Even at this late hour, a few people passed Erik on the darkened street. A few looked nervously at this mask and averted their eyes quickly. Others...those who had been in Casablanca longer...recognized him and muttered a low greeting as they went about their own business.
He found a small bench and sat down. By day, the seat would be occupied by old men who smoked and talked of the past.
The past...
Erik let his back rest against the cool plastered wall and remembered a rainy afternoon in Paris.
He sat at the piano, alone in the upper room of La Belle Vivre. Sheets of music were strewn about him, all in the same strong hand...the ink still wet on some.
In these past weeks, the urge to write had been so strong...since he met Mademoiselle Daae.
She'd been wasting her beautiful voice in the Opera chorus, theater politics relegating her to minor roles as pages and ladies-in-waiting.
She'd been playing a saucy maid when he first saw and heard her. Even in the mingled voicese of the chorus, her voice had captured his attention and he had gone backstage to meet her.
She was still in costume when the manager introduced them, so pretty and innocent in that rose-colored dress and lace cap. From that first moment, he'd wanted her. To sing at La Belle Vivre...and for himself.
He'd asked her to come with him for a late dinner, but she'd refused and said she already had plans to spend the rest of the night with some of the other girls from the chorus. But she agreed to join him for coffee the following morning.
Over cafe-au-lait and fresh croissaints, he'd given her the address of La Belle Vivre and asked her to come sing for him there.
His club was small, but it was known for the quality of its entertainment. His current singer...and former lover...Charlotte-Marie...was leaving soon to marry a Czechoslovkian businessman. And, even if she had not planned on leaving, he did not intend to renew her contract. She was good, but the regular patrons were growing bored with her.
Christine would take her place and easily outshine her.
He heard the rustle and snap of an umbrella being closed downstairs and laid aside the unfinished lyrics as Christine joined him.
The walk in the rain had given her face a delicate glow. Or perhaps she was only blushing as he rose and untied the green silk scarf she wore close around her throat.
"Sam isn't here today: he informed her, "he was complaining of a tootache last night. So I'll be rehearsing with you this morning."
Christine returned his smile as she leaned her folded arms on the piano to look at his compositions.
"I should like that very much, Monsieur."
"It's been three weeks, Christine. There is no need to call me Monsieur."
As he sat down to select the music for her practice, he gestured towads a heavy wicker basket on the bar.
"I had planned to take you to the Bois after rehearsals."
"Oh, that was sweet of you, Erik."
He found he enjoyed hearing her say his name. He could listen to that sweet sound forever.
He had already planned for her to be his lover. He hadn't realized he would fall in love with her, too.