Christine dans Deux
An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2006
DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Fifty-Four – Paris and Le Hôtel Grand
Our train stops at the Station Saint-Lazare, which is less than a kilometer from our lodging at le Hôtel Grand. I instruct the porters about our luggage and then leave the men to their job. I have one last "surprise" for Christine. However, I believe this one will not entirely please her.
"Christine," I begin, "Come here, my love. I need to speak with you."
She takes a seat across from me in the salon and waits for me to speak.
"This world is very different from yours, as you already know. A young, unmarried lady of rank, such as you, would never travel alone, especially not with a young, unmarried man. She would have at the very least one, usually two or more servants traveling with her to act as her chaperone as well as assist with the every day details of her bath, clothes, dress, hair and meals. A man, such as me, could travel alone, but usually would have at least his personal valet with him. Appearances are critical here. Rank and station controlled by convention, which require certain basic elements be present, yes?" She warily returns my nod. I continue. "In order to play our roles, we must have these trappings of tradition. This requires us to maintain servants. My father agrees with me. He sent Henrí and Miriam to us. They were on the train our box car transferred to last night."
"Dearest, are they to know we are married?"
A pause. "Yes." A longer pause. "We must trust them. I already trust Henrí. Otherwise, our sleeping arrangements will scandalize them. What do you think of Miriam?"
"I like her very much and believe her trustworthy. She's a sweet girl, kind, bright and has a sharp wit. Best of all, she listens to me when she helps me with my corset. The day she laced me is the only time I was comfortable in the bloody thing. I guess I can put up with this. I really don't have any choice."
"Thank you for understanding, Christine. I must go and let them know they are in charge of overseeing our luggage's arrival at the hotel. I shall return in just a moment."
True to my word, I return within five minutes. I find Christine nervously and critically examining her appearance in the salon's mirror. I walk up behind her and looking into the mirror, am amazed. Here we are two extremely introverted, self-conscious, shy people having to act as if we are two extremely extroverted, self-confident, outgoing people. The complete opposite of our true natures.
Only one small quirk gives Christine's true feelings away; she bites the left side of her lower lip.
"Relax! You are lovely beyond words!" I carefully brush my lips to hers. "Stop biting your lip, ma plus chère épouse!"
I look at our reflections, which the mirror frames beautifully. The mirror's frame lends our reflections the air of a photographic portrait. Intently, I commit the sight in the mirror to my memory, so I may sketch it later.
"Yes, I do believe we are ready for the lion's den." I muse.
The two of us stand ready to launch ourselves into Parisian society. We are over-dressed for the hour of the day, our elegant attire and impeccable coifs guaranteed to provide us with instant notice.
Christine wears a "Fromont Firm, Paris" evening gown. This is not one that I purchased for her, but one she brought from her collection at home. She wears it to be daring and to flaunt the current dictates of fashion requiring women cover their arms, neck and chest when outdoors during the day. The crimson red, raw silk silhouette sheath dress is overlay with panels of jet black satin, which attach at the shoulder, run form fitting to her hips then fall separately to the hem of the train. Intricate embroidery of silk threads and glass beads run along the length of the jet black satin panels. The sleeves of the dress are wrist-length, made of sheer black lace and have silk thread and glass bead embroidery. The plunging v-neckline shows off the delicious swells of cleavage created by the artful lacing at the front of her gown. Rising from the roundness of cleavage, the neckline sweeps up her chest to her exposed collarbones. The neckline rises into a stiff, upright collar of crimson red, raw silk as it curves around the back of her head. The cuirasse bodice dress is corset-like and extends well down the hips creating a look of a body encased in armor. The dress is exceptionally form fitting and requires no bustle, but a small pad placed on a support near her tailbone, helps the fabric of the elongated train to fall well. As a sign of wealth, she wears a natural foxtail stole about her shoulders. Her long, auburn hair is in a half-up, half-down French twist, which softens the overt sexuality of her evening gown into a soft romantic look. As final touch, she has one long, curled tendril hanging from the top of her crown over the left front side of her face. I am not certain why, but I find it very arousing. She wears only the softest touch of make-up, a little blush, lipstick and a smoky-green eye shadow. I notice that Christine does give one nod to the gods of fashion as she wears a pair of black kid gloves with black and white scallop embroidery around the cuffs on her hands. The only jewelry she wears is her wedding ring, which she wears on her gloved right hand's pinkie finger. The overall effect of her appearance is to my eyes hypnotically entrancing.
