A/N: I initially thought this would be my last chapter, but I decided that for reasons of length, I'll probably finish up in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy this, and I apologize for taking so long. I would have done this yesterday, but I spent the Fourth of July in bed feeling miserably ill. Not the frame of mind I wanted to be in to write most of this. So please, read and review!
Today was finally the day, the gala premiere of Giselle at the Metropolitan Opera House. Erik had several errands he needed to do before this evening, but it had been with great reluctance that he had left Gia's side that morning. He had dressed silently, not wanting to wake her, but before he left he pressed his lips to hers and that was enough to wake her. He had meant to only kiss her goodbye, but one thing had led to another, and before long he was back in the bed with her. The coupling was wild and frenzied with Gia showing uncustomary aggression as she took control and rode him until they were both spent with their excesses.
As the performance was this evening, there would be no rehearsals. They could spend all day like this. The idea was not without its appeal, but Erik could tell there was something else behind her actions. Gia was restless and nervous. She tensed up almost immediately after they had made love, and her eyes had that far away look he had come to associate with her mind being somewhere else.
"It's going to fine, my love. Stop worrying. I will be there. Just think on that," he said, trying to be as helpful as possible. However his words had the opposite effect.
Turning on to her side, and running a finger though his hair, her eyes full of concern, she asked, "Erik, will you still love me if I fail tonight?" She then abruptly turned her face away, and placed her head in her hands.
"Oh God, that sounds utterly ridiculous!" she exclaimed, disgusted she would be so needy as to even ask that question.
Erik held her close to his chest and reassured her, "Of course I will still love you! I believe in you, Gia. But if that does not comfort you, do not dwell on it." God, her body felt so perfect against his, as though this was the way they were intended to be together. Naked and unashamed.
She gripped his shoulders tightly, not wanting to him to leave her. She wanted to make last night last as long as possible. Once he left, she would have to face the reality that in a few hours she would be onstage in front of most of the upper-crust of Parisian society. Erik apologized as he extracted himself from her, and she watched him as he re-dressed.
Giving her a light kiss on the cheek, he made her promise she would not exhaust herself by doing any practicing in her room. Gia promised, but no sooner had he left, than she dragged herself from the bed, and put on her practice uniform. Erik was correct that she should get her rest, but she needed to stretch. The last thing she needed was to get a cramp in the middle of the performance because she had failed to listen to the needs of her body now.
Gia spent a good fifteen minutes putting her body through its paces gently, getting the muscles warm, so that later that evening she would not be stiff. But once that was done, she found herself at a loss for what to do. She would not see Erik until after the performance, and she did not have to report to her dressing room for several hours.
Under her breath she cursed herself for not being able to distract Erik longer. In a fit of pique, she undressed and crawled back into bed, knowing the rest would do her good. Suprisingly, she fell asleep with ease. It seemed Gia was still physically and emotionally exhausted from the evening before.
Erik dashed about Paris, almost frantic to finish his errands. There was only one stop left to make, and that was at a florist's shop. Clutching his other packages, he explained his order to the stammering assistant whose brown eyes widened when he told her he needed flowers for three different women. He wanted two arrangements sent to the Metropolitan as soon as possible, but he would take one for himself.
The flowers were, of course, for Gia, Madame Giry, and young Meg. For Antoinette, he selected a mixture of flowers, which included sunny yellow roses and white lilies. For the young ballerina, it was a bouquet of various pink blossoms broken up with occasional spring of baby's breath. It was sweet and pretty, and could not be mistaken as a gift from a potential lover. For Gia, his first instinct had been order her the traditional red roses, but instead he chose an elegant mix of ivory and light peach roses, and instructed the girl that under no circumstances was she to add any extra greenery to fill the bouquet out.
"But sir, the arrangement will not be very large! And it will look so plain!" she had protested, but when he glowered at her she scampered off to select the flowers, and returned ten minutes later with the simple bouquet that he lay on top his other packages. The girl promised that the other arrangements would arrive sometime during the afternoon, and reminded him if he wanted his flowers to stay fresh, they should be kept in plenty of fresh, clean water until he left for the performance.
