"Good morning, my dear Comtesse. How delightful it is to enjoy our fourth breakfast together." My friend the Persian comedian was beaming; I had just produced the thousand francs I owed him, having lost the bet that Christine would have returned to her hot-blooded Comte by now.
"Good morning, Mr Daroga," Christine was a glorious sight in a lavender dressing gown. She offered me her hand, which I kissed; in her turn she kissed me just below my ear.
"Are you ill, my Dear?" I worried about the dressing gown.
"Oh, no. I'm staying in today," she rewarded my concern with a glowing smile and stroked my cheek affectionately.
"Comtesse, if I may…since you'll obviously be staying with us…'daroga' is not a name. It is rather a job title. I would be grateful if you would call me 'Reza'; it is my given name."
"Oh, I'm so sorry…Reza—then you must call me Christine, will you please?
"I am honored, Christine."
"Aren't we all cozy and informal this morning," I growled.
Christine was nonplussed.
"Erik and I had a little wager, Christine. If he is a bit ill-tempered this morning, it is because he had to pay up."
"Oh? What was the wager about?"
"Nothing important, just a bit of sport between old friends," he smiled benignly.
"Well, you needn't be cross with me over it," Christine popped me on the head lightly. Oh yes I do, I thought; at the rate it's going, I'll never get my thousand francs' worth out of you.
It was the end of the workday; Jules and I had an impromptu meeting on the street and I hailed a cab.
"May I offer you a ride home, Sir? I would have a word with you, if I may." I recognized the voice, and frankly could not believe the boy's effrontery.
"Thank you, no, Comte de Chagny. I prefer to walk." Unless you would like to lie in the street in front of your carriage.
"Please, sir, I beg you for some news of my wife." No sir; my wife.
"I am not your spy. If you want news of Christine, send word to her yourself."
"I attempted to call on her earlier today, but she refuses me."
"Well then, I believe you have your answer. Good day."
"I tell you, Sir, if the circumstances were reversed, I would not refuse you this kindness!"
He turned pleading eyes on me. I suspect they work to good effect on a certain type of girl; one that is inordinately fond of puppies and farm animals.
"Well then, my young friend, you are indeed the better man, because irrespective of the circumstances, I still find you unworthy of the powder to blow you to hell. Furthermore, I respectfully suggest that you find a way to stop thinking of her as your wife, because I assure you that she no longer considers herself as such. I could have almost liked you when you wanted to kill me; now, you're pathetic."
I gave him my back.
"You fiend!" he shouted. "How could she want you?"
When I turned, the look on his face suggested that he was seeing me unmasked. Perhaps, in a way, he was.
"You just haven't seen me at my best, Raoul," I winked. "I'm quite the ladies' man."
I felt much better after that; nearly cheerful. It almost compensated me for the thousand francs. I purchased a bouquet for Christine from a terrified little flower girl.
Darius informed me that Christine was in the library. Before knocking, I removed my cravat and slipped it over the door knob, just in case luck was with me. Reza would be delighted, I smiled. Christine was deep in her books again. This time there was an entire stack of them, and a pot of tea, and a half-nibbled biscuit. I had to shove the tulips in her face before she was alerted to my presence.
"Oh! You're home already?" she slid the book onto the floor and smiled at the flowers.
"Shall I leave?"
"Of course not; time flies, that's all."
"Have you been in here all day?" I marveled.
"Mm hm."
"Good heavens, my little scholar. Whatever are you up to?"
"Trying to find out precisely what rights I do have, as a woman."
Oh dear. "And?" I drew her in for a cuddle. She draped her arms comfortably around my neck. She has a little dimple over her left eyebrow that she gets when she's thinking. It's adorable.
"None, actually, I think. I don't appear to exist, except in relation to a man; a father, a husband, a brother, a son, a lover."
Ah. Perhaps this was my opportunity to steer the conversation in a more pleasant direction. Still inflammatory; just in a more personal way.
"Is that so terrible, really?" I nuzzled her neck.
"What are you doing?" I could hear the smile in her voice.
"Whatever I may…"
She laughed and pushed her notebook and assorted debris off the sofa. Rearranging some pillows, she reclined comfortably.
"Take off your coat, Erik. And your waistcoat. And come here."
"I'm afraid I'm rather heavy, Angel," I worried.
"Don't worry," she whispered. "You feel good." She was doing something distressing; drawing my shirt out of my trousers. Oh. Dear. Christine's lovely hands, stroking my back. It seems like a trivial contact, but my body was a desert; her fingertips, rain.
"Mmm," she settled finally and let me kiss her. I kissed her throat; I kissed until the ruffle of her chemise made me stop.
"Christine." I tried to draw away.
"Erik." She would not let me.
"Chris-TEEN." I squirmed.