I then turn to look upon my reflection in the mirror. We make an exceptionally handsome couple, if I don't say so myself. I have decided to wear full morning dress, which consists of a black cutaway coat, a black and gold double-breasted waistcoat, a pair of black striped formal trousers with braces (suspenders,) a white winged collar shirt with a single cuff that I fasten with a pair of deep red ruby cufflinks, a crimson red silk cravat held tidy with a matching ruby cravat pin, a pair of black plain Oxford boots, a black silk top hat, a pair of black kid gloves and a gold-plated walking stick topped with a blood red crystal.
My eyes find Christine's eyes in the mirror and I raise an eyebrow.
"So, what do you think?"
"Something is missing." Her eyes narrow as they run up and down my body. She tilts her head considering me then nods. "I have just the thing! Stay there! Don't move!"
Carefully, she leans and picks up her train and drapes it over her arm. She walks to the bedroom and closes the door. I am most curious as to what she hopes to retrieve from the bedroom, as I am certain all of our belongings are on their way to the hotel. The door opens less than a minute later and she returns to my side. Her eyes sparkle with a mischievous light as they meet mine in the mirror. She holds out a small white box topped by curly red ribbons.
"I believe I have just the thing right here."
Taking the box from her, I lift the lid and find an elegant satin-finish gold pocket watch and green-gold watch chain. I open the watch and notice the time is correctly set. I find these words engraved inside the case lid.
"For my darling husband,
Erik.
My heart is yours always.
With much love from your wife.
Eternally yours,
Christine."
I place the watch in the front left pocket and thread the "T" bar through the bottom buttonhole of my waistcoat. I run my hands over my waistcoat and straighten my coat.
"Well?
I think they don't have a chance!" She smiles.
"Ready to do this?"
She inhales deeply and blows out the breath noisily.
"Sure. I was born ready." She adds under her breath, "Yeah! Right!"
"I heard that! Let's go!"
Christine and I debark the private box car and begin our stroll around the station house, which is busy with the hustle and bustle of late-morning activity. I feel eyes watching us. Most men take note of Christine, some even attempt nonchalance as they follow her, some people go so far as to stop and outright stare at us as we walk past. The two of us receive this attention for a number of reasons. The foremost being our appearance. The two of us impeccably dressed and coifed. I am gracious and polite to a fault, tipping my hat often to passing ladies. The lady whose hand winds through my arm stuns all who gaze upon her with her looks, dress and manners. We promenade slowly through the station while everyone else hurries to and fro. First, we consult the list of train arrivals and departures. We feign interest in a train arriving this afternoon from Montpellier. Using voice projection, I plant rumors here about Christine de Chagny and there about the new production at the Opera Populaire and all over about us. We casually stroll to the telegraph office and find several telegrams awaiting us. We seriously discuss casting choices for the new opera. People whisper behind their hands wondering, who could they possibly be? The man must be an aristocrat, the men murmur. The ladies giggle and flirt, he's so handsome! Christine uses her abilities to read lips and hear the thoughts of those nearby to learn people's names, so she can call out personal greetings. The men openly admire the small, elegant, slender yet well-formed woman with her hazel eyes, long, dark auburn hair and golden skin. People whisper. Foreign royalty, perhaps? She is shameless! The women jealously hiss. Look at the cut of her gown. It's scandalous! Christine and I glide through the crowd. We seem oblivious to the commotion we create as we sweep through the station doors. We pause for just a moment longer than necessary in order to provide adequate dramatic effect at the top of the stairs leading down to the street. By now, the entire station is buzzing with rumors flying fast and furious. Courtesy of my beloved wife's empathy, we feel the furor left in the wake of our walk. Just as we planned it. Each move carefully choreographed and rehearsed right down to this dramatic pause at the top of the stairs.
Standing at the top of the stairs, I offer Christine my hand. I accomplish this by holding up my right hand, wrist bent, palm down and with my elbow tucked in at my waist. She turns to me, dips a brief curtsy and returns to face front. She allows her hand to float up coming to lightly rest atop mine. Then with shoulders down, chest out and chin up, we descend the stairs and walk elegantly to the curb.
Sitting curbside is an elegant ivory and gold open barouche with two pairs of pure black, Friesian horses. The coachman is dressed in the livery of the family de Mornay and the coach bears the crest of le Comte de Mornay. As I see the crest and livery, I give an involuntary hiss. Christine doesn't react, but she hears my surprise.