Once he was back in lair, Erik first did as the girl instructed and set Gia's bouquet in a vase. Thereafter, he undid the paper and string around his other purchases, and for a while he contemplated what he was about to do. He was going attend the ballet as though he were any other aficionado of the arts. He had purchased a ticket, albeit through unorthodox means, and he would join the throngs of people who were sure to cheer the production.
It was in many ways rather amusing that he, of all people, would be so nervous about attending the theater. He had done it hundreds of times over the years, and in the last two when he had traveled he had regularly viewed plays and operas, but never had he sat out in the open in Paris. Even in Milan where he had taken in an entire season at La Scala, he had always been careful to shield himself from the public. He paid one of the young stable boys to let him in through a side door so he would not be forced to mingle with anyone. He had often remained in his box seat until the cleaning women would make their appearances to remove any detritus left behind by the patrons before he would make his escape.
This evening that would not be an option. Tonight he would go backstage once the performance was completed, and he would be there, flowers in hand, to see Gia whether the production was a success or failure. He had given his word to her that he would be there, and he would not disappoint the woman he loved.
Lying amongst the crimson sheets was his newly cleaned and pressed formal dress suit. He had not worn it since he last attended a production of Faust in London. Frankly, he detested the white ties that were de rigueur for a gala opening. Erik found the artfully pinned black cravats much more dashing, but he was not about to draw attention to himself by not dressing appropriately. He would be conspicuous as it was. He had learned from years of watching productions at the Populaire that the set of people who attended the opera were often on the lookout for newcomers. Whispers would fly about any new face, and speculation would be rife about the poor lady or gentleman's origins and wealth.
It had been the same when he had traveled. Often people would look at him for a few seconds then turn to their companion and begin murmuring about the tall fellow in the white mask. On more than one occasion, he had stifled the desire to pull off his mask to really give them something to whisper about. Tonight he would have to employ the social niceties he had never had the occasion to use living as he did on the periphery of society.
To relax, Erik took a long bath, soaking in the large wooden tub. He had accidentally poured in Gia's favorite lavender bath oil, and now he would have to attend the opera smelling like an herb garden. Hopefully no one would get too close and notice. Gia would probably laugh later at his absentmindedness.
He leaned back against the wooden sides, and tipped his head up, closing his eyes to think. In a few days he would be Gia's husband. Husband. That was never a word he thought would describe him. After last night he was resolved that they could not make their lives together down here. This evening would be his first venture in becoming a permanent fixture in the world. He would compose, and she could continue to work if she chose to do so. It would most likely mean leaving Paris behind them, but neither had especially happy memories of the place. Only those that they had made together were the one's dear to him. For that reason alone, he would miss this place.
Erik to special care dressing and preparing himself, and it took him a half-hour longer than it should have. It had taken him ten minutes to get the wretched tie up to his personal standards. As it was a warm evening, he would not even have the protection of his cloak. Taking one last look at himself in his mirror, he grabbed Gia's flowers, and made for the gondola.
In another part of the opera house, Gianna Burnside was undergoing her transformation from ordinary woman to Myrta, Queen of the Wilis. Perhaps undergoing was too mild a word, "enduring" was more appropriate. With the two women fussing over her dress, hair, and make-up it was impossible for her to relax. She would admit though, that with their assistance she certainly looked the part. Now there would be nothing for her to do but warm her feet up until it was time for the second act.
She was mentally going over the steps of her solo when a knock at the door broke her concentration. Gia cursed under her breath, but she nodded to the assistant wardrobe mistress that whoever it was should be admitted. She craned her neck around and standing in the doorway was Monsieur Dupoix holding a box.
"I brought something for you, Gianna," he explained, proffering the box in her direction.
Gia opened the box carefully, and inside was a small tiara constructed of pearls. She closed the lid, and handed it back to him. "I cannot accept such a gift from you, Monsieur Dupoix. I am not worthy of it."
