Ch 10

My patience soon waned as I sat across from Julia. I wanted to know what exactly the purpose was of our supper. My hunger, however, was the first thing on my mind as the smells of breads and meats and juices from cooking filled the air. Questions could wait. Otherwise, I had a feeling that Madeline would tell me to find something cold to eat if I returned before eating at Julia's..

We sat in silence for the first few minutes, allowing our forks and knives to replace what would have been conversation to a couple. I caught sight of our reflections in a rectangular mirror just as I brought my fork up from the plate. Julia was watching me intently, a strange expression on her face. My eyes moved from our reflections to the living and breathing woman across from me.

She knew I had watched her. Her eyes turned back to her plate.

"Do you like everything?" she asked suddenly, glancing up.

"Yes, it's fine," I answered.

"Madeline said you enjoyed red potatoes," she commented.

I snorted. "Most likely because it is cheap and she can buy herself more perfume," I replied.

Julia chuckled softly. It had been many months since I had heard her genuinely laugh. "Quite possibly."

This is how supper would be with Christine. We would eat in her hotel room; sitting across from one another while candles blazed and the hundreds of bouquets that admirers had sent to the hotel would permeate the room. I could not wait another twenty hours to see her again, to see her face, hear her voice. I starved for her all of these years. Everything within me needed her.

"I hear Charles knows Monsieur Eiffel," Julia commented.

I nodded.

"Must be rather exciting to know a person of such fame as Monsieur Eiffel. I'm sure Charles is very proud of his colleague."

I shrugged and reached for the gravy. It was fairly good, a bit salty, but Madeline never adds enough salt. Apparently she thinks salt will disappear from the face of the earth so she uses it sparingly. I intended to slop up as much meat, gravy and potatoes as possible while sitting at the table.

"Charles could also say he is acquainted with a fairly well-known composer," I childishly pointed out.

Julia merely smiled at my remark. "Lisette wants me to take her to the Exposition. It's all she has talked about since she returned from school." Julia placed her fork on the plate and gulped down half of the wine in her glass. I raised a brow at her consumption. She would be forthcoming indeed if she kept up her drinking at the current pace.

She placed her glass on the table and refilled it, then offered me more. I declined with a slight shake of my head. Drinking never interested me much. The reasons for celebrating in my life have been few and I have seen what becomes of men who drink to abolish their sorrows. The smell of hard liquor made my stomach churn and resurrected nightmares of a cruel man I longed to forget.

"I would rather avoid the crowds," Julia continued. She was rambling. Of course she hadn't much of a choice as I had said nothing in return. "I told Lissy that perhaps one evening we could have a look around. Maybe the hordes of fairgoers will lessen once it is about to close. Or right when it opens one morning though Lisette has never been much of a morning person. What do you think?"

"Honestly? I think it's a waste of time," I grumbled.

Her fork clattered to the table and I looked up from my plate and stared back into the mirror. She had finished her wine again. My concerns were growing that she was going to pass out cold at the table.

"When will Madame de Chagny sing again?" Julia questioned.

I glared at her. Not once have I ever referred to Christine by her married name. I despise the name de Chagny, the surname that claims her as the bedmate and love of another man. She was mine first. She should be mine again. She will be mine again.

"The second of April," I replied.

"And will you see her then?"

Julia's questions were merely to uncover information. Her curiosity had absolutely no charm. She thought I would say 'no', that I would not see Christine again when she sang as I rarely leave my home unless it is night. Yesterday was pure madness to leave in broad daylight, I admit. But I needed to see Christine. I needed to hear her voice again.

"Yes," I answer to see Julia raise a brow or choke on her dinner. Choking would serve her right for her meddling.

To my surprise, Julia made no visible sign of being surprised. I should have excused myself and gone home, demanding my meal be brought to my room even if it was cold and lacked salt. But I stayed and waited, expecting, savoring the exchange of words rather than physical desire. I craved conversation, even if I did not enjoy Julia's meddling.

"Good," she answered. "And I expect you will take Alex with you."

My hands slammed onto the table and I found myself standing over Julia. "How dare you question what I would and would not do with my son. It is no concern of yours, do you understand?"

"Erik," Julia gasped.

I dragged her chair back from the table. "She is mine! He will know her when I see it is fit and not a moment before!"

Julia shuddered. "Sit," she whispered, keeping her head down. "For God's sake, Erik, sit."

She was beside herself. I knew how her husband treated her and in a flash of blinding rage I didn't care. I hoped she was frightened so much so that she would never dare to say such things again. I wanted her to remember each time Louis beat her in the middle of the night. She needed to remember her place. She was my mistress, little more than a body. Despite the terms of our arrangement, she had no power over me.

Her eyes flickered up. So childlike and small she seemed in her chair, shrinking before me in hope that my hand would not raise. "Please sit," she said again. Her voice barely made it past her lips.

"You said you wanted to celebrate," I said through my teeth. Internally my rage turned to regret. I thought of how often I had seen Julia cower before Louis, how she shrank in fear of him. I thought of my own father, of his rage that could not be quelled. From the corner of my eye I caught sight of our reflection, of how Julia sat hunched over and I towered over her. Horrified, I turned away from her, my vision wavering as reality set in.

"Does your offer still stand?" I asked, my tone more subdued. I looked at her from over my shoulder and saw her swallow hard. "Tell me now."

Julia folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate with trembling hands. Not once did she look at me as she stood and pushed her chair back to the table.

"Wait for me upstairs."

oOo

I couldn't find it in myself to move from where I stood several steps from the dining room table. My God, I had become Louis Seuratti. I had become the violence Julia had known for years, the haunting figure, the heavy hand, the humiliation she had escaped five years ago.

Sexual desire drained from me as I stared at her. She would not deny me tonight, I knew. If I grabbed her by the wrist—or by the hair as I had seen Louis do in the window—she would go without protest. She had told me to go upstairs and wait for her but I couldn't move. I could not touch her. More than anything I wanted to vomit.

I am an animal attempting to be human. I am a creature so long devoid of emotion that acting—for often I see myself as only an actor—the part is impossible. But what I felt was real as there are two emotions I am most familiar with and one I had already experienced: rage. Now it was time for shame, so often the companion of the first.

My hands felt cold, my fingers tingling and I wanted to touch her. Not in a way that would bring passion but something different, something…human, compassionate. I owed her an apology. No, it was much more than a simple apology. An apology was merely something I could offer her when in reality, I wished to beg for her forgiveness for my actions.

Words or expressions of regret have rarely left my mouth. Why should I apologize to anyone? I have been wronged a thousand times over and not once has anyone showed me the compassion I long deserved. Life is suffering. For years I have been poisoned and bled of my pride but still I stand, always the weed in the vast fields of flowers like Christine and even Julia.

But the words I spoke, the anger I showed to her were without warrant. My vile ways have strangled my relationship with Julia. She will do as I say out of fear, not out of her own desire.

There was nothing of interest to me in a moment built of intimidation. What little we once had was nothing.

Before I could say anything, Julia collected her unfinished plate, her wine glass and my plate and paused. She faced me but did not meet my eye and I realized I simply blocked her path to the kitchen.

"Julia," I said. I took a step back and she scurried from the dining room into the kitchen without acknowledging me. A sob escaped her lips before the door swung behind her and muffled her emotion. I started to take a step forward but thought better of following her.

My reflection looked on in disgust at what stood alone in the dining room. I could not meet my own accusing eye. In silence, I trudged upstairs and waited for Julia as she had requested.

Tonight we would say good-bye.