"A surprise for you from your father?" She says in the silence of our minds.
"A surprise, yes."
"Does it mean what I think it does?"
"Beloved, I do not know. I assume nothing. We shall see."
We receive the answer to her question as we stand next to the carriage. The coachman dismounts his perch, swiftly opens the carriage door and bows low at the waist.
"Monsieur le Comte, welcome to Paris! Mademoiselle Maire, welcome to Paris."
The man straightens his back and offers his hand to Christine. She nods her thanks, accepts his assistance and slides to the far side of the seat. I nod pleasantly at the man and inquire as to his name and health. The man seems pleased with the courtesy and responds with quiet dignity.
"My name is Alphonse and I am quite well, thank you. Where to Monsieur le Comte?"
I respond by projecting my voice again. The sound escaping my lips completely inaudible. My voice booming at the spot I choose to throw it. Currently, I throw my voice into the center of the seemingly ever-growing group of spectators that watch us from the top of the stairs, thereby making certain all of them hear our destination.
"Le Hôtel Grand at 3, Place de l'Opéra."
I am somewhat surprised when the coachman nods and bows to me. I was just about to repeat our destination to him. He gently closes the door, informs the driver of our destination and returns to his box at the rear of the carriage. The driver gives the horses a quiet command and our carriage slowly heads east on Rue Saint-Lazare.
Christine removes an ornate crimson silk and mother of pearl fan from her handbag, opens it and covers the lower half of her face with it.
"Are you aware of what you just did?" She whispers.
"Yes. I threw my voice into the crowd. An old trick I learned while I traveled with the gypsies." I shrug.
"No. Not that. When you threw your voice into the crowd, you realized the coachman wouldn't hear your response. What you didn't realize is that you projected your voice into his mind. He heard you just as if you had spoken directly to him. Very nice! It would have been better if you had planned it though."
She smiles at me with worshipping eyes, but I can see the mischief within.
"Erik, it seems you can draw on my mental abilities, but not the information I've learned to protect me. You need to be careful! You don't want to project an inappropriate thought to someone. That could have very serious repercussions and could jeopardize all of us. You have extraordinary control of your physical prowess. You need to exercise the same restraints on your emotional and mental powers. I know this has never been easy for you. Hopefully, having a wife and child will assist you in controlling your temper."
Our carriage makes a right turn onto Place du Havre and continues onto Rue du Havre.
I hear the pride in her voice at my accomplishments and I sense her underlying anxiety. She is right. In the past, when I felt angry I never exercised any self-control. I would either lash out in response or worse, plan elaborate revenges. She's right. I have too much at risk if I allow my old ways to resurface. I take her words and sear them into my mind for the love of her and the love of Trystin. Never again.
"My beloved wife, I will endeavor to be all you wish. And I beg you to be there to help me if I stumble along the way."
"I am here for you."
"As I am also here for you."
She returns her fan to her bag and arranges her skirts so we can secretly hold hands. The day is beautifully bright with only a few gray clouds scattered across the sky, which is amazing for this time of year. Those few clouds will most likely be black and threatening by this afternoon.
Our carriage makes a left turn onto Rue Auber.
"We arrived on a precipitous day. This sunny day is unusual for November. An uncommon break in the weather. Tomorrow we will see heavy rain." I predict.
"Yes, I can feel the rain in my bones. I understand the reason for having the open carriage, but with my dress' neckline and the sheer sleeves, I wish I had worn my cloak instead of this bit of fluff."
She indicates the foxtail stole draped about her shoulders. I don't have the heart to tell her that she's going to be even more uncomfortable later today as the weather turns colder. The dress she currently wears causes my mind to wander. Her gown requires a very tightly cinched corset and provides my sight with a generous display of décolleté. My mind wanders and I picture her in the pale celadon green ball gown of silk, satin and taffeta brocade as she wears the jewelry I designed as her wedding gift. My body begins to respond to my imaginings of her with a stirring of heat in my loins.
The carriage bears right on Place de l'Opéra.
"Erik, I am extremely flattered that the mere thought of me manages to arouse you. However, you need to maintain your composure, my love. Your trousers hide nothing. I have no wish to share even the sight of you with any of these Parisian trollops! Think cold shower."
"Why, Madame, I had no idea ladies think of such things!"