"ER-ik." She squirmed. It had an unexpected effect. I had to get away. I tore myself from her grasp, which startled her.
"Christine, I have the distinct impression that you're rather enjoying this," I grumbled, gathering my things.
"Aren't you?" she asked, missing my point.
"I mean, you're enjoying my obvious distress," I accused.
"No I'm not," she insisted.
"Well then, stop it. I thought we were being all noble, anyway!" I made my escape.
I sulked through dinner. Christine and her 'dear Reza' nattered on about Women's Rights, for God's sake—as if an old Persian lecher gives a fig for Women's Rights or Women's Lefts. Christine kept trying to draw me into the conversation: 'Don't you think, Erik?' I just shoved my peas around.
"Oh, let him be, my Dear."
'My Dear', now that's a bit much, wouldn't you say? She's my little concubine, after all.
"You'll come to ignore his black moods in time, as I have. If you don't find the humor in it, he can be quite hurtful. You must learn to see him for the overgrown child he is," he chuckled. "If you give him attention when he's like this, he'll only sulk longer. Now, you were saying…"
"Well, I was saying…" Christine cast another glance at me. "I think the only way for women to be regarded as full human beings is for us to have suffrage."
I choked as politely as I could.
"The vote, my Dear?" the daroga marveled.
"Yes, of course." Christine was holding her head in that defiant little way she has, all spoiling for a fight. But my Persian friend does not argue with ladies, whether they consider themselves to be equal citizens with men or not.
"It's quite a paradox, isn't it? I would argue that women must be regarded as full human beings before they could possibly be granted the vote," another benign smile from the old Persian fiend.
"Well, you see, Reza, that's just the problem: you said 'granted' the vote."
"So I did," he agreed.
"How does it happen that any man must 'grant' me the vote? How did my right to vote come to be in his hands?"
"Well, it's simply the way of things, my Dear. Men must run things."
"Why? Do you believe that any man is more intelligent than any woman? More clever? More capable?"
"No, of course not. You, for example, are quite the bright little thing."
"So you might say that I am more clever than some man?"
"Oh, yes, most definitely so," he agreed.
"And yet that man votes, and if he is unmarried, he needn't remain under his mother or sister's care."
"But it's for your protection, my Dear. Surely you see that, as the more delicate sex, you need protection, patronage. Women…bear children, after all."
"Yes; that's another thing. I believe it is critical that we find a reliable way for women to control their childbearing."
Christine actually said this; right at the dinner table. I shot Bordeaux through my nose. For once I was glad there was not more of it; it stung wickedly.
Reza chuckled avuncularly, stroked his mustache. I could see he was gearing up to patronize Christine somehow, when what she really needed was to be disabused of these ridiculous notions as quickly and firmly as possible.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake," I interrupted. "This is the most patently absurd thing I've ever been privileged to hear. 'Women control their childbearing', indeed. As if this was suitable conversation for the dinner table, Christine!"
"I'm not talking about anything shameful, Erik. We're adults here, we all know where babies come from."
"Alright, I'll play along, then. You ladies are all in complete control of your reproductive…ah, functions. What do you propose that all these childless women do with themselves all day?" I demanded.
"What do men do all day?"
"Work, generally speaking."
"Women can work."
"Of course they can; no one said they couldn't. You have cooks, seamstresses, and laundresses, maids and governesses, and dancers, and—"
"Yes; they're all mother's jobs that they get paid to do for others. They're not real jobs—even dancing or singing, they're not real jobs, not serious jobs."
"What sort of serious job would you like, Christine? Would you like to hitch up your skirts and don trousers, come down under the Louvre with me and hammer away at stone? All ninety pounds of you, wielding a hammer? Hm?" I scoffed.
"No, I'm not strong enough for that," she admitted.
"Well, I'm delighted you still admit of some difference between the sexes."
"But I could do your job, if I had the training. I could be an architect."
"You most certainly could not!"
"Erik…" my dear friend was trying to save me walking into the lioness' den. Sadly, I did not realize until it was too late…
"No, no, no, daroga, now, let me have my say," I cut him off likethe simpleton I was."Christine. Architecture demands a knowledge of maths, spatial relationships, engineering, geometry, drafting—it's a nice idea, Darling, but…no."
"You still haven't given me a reason why." Her lovely lip pouted ever so slightly; it made advancing a well-reasoned argument difficult.
"Alright: spatial relationships, for one. Everyone knows women can't gauge size or distance to save their pretty little heads. How far is it, Darling, from where we're sitting right now, to the curb, would you say?"
In the ensuing silence, the daroga tried once again to steer me from the precipice with a pointed look, but I waved him off
"Um, fifty meters," she guessed finally, blushing.
