Raoul rehearsed me the entire ride into Paris. He'd chosen a relatively quiet establishment so we could converse comfortably with Gaston, but public, so I'd have to be on my best behavior. I was to hold my temper--and my tongue--and let Gaston have his say; Raoul was positive that Gaston had some rational explanation for penning 'The Phantom of the Opera'. I was, too; I believed he had a death wish. Under no circumstances was I to touch Gaston. Raoul insisted he didn't want to have to get into a row in a public place. To me, with my final vestiges of maniacal grandiosity, it seemed my brother the comte was terrified there was still enough fire in the rickety old furnace to do him in; I told him so.
"How dare you lecture me, you little pisser! You think I'm some doddering old fool; well, I can still hang your pretty pink ass from the rafters! Goddammit, I'll kill the both of you! I'm not that decrepit old Persian!"
"Of course you're not; he's a dear old man. You're a cantankerous bastard from the bowels of hell. Just behave yourself, Grandpapa."
We arrived ahead of Gaston. Raoul ordered sherry; I ordered absinthe. Raoul glared at me like a wife at a critical social function. In short order, the fat man appeared. I leapt to my feet and glowered silently. Raoul and Gaston greeted each other warmly. I was pleased to see that the fat man was sweating.
Raoul took charge."Well, Gaston, as you see, Erik is not pleased. I've read the manuscript; Christine and Reza have not."
Gaston nodded, and made the mistake of addressing me directly. "Surely you understand I meant no harm, Erik."
Raoul reached over and patted my hand. "Erik's having a bit of trouble understanding much around this, Gaston. What were you thinking?"
"It's an amazing story, Raoul. I don't know but that you two are too close to it to realize how truly amazing it is. It's about redemption, you see; look at the journey you've taken together; my god! When I look at Erik today, I can scarcely recognize the man I met years ago!" Gaston enthused.
"You'll not recognize yourself either, once I'm through with your face."
"Erik!" Raoul threatened.
Gaston nodded. "I understand, Erik–"
"No, Sir; I don't believe you do," I snapped. "How do you suppose it would feel to have some goddam curiosity seeker knock on your door while your wife and children sleep upstairs? Work that out with your fertile imagination, and let me alone."
"What about if I change the ending?" Gaston offered.
"What about if you go to hell?" My chair clattered to the floor.
"Erik; Erik, wait," Gaston pleaded, but I didn't want to know. I left him and Raoul to sort it out and hired a carriage home, seething the entire way. I really had wanted to hear Gaston's side of it; at least I thought I had when I'd agreed to meet. But actually sitting there in his company, I just couldn't overcome my rage at the invasion Gaston's work represented. It was a protective rage...for Christine, for our children–Raoul's family as well. No; I really couldn't consider Gaston's position. Just thinking about strangers reading those words made me nauseous.
I was still a fretful mess when I arrived home, so I slipped into the parlor for a brandy. I had decided on telling Christine about Gaston's manuscript; talking things through with her would help me make sense of it.
What a remarkable thing perspective is. Thirty minutes earlier I was worried about my life being read all over France, and then I was jolted to reality by the sound of a feminine quarrel. I popped my head out the door, surprised that the shouting was coming from upstairs; surely Anci would not have courted abuse by going into Christine's domain. I tiptoed to the stairs, not overly anxious to enter the fray if it would sort itself out without me. It wasn't Anci and Christine; Christine was shrieking things at Miri-ange that turned my blood to ice. I had to intervene.
I considered another brandy. I considered running like hell, too, but there was nothing for it. I scooted upstairs and gave a quick knock before popping my head in.
Christine flung a dress at me–Miri-ange's. "You deal with her then! I've got nothing to say to the baggage!"
I caught her by the arm as she tore past. "Angel," I soothed.
"Never mind that," she hissed, tossing her head in our daughter's direction. "Ask her where she's been this afternoon! Ask her!"
I turned toward Miri-ange. Her cheek bore the crimson print of her mother's hand.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she intoned coolly.
"She met that man!" Christine spat. "Not even clever enough to take Liselotte into her confidence, that's right! I thought she was next door, until what do you think, but Liselotte comes calling for her here and the truth comes out!"
"Miri-ange," I sighed.
"We were at the botanical gardens," Miri-ange replied, "Just walking. She makes it sound–"
"I don't care where you were! Your father forbade you!" Christine raged. I had to restrain her; she looked like throttling the child.
"There is nothing wrong–"
"Walk the streets then," Christine interrupted her, "But you'll leave my house! If you don't care about this family's name, I do!"
"What name?" Miri-ange snorted. "You're a retired chorus girl!"
"Miri-ange, no!" I cried.
"I'm sorry, Papa," Miri-ange sighed, wilting. "You could have done better."
"Don't say that, Mirielle," I insisted, over her mother's raving. "You don't know anything about it."
"I know plenty; I know she's a hypocrite scolding me for an innocent walk in the gardens!" she sneered.
Fortunately for my daughter I was still hanging onto Christine; I could not remember the last time I wanted to slap someone so much.
