I was unable to wheedle another cognac for courage, so I climbed the stairs to my doom. I rapped softly on the door.
"Christine, will you speak with me? I'm don't really know what I said that was wrong. You know I don't think you're a silly, empty-headed girl, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Will you speak with me?"
"Yes, but not here. I'll come to the library."
"Alright." Whatever that meant.
When Christine joined me, the first thing she did was open one of the books she'd been reading. "Look at this book, Erik," she demanded, holding it out to me. "This is not some penny dreadful. It has large, complicated words; some of these books are legal discussion; I can follow these arguments."
"Of course you can, Angel, I don't dispute that. I know you're not stupid."
"But you think I can't be an architect, for example. You think I don't have a head for complicated things. You think I can't make my own choices, do you? Not really."
"Christine. Why do you want to be an architect?"
"That's not the point, Erik; just pretend I wanted to. Do you think just because I have breasts—"
"Hush, child!"
"That I can't be an architect?"
"Christine…if you wanted to be an architect…I suppose you could be. It's just that…women are better at…womanly things."
"What are womanly things?"
"You know perfectly well what womanly things are, Christine. This is becoming absurd. Is there something I'm supposed to be apologizing for, or not?"
"Yes. You're supposed to be apologizing for telling me that I'm some kind of relatively mindless decoration; that I'm only here to make life more comfortable for you, to be pretty, and agreeable, and available."
Available? I beg your pardon.
"AVAILable? What exactly do you mean by available? Have I laid a hand on you, Madame? Have I in any way—" I was livid.
"I'm speaking generally, Erik. I mean that, as a man, you think women in general are decorative caretakers and not capable of much else."
"This really isn't fair, you know. Do you know how much experience of women I actually have?" Not the sort of thing one usually enjoys admitting to, but under the circumstances, I thought it might aid my cause to plead ignorance.
"Yes. Not much."
"That is correct."
"Erik, you know that if Raoul won't divorce me, there's nothing I can do about it. Do you suppose that is fair? Shouldn't I be able to escape a man I don't want? What if he was mistreating me?"
"Mistreating you how?" I went livid again.
"No, I just said, 'what if'. He didn't mistreat me…unless you count…"
"Yes, yes."
"Well, is it fair?"
"No."
"That is why I think it would be good if women could vote. We could vote for men who support women being able to obtain divorces, for example. Eventually, there would be women running for political office, and then we could vote for them. Women could actually work to improve women's lives!"
She lost me at 'women being able to obtain divorces'. I pictured muscle-bound harridans running amuck, divorcing their pathetic husbands willy-nilly whenever the poor men complained about dinner being burnt. And, women running for political office? On what platform? Flowers every Friday? Drunkenness a capital offense? It was so incongruous that it was no problem at all for me to keep my mouth shut. Women voting and running for office, indeed—just after I'm named Handsomest Man in Paris. Let her have her fun, if it'll get me back in her good graces.
"I think that's fine, Darling. You know, of course…what a long way to go this suffrage idea has? That's not me speaking, that's just…"
"Yes, I know." Christine smiled and approached me; I flinched. How was I to know I'd redeemed myself so easily? "Erik…" she drew my forehead down to hers and draped her arms around my neck. I felt guilty about the exceptional view this afforded me…for a moment. "I don't like to argue with you. Let's not argue anymore."
"Fine with me," I agreed.
"Would you like make up properly?" she led me to the sofa. "Oh, you tucked your shirt in; why?"
"I could hardly come to the dinner table looking like that." I helped her make me look disreputable again.
"Erik…take it off?"
"You mean off, off?" I was nonplussed.
"Mm hm."
"How would you feel about going upstairs then?" Complicated negotiations, these.
"Alright…..but tuck back in and make sure no one sees us going up there together."
We snuck upstairs undetected. Why the stealth was necessary I cannot guess. Once we were safely inside, Christine pressed me against the door and drew my shirt off, giggling. "Erik, take your mask off."
"Christine, no."
"Erik…" she kicked her slippers off and drew me toward the bed. Her eyes looked like a lover's; I'd never seen them like that before. I stretched out with Christine, and she removed my mask without the least concern for what I would say.
"Hush," she whispered. "Turn down the light if you like."
"But then I can't see you," I reminded her. She drew me close and her laughter was like chimes in a springtime breeze. Her fingers traced magical symbols on my skin; I felt myself drawing strength and life from them. When we kissed, it was only love. For a moment, I saw that Christine was right; something beautiful and noble was there—but it was something glimpsed only on the periphery. When I turned my full attention to it to examine it more closely, it skittered away; autumn leaves in my mind's eye.
In the next moment the desire returned, stronger than ever. However I moved, Christine pressed tightly against me. She was so warm; as our kisses deepened I was unsure whether it was her heat I was taking on, or whether I burned of my own accord.
In no time the ugly conundrum returned. It crept onto my shoulder and sat where it could whisper in my ear.
'Move your hands.'
--No, I can't.
'She's going to take you for a simpleton if you don't make a move soon.'
--She doesn't want that from me. I have to show her I'm different.
'But you're not, you're worse than that boy.'
