Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Sixty – Act One

Christine immediately leaps to her feet, knocking over the chair in which she had been sitting. Her hand still tightly gripping my forearm as she turns. I hear her breath catch in her throat and she instinctively presses herself close to me. I gently pry her hand from my arm and then wrap my arm protectively about her.

I murmur, "Ma chère, everything will be all right."

Some of the tension leaves her body, but her attention remains fixed on the entry door of our box. Slipping my foot under the back of the chair, I hook it, toss it up and catch it with my free hand, setting it back in its place. As I hear the doorknob rattle, I swiftly reach into my suit coat and withdraw my security.

Muffled voices are barely audible just outside our box and I give Christine a little shake.

"Beloved! Calm yourself! We must not give ourselves away to anyone. We are Erik and Christine de Mornay, but tonight we are Erik de Mornay and his ward, Christine Maire. I know you can do this … I have faith in you to do this!"

My words finally reach her. She pulls away from me and I release what would be perceived as my inappropriate hold on her waist. She looks into my eyes, steps away from me and takes her seat.

"Sorry about that. I just feel so … funky. I don't know what's going on inside my head, but whoever this is it sure isn't me. I feel like a damsel in distress and it's really starting to piss me off! Oh! By the way, Erik, dearest, you should sit." She smirks.

I take my seat just as the door is flung open.

"Please! Monsieur! This box is occupied! You cannot just go …." A strained, yet quiet voice entreats.

"DO YOU THINK I CARE! THIS BOX IS MINE!" A man's petulant and angry voice cuts off the distraught usher.

Christine and I turn to see a hooded silhouette figure standing in the doorway. The figure rushes into the box and sweeps around to stand in front of us. I raise my eyes to look beneath the hood at the man standing before us.

I think. "Time has not been kind to him. Has it my beloved?"

She returns. "No, it is not time, but the meanness of his soul which has devoured his features."

I stand and find that I am now several inches taller than he is.

"Monsieur, who are you? And, why do you create a scene by rudely intruding on our evening?"

The stooped man throws back his hood and glares up at me and then down at Christine.

"I am Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. By what right do you sit here in my private box?"

His manner is haughty and the look in his eyes as they slide over Christine's seated form is insolent and appraising.

"Amazing! He still believes he can have any woman he wishes!"

"Yes, dearest. He does believe that, but not because he thinks he is good looking. He is of noble birth and has been conditioned to believe he can have whatever he wants as a part of his birthright. In that single glance, he determined me to be common and therefore obtainable.

This man's charm once lay in his boyish good looks. The intervening years robbed him of charm as his looks faded and I now face a twisted shell of the man I knew. A feeling of deep sorrow washes over me as I picture the other Christine with this man. I push my feelings to the side for the moment. I cannot allow myself to be distracted while he is here.

A thought of Christine's comes into my mind. "Your places are now reversed. You are the handsome young man and he is the deformed monster! Just making a comment based on his perceptions of you, not on how I ever perceived you. Capisce?"

Her words are true. His looks are no more. His balding pate bears countless liver spots, which have a ring of short wispy clumps of dirty-blonde hair. His blue eyes no longer sparkle with the vigor of youth, no longer hold any beguiling charm. His eyes are dull, red-lined pits. His eyes look up and meet mine. I am pleasantly surprised to find no hint of recognition in his eyes. The only thing I see in those eyes and that sallow, lined face, is a childish peevishness at not having his way.

Folding my arms across my chest, I calmly and intently allow myself to stare at him. I hold his gaze without speaking and then tilt my head slightly.

"Monsieur, I assure you I arranged for the use of this box tonight. There is no mistake. If you had but been the slightest bit polite, I may have extended you an invitation to share the box with my ward and I, but I think it best if you simply withdraw." I speak simply and do not allow any of my voice's musical qualities to flavor my inflection.

My words seem to dumbfound him for a few moments, but the spoiled and pampered fop does not know when to quit.

"I am Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and I demand you leave my box!"

I pause.

"Well, Monsieur le Vicomte, I am Comte Erik de Mornay and I have no intention of leaving this box. Now, must I fetch a gendarme or will you peaceably remove your offensive presence from my sight?"

"A king beats a jack any day. I do believe he looks as if he is going to pop a gasket! What an interesting shade of purple!" Christine's thoughts come into my mind.

Her words cause me to smile involuntarily, which only further serves to infuriate the already irate man. He sputters angry expletives and I am truly shocked when he stomps his foot in a fit of pique. His action prompting the same reaction from both Christine and me … we begin to laugh.

"You have not heard the last of this! I am a patron of this opera house! I will have you evicted from this box! Mark my words!"

With those words, the spoiled fop marches from our box.

Meanwhile, the overture begins to play ….

FYI: MY RAOUL WAS 33 WHEN HE BECAME THE NEW PATRON OF THE OPERA POPULAIRE UNDER THE MANAGERS FIRMIN AND ANDRE, SO HE IS "NOW" 44 AND (UNLIKE DORIAN GRAY) LOOKS EVERY DAY, AND THEN SOME, OF HIS YEARS! CHRISTINE DAAE-de CHAGNY WAS 16 AND IS "NOW" 27...