"Ah! There, you see?" I cried, triumphant. "Fifty meters, did you hear that? You're off by more than half again—wouldn't you say, Reza? I'm guessing its twenty meters, certainly not more than twenty five. Women just cannot do these things, Darling. It's no criticism…what an unlovely world we'd have if women were just like men." I smiled.
"I guessed incorrectly because I haven't been taught to do such things. If I was taught and I practiced, as you have, I could guess it just as well as you," Christine replied quietly.
"No, Christine. Look, how much fabric is in a typical woman's dress?" I asked.
"It depends. If you have bell sleeves—"
"No, no, never mind all that. Just answer the question, a typical woman's dress," I insisted.
"For what size woman?"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, just a regular woman-sized woman. Not a big fat woman, why would I care how much sailcloth it takes to cover a cow?" I chuckled.
"I guess about ten to twelve yards, depending upon the style."
"There, ten to twelve yards, very well. You see, you can render a fine estimate about the things that matter to you, and that is entirely as it should be. Let the men worry about the stuff of building bridges and all that nonsense, Darling. Women don't care about such things, and I say, why should you? You're here to add beauty and grace to the world, not to sweat and measure and decide politics."
I thought I'd done rather well for myself, and my sex, actually. Sometimes one never hears the train coming at all.
"I see. Thank you for that, Erik; I do see your point now. I wonder if you gentlemen would excuse me."
We stood.
"Oh, Erik? I'm just going to dress and collect my things. If you could help me with my bags in about an hour, and hire me a cab?"
"I beg your pardon, Christine?"
"Well, you would never agree that I am capable of taking the independent decision to leave Raoul and return to you. So you must think I've done it at Raoul's bidding…and I know how you feel about him. You'd want no part of that, so I'd best leave."
"Raoul sent you to me? That's ridiculous, Christine!"
"Yes it is. So who do you suppose made the decision?" She was very pink.
"You did, of course!"
"So it was a trivial, dress-making decision."
"No…"
"It was an important, manly decision."
"…It was important…but I wouldn't say manly…" I am ashamed to admit that it was at this late juncture that I finally began to see just how poorly things were actually going.
"Well, which is it, Erik? You're just like a woman; can't make up your mind to save your pretty little head."
My Persian friend grabbed my arm and escorted me into the parlor before I had an opportunity to utter another sound.
"Cognac is wanted, my friend."
"What just happened, daroga?"
"Train wreck."
"Ah."
"You rock head. If you had even a little more experience with women, you'd have seen it coming and kept your mouth shut. I did try…" the daroga huffed.
"You did indeed. You are a dear friend."
"Yes, I am. Are you bleeding, by the way?"
"Not that I can tell, but I do feel a bit woozy."
"That would be your masculine pride deserting you. Just sit down; it will pass. Here."
I downed the cognac in a gulp. "More," I gasped.
"No, you'll want all your wits about you should you have to step back into the ring tonight."
"I had all my wits about me just a moment ago! I was sober as a judge and look where it led! You don't suppose she'll really leave, do you?" I worried.
"Well, you know her better than I, but I would guess not. I believe the aim was to teach you a lesson. We'll have to work out what that was, because it will likely come up."
"What?"
"What you've learnt. At some point, you'll be expected either to say 'I've learnt my lesson', or respond affirmatively to 'I trust you've learnt your lesson, Erik'. Likely she will expect you to elaborate on what you've learnt as part of your penance."
"Do you reckon there should be flowers in this bargain? My penance, I mean." I know they like flowers.
"I think it went past flowers when you took off on that 'how many meters to the curb' jag."
"Ooh." I winced. "Tickets to the ballet?"
"That might do, but first you've got to persuade her that you don't think she's just a pretty little doll put on earth solely for your diversion."
"How would I do that?"
"Since when do I look like a married man to you? Go ask your friend the Comte! How should I know?"
"What do you mean, you don't know?" I panicked.
"I mean that you are on your own. Are you going to sleep on it, or handle it tonight?"
"I can't sleep on it; I must go to work in the morning. Right, well, I'd best head up into the lion's den now. What have I learnt, daroga?"
"You tell me."
"Never discuss politics with a woman."
"True, but no."
"Never ask a woman a measurement question."
"No."
"Perhaps I should tell her that I think women should have the vote."
"Good; but if you're insincere, she'll sniff it out."
"I could just beg for mercy and let her lecture me. I could say something like, 'I don't understand, but I want to.' What do you think?"
Reza considered a moment. "If you can keep your mouth shut, regardless of what sort of preposterous nonsense she spouts, that may serve. Remember, you've already proved once tonight that you can't keep your mouth shut."
"I do hate to be crude, daroga, but this seems like an awful lot of trouble for a woman who…well…expects me to love her nobly."
He nodded his agreement. "It would be more trouble than it's worth, I suspect, if it were anyone but Christine."