"Monsieur, ladies do. Most are simply practiced liars and are able to hide this from the men in their lives. As I told you when we met, I do not play mind games. I have never pretended to be anything but a wanton as far as you are concerned." Her chuckle is low and suggestive.
"Christine! You are not helping!" I take several deep breaths and as the carriage pulls to a stop, I am ready to take on the most challenging opponents any Parisian can battle, the Hotel Registration Desk Clerk.
The coachman hops down and silently opens the carriage door for us. I exit first. Smiling at the coachman, I dismiss him, he nods and returns to his perch. I turn to Christine and hold out my hand to her. She daintily lays her gloved hand in mine, carefully lifts her skirt and train, then exits the carriage. I close the door behind her. We turn and begin the short walk to the hotel's front doors.
The doorman, who became aware of us the moment our carriage stopped at the curb, has propped open the right door and holds the left door open as he awaits us. I nod at him and swiftly slip a 20 gold franc coin into his hand as I enter a half step ahead of Christine. I feel rather than see his surprised pleasure as he notes the amount of the tip. The doorman bows his head to Christine as she walks past him and through the door with her hand on my arm, she keeps her eyes straight ahead, but downcast slightly. It is our intention to keep people guessing about our relationship. We want people to think it possible we are in the midst of a brazen love affair as well as we might be brother and sister. As soon as we are through the doors, I gently move Christine so she walks at my side and place my hand protectively atop hers. We bypass the people waiting in line at the Registration Desk. Heads turn and resentful eyes watch us. We walk casually past the Registration Desk directly to a posh desk with a polished brass plaque, which reads, "Le Hôtel Grand Member Club."
No clerk is behind the desk.
"Time for a quick decision: loud and obnoxious or gracious and regal?" I ask her silently.
"I vote for gracious and regal." My beloved's voice speaks in my mind.
"Then gracious and regal it is ma chère cœur."
We stop in front of the desk and stand side-by-side for a few moments. When the clerk at the Registration Desk does not acknowledge our presence and no one else indicates service shall be forthcoming, I turn and raise an eyebrow to the doorman. The smiling man nods at me. He hesitates for only a moment and then quickly leaves his post. He hurriedly walks to the Bell Desk and whispers for a moment to the Bell Captain then returns to his post at the door. I watch with growing amusement as word of our arrival spreads like wildfire up through the ranks of hotel employees.
The entire process takes only a minute or two before a nervous little man hurries to the desk.
"Monsieur, pardonnez-moi! May I be of assistance?"
"Yes, Monsieur, you may. I have reserved the Blue and Gold Suite and would like to check in."
"Ah yes, Monsieur. Very good. Very good. One moment while I check our list."
The poor man seems to shrink at least three inches as he comes upon my name and I swear a bead of sweat forms on his brow.
"Yes, here we are. Monsieur le Comte de Mornay – The Blue and Gold Suite. Yes. Yes." He places a ledger book on the counter before me. "If you could please sign the Guest Book, we can show you to your suite." His eyes look nervously at Christine and he seems about to speak.
"Is there something else, Monsieur?" I ask him gently.
"Monsieur le Comte will excuse the indelicacy of my inquiry, but … the young lady?"
"Of course, my apologies! She has the Red and Gold Suite."
I swear the poor man is about to faint over his fear of insulting me.
"And, and the lady's account?"
"I shall be handling both of our accounts. Is that acceptable?"
"Yes, of course. Again, my apologies if I was indelicate."
"No apologies necessary. Now, I would like to inquire as to the status of my valet, the lady's maid and our luggage, which were sent ahead from the station."
The manager steps away from the desk. He raises a hand and signals the Bell Captain over to him. The two men converse quietly for a moment.
The manager returns to the desk.
"All has arrived safely and will be taken to your suites immediately, Monsieur le Comte."
"Thank you. Is there anything else?"
"No. No. Everything is in order. Here are the keys, Monsieur le Comte."
He hands me two ornate keys. One is inlaid with blue and gold cloisonné and the other with red and gold cloisonné.
"Thank you."
"Now, I would like to present to you our Bell Captain, Pierre. He will escort you and the lady to your suites. Please, if you should find you need anything, do not hesitate to let us know. It is our pleasure to make your stay at le Hôtel Grand as comfortable as possible. Our concierge services are excellent." Abruptly, he stops, clears his throat, then continues. "I am terribly sorry, but my presence is required elsewhere. Please, excuse me?"
