Chapter Seven – The Costuming of the Red Death

Paris Opera – May 2005

"Ah! Missy, that's positively painful!"

"Really, Christine, I'm completely and utterly sorry. You can't blame me! It's a corset, dear, not a t-shirt." Missy pulls harder and harder on the laces of Christine's corset, fighting with it to make her friend's waist tiny as possible.

"I don't understand why this outfit has a corset anyhow! It's so frilly that it can't possibly matter how small my waist is." Missy chuckles. "And the costume fits me fine, even without a corset!" Madame walks over at that very moment.

"Patience, Christine, mon chéri! You will look stunning onstage, so no complaints!" Christine nods, unable to speak as Missy pulls it tighter, finally tying off the laces.

"There! It's finished. Now let's get you in costume!" Missy leads Christine over to a rack of dresses, picking out first layer of the frilly, ballerina pink ball gown Christine will wear, then a gold one for herself. "I prefer yours."

"I prefer yours!" The two of them laugh as they run to Madame, who will help them dress. As the dance instructor helps Christine into her dress, Millie walks by in full Oriental costume for the Masquerade Ball. Missy sniggers, but Christine covers her mouth hastily, quieting her. "Wouldn't want her to hear you, now would you?"

"Everyone's going to laugh at her anyway, Christine!" Madame and Missy spend many minutes finishing Christine's outfit, but when they finally are done, they send her off to have it checked over by Webber and André. As she leaves the women's dressing room, she feels now-familiar gloved hands on her waist. Richard pulls her towards him from behind, her skirts folding against his legs.

"Hey, love," Richard's voice comes to her, his lips close to her ear, and he takes the moment to touch them to the back of her neck. "You look to-die-for sexy, my dear." Christine coughs from the pressure on her middle from his hands.

"Try telling me that when I'm not in a corset and a five-foot train, okay Rich?" He spins her around to face him.

"Deal," he replies, leaning forward to kiss her. She feels suddenly guilty, for she hasn't told anyone but Missy about the two of them, not even her grandmother. Especially not Erik. Christine thinks back on their most recent lesson.

"How's your little Phantom doing, Christine?"

"He's doing fine. His voice is coming along rather nicely. And he looks the part too. Smooth black hair, amazing green eyes…"

"I know, I know, total heartthrob."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant."

Christine shudders at the thought of Erik finding out about herself and Richard. What a rage he'd been in! Christine touches her dainty white-gloved hand to Richard's lips. "Not here, my love. There are people around."

"Then let them see! If it's your darling little Erik you're worried about, he's not here." Christine doesn't say anything. Rather, she looks at Richard. He is in a long black robe and gloves, not anything Christine is familiar with.

"What's with the Grim Reaper robe?"

"It's only temporary. They're trying to find my Red Death costume." He chuckles, his head bent against her neck. "I sure hope it fits. And hey, if it's tight, you'll only be more inclined to stare at me like you're supposed to, eh?"

Christine pulls away from him. "Oh, you wicked thing!" she whispers to him as their lips touch once more. Richard wraps his arms around her fabric-laden waist and holds her close as they kiss, his hands burning the spots he touches, making her want to be with him more and more. With each passing day, she'd realized that her desires for him were growing, and moments like these only calm her wants for a little longer.

But Christine realizes that it was her who had put a foot down on intimacy. They are the leads in the first production to take place in the new Paris Opera, and what a scandal it'd be if they were caught.

"Richard! Richard?" André's voice pierces their little bubble of romance as he calls for his Phantom.

"Yes, Monsieur?" Richard turns to look towards the door leading into the hallway they're in.

"I think they've found your costume! And your masks arrived this morning. Come and have a look!" Richard puts his arm around Christine's waist and leads her out of the hallway into the bright light of the theatre. They walk over to the first row of seats and Christine catches sight of Carla with some romance novel, though she doesn't look as though she's actually reading.

Before they reach the manager, Christine feels a hand on her arm. "Miss Christine," Webber says to her, "Could I have a minute?"

"Of course, Monsieur." Christine leaves Richard and walks a little ways away with the composer. "What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?"

"There are rumors, Miss Landry," Webber begins, "that there is something between you and your vocal coach." Christine's mouth goes dry and she is completely speechless. "André didn't want to be the one to discuss it since he has to talk to his son about the rumors separately, but I want you to be aware."

"Monsieur Webber, may I set something straight?"

"Yes, Christine. You have my attention."

"I have no interest whatsoever in Monsieur Destler's son. I am merely the student to a highly capable teacher. That is all. Nothing more."

Webber sighs and looks back at Christine. "You better be sure that the both of you stay away from the kiss-on-the-cheek and all that crap if you don't want tabloids everywhere."

"Tabloids? I'm in the opera and he's a soon-to-be medical student and you say there'll be tabloids?"

"You know what I mean. And I'm from America, love. Everything's about the goddamn tabloids." Christine laughs as he leaves, and she leans down to inspect her skirts.

"Mademoiselle, you're giving me quite the show there." Christine looks up and sees naught but red. Richard extends his hand to her to help her stand up straight. "I suggest not leaning down like that around your utterly attracted and aroused co-star. It's giving me quite a view of…"

"Shut it!" She pushes her gloved hand against his mouth immediately. "There are other people around! And," she says, pressing her hip against him, making sure he knows that she's aware of his desire for her, "you're a walking hard-on." She lets him go, but he catches her quickly by the waist, pressing her corset into her sides. "Damn, Rich! Don't you realize how much that hurts?"

"Well, you didn't think you were going to leave without critiquing my costume, did you?" He smiles flirtatiously at her, making her give in.

"Fine. Let me have a look at you." He steps a little back from her and she takes a look at him. Richard doesn't quite look like the Phantom without his mask or prosthetics on, but it's the costume she's interested in. His arms are framed nicely by the close-fitting sleeves, his pale hands standing out from the black, ruffled cuffs. The gold buttons and tight fabric of the shirt fit his toned body closely, showing off every muscle, as well as the pants. The red, velvety fabric tapers off at his ankles, showing off the sleek black boots on his feet. "Very nice."

"Sexy enough for you?"

"Maybe. I'll certainly be able to stare at you," she jests, making him reach for her. "Stop it! There are at least a dozen people here who we don't want to know about us." Christine again thinks of Erik. People think they're together? How naïve. Only in America did people think that there were romances between those who work together. And, of course, only in America did they believe in the ever-popular co-star romance.

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