--Look, piss off, will you? I'm trying to focus on the girl.
'If you want to focus on the girl, listen: there's only a handful of buttons on her dressing gown; have done with that, and it's just a wispy little gown between you and heaven.'
--Leave it, will you? Whose side are you on?
'Why, yours; if ever you'd had a woman you'd know that. How long do you imagine you can stand this, anyway? You're fit to burst now."
--I'm well aware of that, thanks.
'So what's your plan then?'
--I don't have one. Yet.
'Brilliant. The dressing gown, I tell you!'
Christine came to my rescue, thankfully. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she had her own little she-conundrum on her pale, smooth shoulder.
"Erik, I'm so warm…I fear I'll faint if I don't…"
I slipped away to give her some room. She was taking off her dressing gown, god help me. My conundrum screamed 'Go go go go!'; and I did. Right out the door. Left my mask behind and everything. I had to run into my drawing room to fetch a replacement mask and shirt. Then it was down for a cognac, or two, or eight. The conundrum browbeat me all the way down the stairs, so I sang a little song to help me ignore it.
Naturally, with the entire house to wander in, my inquisitive friend would have to be in the parlor with the cognac.
"Singing! Well, you look none the worse for wear…hold on, are you still in trouble?"
I downed a cognac.
"You're still in trouble. What did you say?" he groaned.
"Nothing. Different trouble."
"Different trouble?"
I nodded, falling into the chair with the bottle and snifter.
"We've reconciled from the debacle at dinner."
"How the devil did you manage to step in it again so quickly, Erik? That's simply amazing, even for you."
"It's reconciliation trouble, you might say," I hedged.
"Reconciling should be no trouble at all, my friend. That's the whole point," the daroga grinned.
"Yes, well, it wouldn't be trouble for anyone but Sir Galahad, would it?" I snapped, downing another drink.
"I fear all this virtue and continence is making you even more ill-tempered than normal, god forbid."
"I would agree with that assessment," I replied, mildly.
"Whatever shall I do with you, Erik?"
"I don't give a damn what YOU do with me, if you'll excuse me!"
"Right, hour fifty-one has come and gone, and you've obviously not come up with a plan for, ah, handling this."
"Ha. Ha."
"I've been giving your little romance some thought, my friend."
"Then you're even more pathetic than I."
"I happen to find myself with some time on my hands. You're not as available for conversation as you once were. I think you're going to have to sit down and discuss your situation like a pair of adults. I realize it will be a stretch for you, but Christine is very patient with you; I'm sure she'll help you through."
"Tell me again how we came to be friends. I knew once, but at the moment I find myself wondering why I haven't hanged you yet."
"Look here, Erik, I understand there's some pride involved in confessing that you're just like any other man in some of the more mundane respects, but what choice do you have?"
I sulked and had another cognac.
"What are you afraid of? That she'll say no?"
"Yes. And that she'll say yes—if you laugh I'll go upstairs and get my rope, by God!"
"What sort of savage do you take me for, man? Here you are, confessing your most intimate fears--I'm not about to laugh at you in the midst of such a delicate conversation! I'll wait til you've left the room, of course."
"You know, I'm beginning to feel a bit drunk. This is pleasant…I may not even recall killing you in the morning."
"So what precisely is your situation at this moment, if I may ask? Are you in trouble or not?"
"I suspect I am. I sort of ran away."
"Ran away."
"Yes, you know," I groused defiantly. "Like a rabbit who hears the hounds."
"Why don't you go back up there and have a little chat with the hound? It seems to be a good communication day for you two—at least verbally speaking."
"No. She's…no."
"Good heavens, man, it's one little girl. She won't bite!" Reza scolded.
"That's what you know!"
"She won't bite terribly hard, then. Go."
The combination of two more cognacs and Reza's prodding convinced me that I could face Christine again and not botch it up. Had I been more sober I would have been more properly cynical. Now that I think of it, the problem was that my sobriety did not make it upstairs with me.
Happily, Christine opened the door looking more embarrassed and dejected than angry. She had changed into a bed gown. She held the door open for me and I wobbled into the room. She waited for me to speak.
"Christine!" I announced.
"Yes, Erik?"
I'm feeling a bit…"
"Yes?"
"Drunk!"
"Oh." Doubtless that was not what she expected. It wasn't what I intended, either, but this is what comes of coming unprepared and inebriated into a woman's bedroom.
"Shall I tuck you in?" she suggested. My little angel…how kind she is to me.
"Yes!" I declared.
"Come along then, over here." She helped me out of my new mask and shirt. She moved to help me out of my trousers, but I roared "Remember yourself, Madame!" and she backed off. I fell over and she pulled the covers up over me.
"Christine," I murmured.
"I'm right here."
"Come under these little blankets and cuddle up with Erik," I smiled drowsily. She complied sweetly. I kissed her forehead and enfolded her in my arms. With my cognac courage, I began stroking her back, each stroke longer than the last.
"Comfortable?" I purred…or slurred.
"Mm hm," I felt her smile against my arm. My stroking continued.
"Erik."
"Yes, darling."
"If you dare touch my bottom in your state, I'll break your arm."