I turned back to the mirror, Christine's hand still firmly clasping mine. As I started to walk down the hall she followed me, not even asking where we were going. I decided then and there that I definitely liked this girl.
I had the eeriest feeling I was being watched. Uncomfortably I glanced behind me at Christine. She looked as if she were about to sing something, eyes wide, mouth open. Gaping at me.
"Erm, yes?" I asked, hoping she'd either talk or shut her gaping hole of a mouth.
She was silent.
I shrugged and faced forward, waving the lit torch in front of me to light our way. The feeling didn't go away, though, and every so often I looked behind me and Christine was still looking at me with that same blank, idiotic expression.
I was surprised when she sang the first syllable. Then I was relieved. At last she was putting that expression to good use.
"In sleep he sang to me," she sang.
"Actually, I did nothing of the sort, you must—"
But she continued. "In dreams, he came. That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name."
"But, I didn't even know your real name—I thought it was Chrissy until about an hour ago."
She wasn't listening. "And do I dream again, for now I find…the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."
"See now, I'm the Phantom, not any angel, and plus my name is Erik."
"Erik is less dramatic than the Phantom of the Opera."
I jumped. I hadn't even realized I'd been talking to something that would, you know, respond.
"Oh, ok, well, whatever you want. Continue please."
"But it's your turn to sing."
"Why don't you sing once again?"
Her expression turned sour. "It's your turn!"
"I've got an idea," I said, feeling a little pressured. I don't like to sing in front of people. "How about you sing with me? We'll have a, erm, strange duet."
"I suppose, Angel, I am at your mercy. Your power over me grows stronger yet." She looked at me as if she had just encountered a god, or a heavenly being, or Tom Cruise or something.
"Power? Wait, I have power over you? What the heck are you talking about?"
But she ignored me, again. She just started singing on some random topic. "Those who have seen your face draw back in fear."
"That wasn't nice," I said, a little hurt.
"I am the mask you wear."
I touched my mask, a little bewildered. I decided to turn it into a very awkward joke. "Well, if you're my mask, then I'm your voice."
I think she took it seriously, because next she belted: "Your spirit and my voice, in one, combined…the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind."
I shrugged and set the torch into a well-placed holder by the edge of the lake. I helped her as she daintily hopped into my gondola.
"Nice."
"Beg pardon?"
"Nice," she repeated. "Your gondola. Is this the MotorMessieur 380X model? With the velvet cushioning and black polish finish and in-flight movies?"
"Why, yes it is," I replied, proud. "And with the extra traction pole."
"You know," she said, looking up at me through slightly lowered lids, "I've always loved a man with a nice gondola."
"Erm, well," I said, shifting uncomfortably, "you really can't judge a man by his gondola. There's more than just spiffy black polish and in-flight movies."
"Yes, well, anyways. I wasn't finished with my song." She closed her eyes and mouthed the words she'd already sang, trying to find her place. "Oh yes." She cleared her throat, opened wide, and half-sung, "Beware, the Phantom of the Opera."
I had kind of zoned out while she was finding her place, and at the mention of my name I snapped to attention. "What? Yes? Did you call me? I'm right over here. Like, two feet from you."
"He's there, the Phantom of the Opera."
"Didn't we, um, just go over this?"
She started vocalizing, scales I think they were, at such purely inhuman notes I couldn't help but stop poling the gondola and just stare at her. She went higher and higher, and finally seemed like she had reached her breaking point.
I couldn't help it. Her voice was so beautiful. "Sing for me!" I cried.
She screamed.
"That works too," I shrugged, handing her out of the gondola.
"We didn't even have time for an in-flight movie."
"Well, I've got some videos, and we can watch some after our tea," I replied, running off to boil some water. She carefully inspected my lair.
"This sucks. Don't you have a Walkman or a boom box or anything?"
"A what or a what?"
"Do you have any mechanical objects with which to play music?"
"Oh, uh, no."
"Why not?"
"Well, I play my organ." I gestured to the organ with my head as I tried to light my gas stove.
"So you don't have any CDs? You've never heard of, say, Shakira or Nelly or Alicia Keys?"
"Um, I've heard some stuff by the Black Eyed Peas," I offered weakly.
She said nothing, but I could hear a faint musical murmur of, "Let's get it started in ha."
Back to the age-old ha-here question. Why? WHY?
