I went to work feeling that it was possible to get my life back, and get Christine back too. She'd slept in my arms, and I felt her love and forgiveness. I'd tried to press my luck like the idiot I am, and she told me as gently as possible that she wasn't ready to let me quite so close just yet. I whined like a baby, of course, and protested crippling discomfort; pain even. She was sympathetic, but fundamentally unmoved. I got a kiss and a quick squeeze for my trouble. Funny how quickly a man convinces himself that he can't live without a bit of fluff. All my protests to the contrary, I did manage to fall asleep eventually.
I nearly got through the entire day, but the mad Creole sniffed me out like a trembling rabbit run before a pack of hounds. Had I known she was coming for me, I would have broken my own neck the way some say rabbits can. The men were just clearing out when Jules brought her to me. I was mortified that he should see her—or that he should see me. Jules has a wise foreman's way about him, and in my panic I was convinced that he could read the history of my association with the bitch on my face. I scuttled behind him, dear Jules; my sheltering oak tree against the Creole maelstrom.
"Get her out, Jules!" I shrieked, a hysterical girl in a roomful of rats. "Get her out!" She tried to tussle with him, but my darling Jules is a boulder of a man. He didn't stand on the ceremony of her femininity, but carted her out like a bony sack—a handful of hair, a handful of bustle. My hero, my savior.
When Jules returned, he was amused at the sniveling, trembling mess I presented.
"You spilled wine all over yourself, Mr Mask," his eyes were dancing in his granite face.
"Better than pissing myself."
"Who was that skinny devil?"
"Oh," I smiled wanly, "an old—"
"And has your taste improved?" he demanded; I understood he would be unwilling to come to my aid repeatedly if I refused to learn my lesson.
"Why, thank you, Jules; it has indeed. I shall convey your regards to the Comtesse, since you've saved her the trouble of castrating me this day."
He nodded, grunting. "I want to go home. Can I leave you safely or should I carry you home first?"
"I'll walk, thank you. Just hold my hand."
"I'll never understand gentlemen's humor."
My run of magnificent good fortune continued unabated. I tried to slither quietly upstairs to remove the winy clothes; who should meet me on the stairway but my darling Christine?
"Erik!" her smile faded as she caught a whiff. "What sort of party have you had today?"
"Oh…clumsy accident." She blessed me with a glowing smile and slipped her arms around my neck.
"Darling, you'll smell as badly as I soon," I protested anxiously.
"Alright…" she drew away slightly. "Erik, you've become an incredibly bad liar since I've fallen in love with you."
In the next instant, Christine delivered a wicked blow to my gut and scrambled furiously for the bedroom. For a tiny girl, she has a remarkably strong punch. When I recovered my breath, I went after her. Infuriated, I didn't bother to knock. She didn't bother to acknowledge me; she was throwing her things into a carpet bag.
"What the hell was that for?" I demanded.
"You guilty dog, it's in your eyes!"
"Goddammit, Christine, I've no control over her coming after me." I fell to my knees, clutching her skirts. "I didn't touch her. You can come along tomorrow and talk to my foreman if you don't believe me!"
"You expect me to believe you turned her away!"
"No, I expect you to believe that Jules carried her off for me. She won't let me alone, Christine," I was a few moments from a sobbing breakdown. "I need to go back underground! I'm not meant to live up here."
Unmoved, she collected fresh clothing for me and tossed it onto the bed.
"Get dressed." I must've been staring at her with some ridiculous expression on my face. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Erik, I'm not going to look at your miserable bones. If you want to, go dress in your coffin," she grumbled.
"You don't believe me." I was relieved to see that she wasn't packing to leave me anymore, but neither was she overwhelmed with tender feelings. Miserable bones? That was uncalled for.
"I believe you", she snapped irritably. "I don't trust you, is all."
"Oh, well, that should be easily fixed, darling. I'll just hang myself and have done with it."
A bit more experience of women should improve my understanding of when to display my tediously warped sense of humor, if I live long enough. I reflected on this after she bounced a house slipper off my head.
"If it's all the same to you, I've had enough ill treatment for a fortnight, Madame!"
"Don't you take that tone with me, you adolescent pervert! I'm so gratified you find my lack of trust amusing!" she screamed. In her extremity, her hair was coming loose of its pins, and she was beginning to resemble…um, Medusa, actually. I was reminded of that old saw, 'If looks could kill…'.
Things were sliding into the morass of anti-bliss at an alarming rate. She stomped to the drawer which held all her delightful frilly things, collected a handful, and resumed stuffing her carpet bag. "I should have left the second you made your pathetic confession—I should have thrown you out with her and let you make your own way!"