"No Gia, you must take it! I saw it in a window, and I thought it would be a good addition to your costume. Every queen should have her crown. The jeweler agreed to loan it to the Metropolitan for the length of Giselle. So you see my dear, there is no reason why you should not wear it!"
The older man opened the box, took the tiara out and placed it on the top of her hair. It nestled perfectly amongst the curls, and one of the girls in the room quickly secured it in place with several hair pins.
"There now, Gia, you look lovely. Best of luck this evening," he said with all the confidence of a proud father. Gia sprung up from her seat in the chair before the vanity mirror, and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a bright red lip mark behind.
"Thank you, my dear, although Madam Dupoix will ask how this managed to get here," he joked, which caused to break up some of the tension that Gia was feeling. He gave her a warm embrace in return, and then left to join his wife in the manager's box. Gia reapplied the red lip rouge, and promised not to kiss anyone else until the performance was over. The two young girls giggled, and Gia informed them they were free to leave if they wanted to assist any of the other cast members who might need their help. Both were bright enough to realize that Gia was nicely asking for some time alone, and they retreated for the door.
Alone at last, Gia slipped on her engagement ring, and prayed aloud earnestly, "Please God, all I ask is that I not make a fool of myself!"
As he expected, the whispers began from the moment he passed through the front door of the Metropolitan. Ladies dripping in diamonds clung to their husbands' or lovers' arms, and nearly everyone gave him a second look as he passed by. He slipped a white gloved hand inside his tailcoat and withdrew his ticket which he handed to the usher. He gestured with his head toward the long staircase that would take him to his box.
Erik caught a few snatches of conversation here and there. He distinctly heard "strange man" and "alone", and one Englishman loudly intoned in dreadful French, "What the hell is someone like that doing here?" Leave it to the English to be less than subtle.
At the top of the staircase, he showed his ticket to a different usher, and he handed Erik a program, and then showed him to the box. The young man had no reaction at all to him, and Erik gave the boy a large tip, which caused the ghost of a smile to break out. Once alone, he settled himself into the comfortable well-sprung red velvet seat. He immediately noted several pairs of opera glasses were trained on his box, but Erik did his best to look absorbed in the program, and pay them no mind. Seeing Gia's name in print caused him to tremble slightly, but other than that, he displayed no emotion.
All was going quite well until he heard Christine's unmistakable voice coming from behind him. It was only then looked at all of the boxes and realized that de Chagnys were nowhere to be seen. They must be in the box directly adjacent to his! Erik could hear Christine enthusing about how excited she was to see Meg dance again, and Raoul was doing an excellent impression of sounding interested in her ramblings. He watched as the young couple took their seats, and then began looking around the large theater. It was Raoul who saw him first, and then nudged his wife to turn to the left.
Her mouth was parted in a wide smile as she turned, and for a moment it faltered upon seeing him, but then widened again. Christine found it almost difficult to believe her eyes. Sitting before her, dressed in white tie and black tails was Erik, the infamous Phantom of the Opera, and he was not wearing his mask.
His hair looked perfect, so he had to be wearing a wig, and aside from his drooping eyelid and slightly spread nose, it was difficult to tell Erik suffered from any sort of deformity. She had remembered how red the skin had looked on the right side of his face, but it was not apparent this evening. It would seem he had covered it with makeup. It was only upon lingering over his face would one notice all the flaws.
She could recall vividly the words he had rained down upon her when she tore his mask off in her curiosity. She could hear him calling himself a "loathsome gargoyle" and "disgusting carcass". That he could now venture into public without it was something of a miracle.
His face was passive, but she could see by the way he was gripping the program that he was nervous and seized by doubts. She noticed that there were people staring at him, trying to get a better look at the new, strange face in the crowd. Christine did the one thing she could that would help him. She spoke to him.
In a gay voice, she called over to him, "Monsieur Erik, how lovely to see you here this evening! And right next to my husband and I! This is a welcome surprise, isn't it Raoul?"
