Author's notes: Glad everyone is enjoying this! I again apologize for the slow update. I stink. Please, please, please keep reviewing!
Disclaimer: I do not own Raoul or Gaston. Obviously, Charles and anyother, shall we say, incidental characters in this chapter. winkAnd, um, for those of you who understand libel laws, I'm claiming parody for the end of this chapter. You'll understand when you read. Enjoy!
Charles
Italy is beautiful. So was the woman whose eye I caught as I finished playing. She was in the third row, with an older gentleman who, I found out later, was her father, with dark brown hair, a beautiful smile, and, best of all, she did not look like a skeleton! France is full of women whose only job, it seems, is to wear the latest fashions in the smallest size possible, and if it makes them look like they haven't eaten in at least a month, all the better!
It's been so long since I've been attracted to a woman, really, physically attracted, that the force at which it hit me made me almost miss a note! She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. I could imagine her hair freed of the pins that constrained it, flowing down her back- I restrained myself from some rather ungentlemanly thoughts and finished the concert.
Strange that after almost a decade of relative celibacy, she should be the one to break the pattern and make me want, yearn for, desire a woman again. You see, I had all but decided to ask Angelique to marry me when I returned to Paris. It wasn't just aboutCharles needing a mother, though that fact was becoming more and more obvious as he grew, but she was charming, easy to talk to, and intelligent, and I was convinced she and I could be happy together.
I had, evidently, forgotten what real attraction was.
I had also completely forgotten how to court a lady. I stumbled out into the foyer in a rush after the performance, as soon as I could get away from the crowds who wanted to speak with me, and to whom I had no desire to address at the present moment, and searched frantically for her. At the time, I had no concrete idea who the older gentleman was, but the resemblance between the two suggested family, and anyway, I could certainly find out!
And I did find her, that is, I literally ran into her while I was looking in the opposite direction.
"Mademoiselle, I am so sorry," I said, lapsing into French and then making an attempt to switch into Italian. Of course, my mind completely let go the language I had known since I was 15, and I'm sure I wound up commenting on the weather or something instead, but she smiled and we introduced ourselves without starting an international war, so I suppose things were off to a good start.
Her name was Josephine and I was in love. Her father's name was Alessandro, he worked at one of the top Italian banks, she was his only daughter and he was a widower, so she cared for him in his estate.
You might well wonder how I know all this, and the simple answer is that despite my blunderings, I managed to ask her to a late supper, and her father graciously found a cab and his own way home.
Did you know it can be utterly entrancing to watch someone eat? I wanted to buy her strawberries and champagne and just sit there for an hour or so, and really, I can't imagine ever having wanted to sit still and watch a woman do anything before! Even Charles' mother, who I thought I loved, would have bored me in this instance, but I found myself utterly captivated by Josephine.
I loved her name.
"So, Signor de Chagny, tell me a little of yourself," she said, and I could have sworn she was flirting with me. "I mean besides the famous pianist part, and the composing, and the aristocrat status, and all those other things that are in the paper. Tell me about you." Her smile was utterly intoxicating, and I found myself rising to her challenge, and dropped my voice a partial register.
"Well, there isn't much to tell, really," I said, and her reaction to the change in tone was astounding. How had I lived to be this old and not known the power my voice could hold? Forget piano, this was incredible! "I grew up in England and moved to Paris as a young man to start my career."
"Your accent is beautiful, despite an English upbringing," she said, taking a long sip of her wine.
"Thank you, I have a very particular father," I said, holding her eye for just a moment longer than necessary before turning my attention deliberately to my flatware, before glancing back up.
"I enjoy art," I offered, "And opera." She smiled, encouraging me.
"And I abhor French fashion," I said with a smirk that caused her to laugh and raise her hand to her lips in quite an amusing fashion.
"That's good," she said, "Because I don't own any." Oh, really? It was almost too easy, but so much fun, and it had been so long since anyone had made me feel this way.
"Well," I said, using my previous tone to great advantage again, "I would say that's well enough, as Italian couture seems to suit you beautifully."
Her face flushed an amazing pink, and then she caught sight of the clock outside.
"Eleven thirty!" she exclaimed. "Oh, it's really quite late."
"I'm sorry," I said, somewhat flustered at her abrupt change in tone, "I didn't mean to keep you." I stood and waited for her.
"Oh, no, it isn't that," she said, perhaps stepping a little closer than necessary on her way to collect her coat. I helped her into it as she explained.