"Thrown ME out?" I roared. "This is MY friend's home! If you'll remember, it was through my good offices that you're not peddling your nearly-new bottom on the street this minute! Make my way indeed—I was making my way before your parents met!"
"And I see what a fine, adult example you've made of your life!" Christine sneered. "Groping any marginally human female that doesn't run screaming at the sight of you! You're no different than Raoul; you're all pigs," she spat.
That did me in. I grabbed her and shook her furiously.
"Oh, no you won't, you won't lump me in with that creature," I threatened.
"Creature!" she laughed. "HE never rattled my brains in my head! Are you trying to make me faint so you can have your fun?"
"OH, GODDAMMIT!" my witty repartee abandoned me. I fell back on my years in the theatre: Exit Stage Left.
"I'll thank you not to rattle the windows out of the casements, Erik," the daroga disapproved.
"Shut up!" I made for the cognac. And a cigar.
"Not that you shouldn't slam the door at all, mind you. I understand the subtleties of house living are lost on a troglodyte…just leave the pieces so it can be rebuilt."
"You haven't any opiates, have you?"
"Good God! Wouldn't you prefer to go round the side and dash your brains out against the brick?"
"Oh, yes, I'd quite forgotten. Brick and block—and me a mason."
"As usual, I'd rather die than intrude on a tender domestic scene—"
"Right, let me get my rope and I'll see to it—"
"But are you really groping marginally human females?" You should have seen the grin on my old friend's face.
"You're delighting in this. Haven't you got a life yet?" I demanded.
"No; yours is more convoluted and fascinating than anything I could dream up."
"Let me help you," I snapped.
"And did you really say something about peddling her 'nearly-new bottom'?" He chuckled. "Delicious! You do love diving in over your head don't you?"
"It's not funny. She's packing her bags up there, you hateful old bastard."
"You smell like a fruity Bordeaux," he observed.
"Mm, it was too fruity. The former vintage had a woodsier note, much more pleasant."
"Still, it makes a lovely cologne."
"Don't get fresh with me when I'm in extremity."
"I was hoping to stake a claim quickly and catch you on the rebound," he confessed.
"I'll think on it. Doubtless we'd never argue the way Christine and I do. How do you feel about my having the odd grope with a marginally human female?"
"You didn't really! You'd never mistreat Christine so!" he frowned.
"I didn't intend to! She came after me, Reza, what sort of experience have I in spurning a madwoman's advances?"
"Did you take your mask off?"
"Yea."
"Still came after you?" he guessed.
"Still. Christine found out, and I confessed everything."
"Good move; they can smell the lie on a man, as you know," he nodded.
"Well, what do you think, but the bitch came for me at the Louvre today?" I continued.
"And threw a bottle of wine at you?"
"NO! I was trying to settle myself while Jules threw her out. I was rattling like a skeleton—ha ha."
"So you didn't—"
"God, no—never did, really. Would have done, I guess, if we hadn't got interrupted. But now all I want is for her to let me be, and Christine acts as if it's my fault! As if I'm bringing it on myself somehow!" I complained.
Men are so much easier to deal with than women. Immediately, my beloved Persian friend grasped the heart of the matter: no hysteria, no weeping, no accusations. He saw me instantly for the blameless victim I truly was and moved on to searching for a solution to my untidy predicament..
"I gather you don't have much confidence in your ability to resist her…charms…if indeed she possesses any. 'Marginally human?'" he wondered.
"She has a certain…morbid appeal to a man with…specialized interests," I weaseled.
"She lets you tie her up."
"No. Stop."
"She ties YOU up," he guessed again.
"NO! Will you leave it?" I fussed. I smoked and drank and tried to ignore him. The question stood like an elephant in the middle of the parlor.
Finally, I confessed. "She plays dead, alright? Now will you leave it?" I blushed hot scarled under my mask.
He grinned ghoulishly. "How fascinating that you two should have found each other."
"Yes…well…we give off a scent, recognizable only to a fellow…ah…" I searched for the word.
"Freak, I think," Reza offered.
"Yes, freak; thanks, old friend." I grimaced.
After a moment, he asked, "What do you intend to do, then?"
"About what? Whom?"
"Your…ah…"
"Oh. Her. No idea. Hide? Move back underground?"
"Glad to see you're approaching it head-on like a man," he replied tartly. "And about Christine?"
I shrugged. "As a very wise man once said, 'Grovel'".