The young viscomte played along and spoke loud enough for several patrons to hear, "It is, my dear! Who would have thought we'd see your old family friend at the Metropolitan? You never told me he enjoyed the ballet!"
Instantly tongues were set to wagging that the odd looking gentleman in the box next to the de Chagnys was a friend of the viscomtess. Several mothers made mental notes to make inquiries into his marital status. The man might not be perfectly handsome, but there were certainly uglier gentlemen to be had, and this one was friendly with a powerful family. It more than made up for any facial defects.
Across from the young couple, Erik nodded his head in silent acknowledgement of what they had just done for him. He mouthed "Thank you," and Christine returned with "My pleasure." The tittering subsided after a few moments, and then the sounds of the orchestra tuning up began to resound through the theater. It was nearly time to begin.
Monsieur Reyer was the next person to appear, taking his position in front where he could direct the musicians and have a good view of the stage. He tapped his baton three times and raised it. When it descended the overture began, and all eyes became fixed on the stage. The massive midnight blue curtain rumbled open, and on view was the edge of a woodland glade and close by the outskirts of a village. Albrecht, Duke of Silesia entered in disguise, as a woodcutter, followed by his faithful retainer, and the ballet quickly was underway.
The first act was progressing quite nicely, Erik thought as Meg whirled and turned flirting with disguised duke and the game-keeper Hilarion. She danced as though she had not a care in the world. Meg paid no heed when the dancer playing her mother admonished her to be careful, lest she end up one of the woodland spirits of girls who died because they were foolish in matters of the heart. She was young and had no thought love could bring grave disappointment.
But alas, everything went wrong the jealous Hilarion came upon proof that the man Giselle had been dancing with was not a simple woodcutter, by a man of blue blood. She at first refused to believe him, and to force her hand he blew a blast on a horn summoning the nearby hunting party that included the Prince of Courland and his daughter. They recognized Albrecht immediately, and when Giselle learned that Albrecht was to marry the prince's daughter she became completely despondent. Her dance evoked the happy memories of only days before, and when she reached the end, she grabbed Albrecht's sword from Hilarion and plunged it into her heart. Giselle's mother took the body of her daughter into her arms trying to will it to live, but the once happy girl was dead by her own hand.
The curtains fell, signaling the first act was over and there was some warm applause, which was rare before the interval. Erik was riveted to his seat, and made no move to leave his box to go to the lounge and quaff champagne with the moneyed masses. In scant twenty minutes Gia would be on stage, and he did not want to miss a moment.
The second act opened deep in the forest in a small clearing where a white cross glowed, indicating this was the place where Giselle had been buried. As a bell tolled midnight, the spirits of the Wilis, led by Gia as Myrta emerged from underneath the stage. The Wilis circled the grave, and Gia waved her wand at the grave, commanding the spirit of Giselle to join them in their dance. Meg emerged, looking astonishingly pale but beautiful garbed all in white. The Wilis danced, taking the lead from Myrta who with her regal bearing demanded attention.
From his position, Erik looked down on Gia and although he had seen her in costume before, she stole his breath. Her skin, although it had been whitened with powder shimmered from the footlights. The white ballet costume sparkled with every turn and gesture, and he found himself wondering how that crown on her head managed to stay on. He caught a flash from Gia's left hand when she raised her arm in a delicate arch over her head. She was wearing the engagement ring.
He was further mesmerized when the foolish Hilarion entered, hoping to visit the grave of Giselle. He was quickly swept up by the Wilis, but the spirit that carried him away was not Giselle, but Myrta. Without touching, Hilarion was whirled about by the ghostly queen. He tried in vain to follow her movements, but she was turning so rapidly he could not follow her. As Myrta, Gia was a beguiling presence, at once seductive, and yet marvelously aloof. She was executing each pirouette and fouetté with precision, and when she circled the hapless Hilarion with a series of chaînés turns, Erik nearly gasped. He had never been a dancer, but he was aware through Madame Giry how difficult it was to perform that many turns in rapid sequence. If a dancer lost focus for a moment, she would become dizzy and end up on her ass.