I nod at him graciously and turn to Pierre.
"If you would please come this way Monsieur le Comte, Madame. Our club guests have use of a private lift. After all, we have no wish to make the lady walk up seven flights of stairs, now do we?"
He chuckles as if his jest was actually amusing. He looks back at us over his shoulder and for a split second rakes his eyes over Christine, but in that moment I catch something vile. In that brief glance, I felt him violate her with his eyes. After a moment, I understand. This is one of the ugly moments Christine has experienced through her empathy. She unconsciously walks closer beside me. She never allows these mental assaults to bring her to the base rank of people like Pierre.
She senses my thoughts and I hear her. "Small steps, my love. Small steps. We cannot change the world overnight. And we definitely cannot change it with anger or hatred. So, let the misogynistic Luddite look. As long as he only thinks and doesn't act, I have no quarrel with him. Forget him. He is not worthy of your attention."
I know she is right, but I still feel uneasy about this man and resolve to keep an eye on him. After all, no one is aware that Christine is my wife. Christine, bless her, is from a different world. She does not understand that some men in my world believe taking liberties with a woman or using force is acceptable, even expected when dealing with a mistress.
"Monsieur? Madame? Or is it Mademoiselle?"
The man leers at Christine. She involuntarily flinches. This serves to incite the wolf further and he edges closer to her. I feel her trembling, but not with fear. My lady is steeling her nerves and readying herself to attack. Seeking to diffuse the situation and prevent any future difficulties, I interject and answer on behalf of my lady.
"Excuse me. It is Mademoiselle Maire, Monsieur. As a gentleman, I am honor-bound to inform you that this young lady is a ward of my family. My father, Comte Jean-Paul de Mornay is her guardian. He placed her under my care and protection while we visit Paris. Please know this: I will take great exception to any insult against her."
The man blinks in surprise, turns away from Christine and his shoulders hunch.
"This way please." He grumbles.
We enter the lift. I have heard of these devices and I know that Christine has been in many over the course of her life. The man sullenly slides the gate closed and then chooses the 7th floor button. The small box we are standing in lurches and noisily begins its bouncing ascent to the top floor. The trip takes several minutes, but the man was correct. It did save a lot of wear and tear on our feet.
We exit the car into a large glass domed lobby. The floor is brilliant white marble with a red and gold Persian carpet. A deep blue brocade hangs on the walls. Today's sunshine sparkles off the gold fleur-de-lis patterns woven into the brocade. Hung on the wall to the left of the elevator is the painting "Le Moulin de la galette" by Pierre-Auguste Renoir and to the right of the elevator the painting "Two Sisters (On the Terrace)" again, by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. The wall directly across from the elevator has a huge portrait depicting a young Napoleon with sword drawn mounted on a rearing white horse. The painting is "Napoleon Crossing the Saint-Bernard" by Jacques-Louis David. I cannot take credit for knowing the names of the paintings or the artists (well, I am familiar with the David portrait.) I have no idea who Renoir is, but gleaned the information from an art class history Christine took in college. Monsieur Renoir, I take it is a contemporary of mine. The first painting about five years old and the second completed earlier this year. Overall the lobby is exquisitely decorated and completely silent. There are two suite entry doors across from the elevator, one on either side of Napoleon's portrait. The Bell Captain leads us to the one on the right first. He turns to me and holds out his hand. I glance at the door and read a small brass plaque inscribed, "Red & Gold Suite." I hand the man the appropriate key. He opens the door and we follow him into the room. The room is as promised. I kiss Christine chastely on the cheek.
"Please change, my dear. We must not be late for our appointment at the Conservatoire."
Christine plays the innocent by lowering eyes and dipping a girlish curtsy to me.
"I promise not to keep you waiting, Monsieur Erik."
"Very well. We leave in two hours."
"Yes, Monsieur. Until then."
She turns and walks out to the suite's salon and into the bedroom. I faintly hear her begin her warm-up exercises of scales, which makes me smile. I turn to the Bell Captain.
"After you Monsieur."
I stand before the suite next door. I read a small brass plaque inscribed, "Blue & Gold Suite." The man unlocks the door and returns both keys to me. I generously tip the man hoping to bring the unpleasantness over Christine to a close. His surliness disappears as he peeks into the pouch I handed him and quickly counts the 200 francs it contains. He bows low and turns to depart, but pauses at the door. He turns back to me.
