was all to easy to imagine the Phantom of the Opera chaining me up in a dungeon, ripping off my dress, and then...

"Suffice it to say, that in your own words, you will also have to trust me. I have a proposition for you. My trust in exchange for yours."

"You cannot think that I would take this offer seriously?"

He shrugged.

"Do not flatter yourself by thinking that I enjoy making the offer. I value my privacy highly. I am not at all certain that I will like sharing my living arrangements with anyone. However, the idea of you, a mere female, becoming the author of an opera intrigues me. I believe it has never been done before. I do feel that I have a great deal of experience to offer you. I find you rather amusing. And...over the past few months...my creativity seems to have died. I have not written or played music in some time. Not since Chr..." He stopped short.

Christine, I thought.

"You say that I am a source of inspiration for you, Mademoiselle. Well, perhaps you will inspire me as well. This arrangement may be equally to my advantage."

Perhaps, I mused. But I was starting to have second thoughts about the entire affair. His little bargain gave me many misgivings. Even if one could overlook living with a strange man without the benefit of marriage or even an engagement, the idea of living in darkness and secrecy all of the time was quite unnerving. The idea of living with him, this imposing and frightening man with the mask,was even more unnerving. Even if he wasn't a murderer, there was no question that he was temperamental and arrogant in the extreme.

"May I see your living quarters first?"

"You may see them only if you agree to the terms beforehand. And I must insist that you be blindfolded and allow me to escort you whenever you travel to and from my home."

"I can hardly be expected to write music in a cave, Monsieur," I sniffed haughtily.

"The solitude of living in a cave can greatly enhance one's powers of concentration," he chuckled wryly. "Besides, you may be surprised. Perhaps my home will not be as bleak as you think. So what do you say, Mademoiselle?"

The idea was absurd. To live in the same home as a man who wasn't a husband or a relative...and without any chaperone. Any well-brought-up woman should die of apoplexy at the very thought.

Yet the idea of packing everything up and going back to the States was even more upsetting.

And I just knew that I wouldn't be able to finish my opera alone. I didn't have the training. I didn't have the talent, no matter how much I wished for it. And no one else would do. As soon as I had heard that music, I knew that I would settle for nothing less.

Besides there was no one around who would really care. All of my family, what was left of them, were in Tennessee. I had no real friends since I'd moved to Paris. The life of a writer is a lonely one. The constant need to commit thoughts and dreams to paper was so overwhelming that my social life was nonexistent. And since there was no one around to care, there was no one around to disapprove.

My trust for yours.

I nodded quickly before I could change my mind.

"I look forward to our new partnership, Mademoiselle."

The Phantom offered his hand out to me.

Hesitantly, I took it, once more observing that beautifully-shaped hand that had caught my attention that night of the abduction.

"Very good," he pronounced, acting as if we were closing a land deal rather than writing an opera.

As he made his way towards the open window of my apartment, he observed the empty Parisian street, wary of any observers.

"And one final thing, Mademoiselle..." he added. "If I even have the slightest suspicion that you have confided anything about me to the police, rest assured you will die a most unpleasant death."

The cold draft as he exited my room was not the only source of my shiver...for I was sure that I had just made a deal with the devil...