The audience was equally enthralled by the tall dancer, and when Hilarion collapsed, fatally exhausted, a battery of applause broke out. Gia looked down on the body of the man with disdain, and the turned away from him as though he had not even been worth the effort to kill. A few shouts of "Brava!" rang down from the balconies and Erik found himself joining them.
The chorus of shouts was becoming louder and lasting long enough that Reyer signaled for the orchestra to repeat the last page of music so the entrance of Albrecht would not be interrupted. Standing on the stage, Gia was stunned at the reaction. She could not still believe she had made it through the pas de deux without incident. She turned to the wings, and Madame Giry nodded that she should take a bow. Without breaking character, she made elegant curtsies to each side before resuming her place with the corps de ballet.
Once the applause died down, the ballet resumed with Albrecht and his retainer entering the scene. The retainer begged his master to leave this haunted place, but the duke would not leave, because standing amongst the spirits was his beloved Giselle. The Wilis moved to surround him, but Myrta held them off, extending her wand toward Giselle. She must be the one take this man's life for he was the own who misused her. Giselle did not want to harm this man, for she still loved him. She told him to cling to the cross of her grave and nothing could harm him. Myrta was unmoved by this scene, and she commanded Giselle to draw him away from the grave.
Meg looked at Gia with her pleading eyes, but Gia's cold stare told her she was bound to obey her. Reluctantly she began to dance, and Albrecht could not stop himself from following her, leaving the protection of the cross behind. The dance was growing out of control, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he could not sustain the pace she was setting, but he did not care. Giselle was here, and she was dancing again with him! The Wilis surrounded them, swaying in time to the music, urging the youngest Wili to take her revenge. Suddenly the clock struck four, and one by one the Wilis began to disappear. Dawn was coming, and they were creatures of the night.
The only people left on stage were Myrta, Giselle, and Albrecht. The man was desperately trying to grab Giselle's hand to prevent her from leaving him, but the unyielding queen beckoned her to join her sister spirits, displeased that the foolish girl had been able to save the duke by refusing her at first. But even she was touched by their devotion, and before slipping away, she gave them both an enigmatic smile. Meg then took her leave from him, and once again he reached for her hand, but she too melted away, leaving Albrecht all alone with only her grave for company. He reached down and plucked a white rose from the grave and studied it, his eyes misted with tears as the curtain drew closed.
The sound of clapping was deafening as the entire opera rose to its collective feet to cheer the magnificent production. The corps de ballet took its bow first, and then the minor players came forth one by one until all that was left was Hilarion, Myrta, Albrecht, and Giselle. Jean Chrétien, who had played Hilarion, was well-received by the crowd, and gloried in the attention, taking two additional bows.
Gia stepped forward, and a shower of roses fell upon her. Touched, she placed a hand over her heart, as she scanned the crowd, desperately hoping to find Erik's mask. It was nowhere to be found. Had he somehow forgotten her? This moment would not be possible without him. She took the additional bows, and then fell back, wanting to give Georges and Meg their turn, but even they were urging her forward, applauding her. She stepped forward a final time, gave one very long and deep reverence, before turning to her colleagues, extending her arm toward them.
Georges and Meg took their bows together and separately, with Meg getting her own long loud applause. The whole while she kept a huge grin on her face as the flowers flew onto the stage. She had grown up waiting for this moment, and now she truly had proven she was worthy of the title ballerina. The entire cast was brought back out for a group bow, and then the curtain came down for the last time.
In his box, Erik pounded his hands together furiously, not caring if anyone was staring at him. Eventually, the applause died and the audience began to leave slowly, some seeking their carriages, and others slipping backstage, hoping to congratulate the dancers or management on their fine work. When Erik looked to the next box, he found Christine and Raoul had already gone to see Meg and Madame Giry. He was not ready to leave yet. He sat back in his seat to gather the strength to face the crowd backstage without the protection of his mask.
He must not linger too long though. Gia was waiting for him.