"Monsieur le Comte, I would like to apologize for my rudeness. I have no excuse. Please accept my sincerest apologies."
"I accept your apology. Think no more of it. Consider the matter is forgotten."
I think, "In a pig's eye," but stand impassively waiting for the man to leave. He hesitates a moment longer before speaking again.
He clears his throat nervously and says.
"If Monsieur … There is … I mean …Well, Monsieur, there is a door which connects the two suites. Would you like to have the door unlocked?"
The man's face has turned a bright scarlet.
I pause and consider his offer.
"Could you come with me?"
Now, the man goes ashen.
"No. It's quite all right. Please. This will just take a moment of your time."
I lead the unnerved man back to Christine's room and knock on her door. After a moment, Christine calls through the door.
"Who is there?" Christine's muffled voice calls through the door.
I answer, "Monsieur Erik, Mademoiselle."
The door opens and her eyes peep through the small slit of open door.
"Yes?"
I turn to Pierre.
"You may give the key to the young lady. If she wishes the connecting door open, say to dine with me. She can unlock and lock it as she sees fit."
He hands the key to Christine, bows and beats a very hasty retreat from the 7th floor.
I take Christine's hand in mine, bend over it and place a courtly kiss upon the back of it.
"I shall see you soon?"
"Oh oui, Monsieur."
She withdraws her hand, smiles at me with her eyes and quietly closes the door.
Returning to my suite, I spend the next quarter hour speaking with Henrí while he unpacks my things and lays out clothes for the visit to the Conservatoire. I ask him to draw me a bath as I find I have plenty of time to take a nice, long bath. The suite's bathroom has a marvelous roman tub that (for once) seems long enough for my body. I dismiss Henrí to go to his room and then ready myself to enter the tub.
The water envelops my body within its warmth, relaxing me. Dealing with people has never been my strong suit. The false facade of civility has always felt to me like more of a mask than the ones I wore upon my face ever did. I close my eyes, lean back and let my head float in the water. So peaceful and quiet. As always, my mind drifts to thoughts of my wife. My Christine. Ma chère cœur. She healed my broken heart and granted me paradise here on earth. Ma chère cœur! I want to feel her sweet lips all over my body. I wonder what she is doing now. And even though I can feel her presence in my mind, I miss her. My head bobs unexpectedly in the water. Opening my eyes, I find her entering the tub. Her slender body golden and glorious. Oh, she of the smiling eyes!
"What do you think you are doing?" I purr contentedly.
"What do I think? I? I heard you. You miss me. So, I am here. You desire to feel my kisses all over your body. Hmmm … do you now. Well, I am here. I am here to attend to your every desire, my husband."
"First, come closer, ma chère cœur! I need to touch you and make certain you are not a dream."
"I am yours alone to command, my dearest husband."
All too soon, we must leave the tub and our lovemaking for later. We hurriedly dress for our visit to the Conservatoire. While the bath we shared was bliss, it has left us with precious little time before our appointment. And, Christine, while a collector of "period" or "vintage" clothing, I worry she hasn't realized the amount of time required for a lady to dress. I am therefore pleasantly surprised and very impressed when I enter her suite to find her completely dressed. She is standing before a full-length mirror in her bathroom adjusting her favorite hat on her head with Miriam nowhere in sight.
"You cheated! By wearing a riding habit, you bypassed the whalebone corset and bustle. I've been very concerned that the styles of my time were going to be unbearable for you."
My eyes run up and down her body in a silent caress. This is a dress I haven't seen before, so she must have brought it from her collection. The fabric shimmers and appears to be either pale olive green (which matches her hat) or a silvery dove gray depending on the angle of the light. The long, flowing style as well as her perfect posture gives my 5'2" lady the illusion of being much taller.
"Ready?"
"Just one more pin, my love." She struggles for a moment. "There! That's got it! Well, "she turns to me, "do I pass inspection?"
"If I look at you any more, we are going to miss our appointment altogether!"
"Then, I will take that as a yes."
She walks to my side and kisses me on the cheek.
"Love you. Let's go!"
Offering my arm to her, she sighs and slips into character, which makes me, sigh as well.
THE DRESSES CHRISTINE WEARS ARE REAL. IF YOU WOULD CARE TO VIEW THEM, JUST DROP ME A NOTE OR BETTER YET, WRITE A REVIEW AND I WILL SEND YOU THE WEBSITE ADDRESSES WHERE I FOUND THEM.