"Father has to take certain medications before bed, and I hate to leave that to the maids. I daresay they've got on by now, but I was surprised to see the time."
"Well, allow me to escort you home," I said. "I'll need a cab anyway to get back to the hotel."
"Thank you, Signor," she said.
I held out my hand to help her into the cab, and she allowed her touch to linger. The entire ride to her estate, all I could think of was how near she sat to me, and how even after this short time I longed to gather her in my arms, but of course, proper breeding allowed me to do no more than admire the moonlight on her hair.
At her house, I helped her from the cab and stood for a moment, our eyes meeting and holding a gaze that seemed to speak volumes, but in a language I did not understand.
"It was lovely meeting you," I said softly, edging a bit closer to her and brushing a tangle of hair from her face.
"And you," she responded. Every urge inside of me screamed out to kiss her, but I restrained myself.
"Perhaps you would be available for lunch tomorrow? I have some time before a performance."
"I would like nothing better," she said, and I raised her hand to my lips, kissed it lightly, and watched as she entered the house. A thin ribbon of light reached out to me in the dimly lit street, enveloped her, and left me again in the dark as the heavy door shut her inside.
Raoul
If I thought finding that former journalist would have been an issue, I was proved wrong the instant I asked someone on the street where I might find M. Leroux. I was directed to a nearby pub by a street urchin who seemed to know everything, at least, once he was tipped accordingly, and sure enough, there he was, sitting alone at the bar with a scotch and water.
"M. Leroux?" I asked, though it hardly seemed necessary. He matched the physical description I had gotten exactly.
"Yes?" he asked, in a tone that suggested clearly this was not his first drink of the evening. He was younger than me, but not by much, and his condition played heavily in my favor. When I suggested we step outside for a moment, he complied without question, tottering uncertainly as he rose from his chair, allowing his heavy gait to balance as he accompanied me to the deserted courtyard. It was dark, and I allowed myself the privilege of standing very close to him.
"What's this about?" he asked uncertainly.
"You do realize I could kill you right now and no one would miss you?" He snorted.
"My God, man, you've no idea who I am, do you?" he asked.
"Oh, I know who you are. And now, you should know who I am. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny."
At the mention of my name, his flabby face went white and he attempted to step backwards, an unfortunate movement that backed him against a brick wall. We were completely in shadow now, and no one could see us from either restaurant or street.
"I-"
"No, silence," I commanded in a tone I wasn't sure I'd ever used before. Funny, Erik, you've brought me to this point and I rather think you'd be proud of me! "I've read your most recent bit of literature and you've got some explaining to do!" At the sound of his work, he seemed to rally a bit.
"It's all true," he sneered at me, "All of it, and you'd have a hard time proving I'd done anything wrong by reporting what I can back up!"
"And you'd have a hard time profiting off of it in an unfortunate condition," I growled. "But you're not worth my time. The papers were libelous enough towards me once, and you've gone and done it again. What I want to know is how."
"How?"
"Is it so hard a question? You could have gone back and read the papers, for all I know you wrote some of the damned stories, but I want to know where you got the details. Because I didn't tell you, the man himself is dead, and that leaves only one person, and I doubt he'd tell you, but somehow, he's in that book and you've got approximately two minutes to tell me how you know what you know."
"Or else what?"
I laughed, drew myself up to full height and stared him down.
"Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you really think I'm going to threaten you?" My tone itself bared every implication I could think of, but I refused to give him anything concrete to take me to jail over. I took a step closer.
Had he been sober, I've no doubt he would have pushed me aside and left me there, alone and without information, but he was not, and evidently the thought that an aristocrat who'd never been in a real fight in his life could flatten him was a plausible fate. And he didn't even know I was armed! I wasn't proud of it, but I'd tried to shoot my demons down once before and tonight, I was angry enough to do it again. It was only the thought of my son and grandson that kept me from taking his life. I was that angry. I didn't care about me. My name was slandered enough when I married Christine, but I loved her and couldn't bear the thought of it all over again.
Every time, the fact she didn't love you back brings you to this, the voice sneered. It made me angrier, and his silence was maddening. I stepped forward again, our bodies almost touching, anger radiating off of me. If I was bluffing before, I wasn't now.
"All right," he said. "All right. But at least let's go into the bar where it's warmer. You can buy me a drink," he said impetuously, "And I'll tell you what I know."
"How do I know you won't lie to me?"
"Now I might just start to think you're an idiot if you talk like that," he snapped in a moment of sobriety. "You'll know if I'm lying, won't you? You were there in that pit."