Anyway.
Back to the story.
Where was I?
What was I doing?
Oh yes.
Christine spoke next.
Again.
"So the one reason why you don't have a boom box is because the only music you listen to is organ music?"
"Er, uhm, uh…" I didn't realize how cheesy it would sound till I said it. "I like to listen to the music of the night. All around me, you know?"
She gave a little not-so-dainty snort of laughter. "Oh, alright then. Well…" She sauntered over to me, flipping her hair to one side and gazing at me intently as she placed her hands on my shoulders, "as the water is boiling, would you like to dance to the music of the night?"
"I'm…I'm not very good," I admitted as she led me away from the stove. "I know the robot, and the Time Warp…"
"I'll teach you a new kind that I picked up from Meg," Christine laughed, grabbing my hands. "It's called salsa. Or dirty dancing." She turned to look me straight in the eye. "Whichever you prefer."
"Salsa it is then," I gulped.
"Alright. To start, you do…this." She turned around and took both my hands, circling them around her waist. "And then you do…this…" She slid my arms up and down and all around, then closed her eyes and sighed. "Sing, would you? It ruins the moment without music."
I groaned, but piously began to sing. "Let's get it started—"
"Not that!" she spat. "Something romantic and yet strangely enigmatic…what about…something about this music of the night that you are supposedly listening to?"
"Fine, but it'll be improvised," I replied, then started to sing. Before I knew it the song was turning out wonderful, rich and sensuous as we 'danced' (if you could call it that, really it was more like hands on flirting). Finally the timer for the tea rang, and I remorsefully let go of Christine and ran to get the tea bags.
MEANWHILE, BACK IN CHRISTINE'S DRESSING ROOM
"Christine?" called Meg, stepping daintily into the dressing room of her friend. "Christine, where in the world are you?"
She heard nothing in reply except a strange puffing noise.
"What?"
Puff, puff. It sounded like someone panting and wheezing. Where was it coming from?
"Christine, what are you doing?" Puff, puff, wheeze. Meg carefully examined the room and found no one. And yet the puffing continued. She rolled her eyes, thinking Christine was trying out Carlotta's new treadmill again. But as she rolled her eyes upward, she caught side of something she didn't expect.
Holding onto Christine's ceiling fan and bracing himself flat against the ceiling.
A man in a white mask.
Wearing a black cape.
Waiting for Christine as well.
Christine knew him as the angel of music!
"Piangi?" Meg gasped in horror.
Many thanks (and truffles) to…Videociraptor: Another favorites list! Why thank you :) And yes, Christine is demanding. Who wouldn't be when confronted by Erik?
Blueberrymarker: Why thank you :) I liked the truffle part too. I love the expression I have pictured in my head. Like, "Ehh…okaaaay then…"
Phangirl321: Thank you very much! But don't hurt yourself when you fall out of your chair, please. The last thing I want is you being suspended from the computer for bruising your butt too bad.
Italia12: I'm guessing you saw the same expression I thought of?
GoldenLyre: Flustered doesn't even begin to describe it. He's mortified.
Midnight Tango: Let me tell you first of all that I love your name. Second, please do keep the rolling on the chair and not on the floor. Like I said before, I'd lose too many reviewers that way.
Sailor J-chan: Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Shade Sunslayer: Rare treat…both Erik and his truffles are a rare treat. XD
Nota Lone: Favorites! I love being on the favorites list! Here, take as many truffles as you like!
Son Ange: He's kind of dense to girls hitting on him right and left, I guess. But really, it's kind of hard to miss.
SimplyElymas: Woo! Random is one of my comedy idols (besides Ellen DeGeneres, of course). Thank you for the lovely compliment ;-)
Clintongroth: Liking the chocolate nut crèmes? I'll have Erik whip up another batch for ya.
Eilonwy-Aire: Thank you very much! Tell the little Erik in your head that I said hello. You give a new meaning to the phrase 'The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind.'
unseenhope18: Thank you oodles! I feel so loved today! What with Andrea's random compliments and all of these lovely reviews! Hurrah!
Angel-of-Music1331: My writing style's just ordinary. Nothing to love. But as for the truffles—those are darn good.
Marianne Brandon: As you can see, I used your lovely suggestion. Thank you for that ;-). You have a knack for good suggestions.
…for their ever-day-brightening reviews!