"Miri-ange, you'll not find me a very sympathetic daddy if you insult my wife. Please leave my marriage out of this; if you wish to counsel me on the way I've conducted my life, we can discuss it another time. Right now, we're discussing–and your mother is right–that you were told most undeniably that you were not to see M de Agrican again, publicly or otherwise."
"I'm not a child!"
"You are a child; you wouldn't have to mention it otherwise."
"Masson brings girls home, right under your noses, and–"
"Masson is a young man, Angeline, and while his antics may damage his reputation, it is not an issue of nearly the same magnitude as it is for you, as a girl. Unfair, but..."
"I didn't do anything wrong! Why must you think the worst of me?"
"We don't, Miri-ange."
"Mama does!" she accused.
"No, she doesn't."
"No I don't!" Christine echoed. "Miri-ange, you don't realize what people will say about you, riding in the man's carriage, walking out, just the two of you!" Her anger was beginning to soften into the maternal love and concern that had fueled it.
"And I suppose you didn't realize what people would say when you left your husband and took up with —"
"Stop it, stop it!" Christine clapped her hands over her ears. "Do what you want, you little tramp!" She raced from Miri-ange's room, choking back sobs. I needed to go to her, but I needed to finish with our daughter, too. I felt unbearably helpless.
"Miri-ange, what is accomplished by attacking your mother in this way?" I rubbed a hand over my aching eyes.
"I'm only trying to show her, Papa. We did nothing wrong. How can she accuse me when all I did was walk with him? You and Mama–"
"Miri-ange, stop it," I growled. "I told you before, I'm happy to discuss your mother and me at another time if you really think it's any of your business–which I don't. We were both well past fourteen when we made our choices, anyway. One thing parents do is learn from their life experiences. Do you understand? We're just trying to spare you any suffering we can; it's what parents do. It's immaterial whether you agree, immaterial whether you were doing anything wrong. What matters is that I made it clear to you and the Vicomte that you were to see no more of each other. Now I'm going to have to call on him and remind him of that."
Miri-ange trembled, tears running down her cheeks. "You're making a mistake, Papa."
I nodded grimly. "I understand, but I don't see that I have a choice. We love you, Miri-ange, and it's not that we don't trust you."
She shook her head bitterly.
"You say you're in love, hm?"
"Yes!" she cried hotly.
"Well then, you should be able to understand what I'm saying. You claim you're not a child, so let's speak frankly. If you and Etienne continue to meet, I think you will find it difficult for you to prolong your mutual innocence. It's best you remain apart in order to avoid the enticement that a deepening love represents. You are too young, Angeline; I'm sorry. In this, I agree with Mama completely."
"Papa!"
"No," I interrupted, "It is decided." I kissed her precious hand and prayed she wouldn't run off with her vicomte. "Now, goodnight, my little angel. We'll talk again in the morning, alright?" She nodded silently.
"Let me go see to your Mama. I hope you will find a way to mend your rift with her tomorrow. Will you try, for me?"
I waited, but she would not answer me. Finally, I nodded and left her to her thoughts.
Next, I knocked on Masson's door, trying to ignore the whispering and scuttling. Finally, the boy hobbled to the door. I came straight to the point.
"Masson, I need a favor. Has Miri-ange mentioned Etienne, Vicomte de Agrican to you?"
He blanched, worried about betraying his sister's confidence; I waved his hesitation away. He is such a good young man. He can't leave the women alone–my god, if I were he, could I?–but he is a good man in all.
"I know about him, Masson; he called on me the other day. And today, Miri-ange met him at the botanical gardens, after I'd expressly forbidden her to see him again. She's angry with me and Mama, naturally; she doesn't understand. She is too young, Son. I'm sure he's a fine man; he seems decent and sincere, but it's impossible as it stands now."
Masson nodded solemnly.
"I'm hoping you'll be able to speak to her, comfort her," I continued.
"What…would you want me to say to her?"
"I'm not asking you to be my mouthpiece; I just want you to hold her hand and listen. Whatever you can do for her," I sighed.
"I will," he nodded again.
I smiled and leaned a bit closer. "Thanks. Please convey my apologies for the interruption to your nurse. Good night."
I made my way to my bedroom, feeling impossibly old. Christine flew to me, puffy-eyed, and burrowed to safety in my embrace.
"She hates me," she whispered.
"No."
"Erik, she thinks I'm a hypocrite and a…a–"
I shook my head firmly. "There is no bearing, Christine; you were a grown woman. I'll be happy to explain as much to her if she persists in forcing the absurd comparison. Let it go. She's just trying to upset us."
"Well, she's succeeded! Oh, god, Erik; what wild imaginings does she hold about us?"
"Come along," I suggested. "You need a glass of burgundy and a fragrant bathtub soak."
Christine didn't speak until I began shampooing her hair. "How did you leave it tonight?" she asked.
"I told her I'll have to call on her Etienne to remind him of my position. I told her frankly that falling in love militates against sweet strolls among the rosebushes. Also; I popped in on Masson and asked him to be a good brother to her."
Tactical error, bringing Masson up.
"She says Masson has girls in his room, right here at the house!" Christine hissed.
"I'm sorry, my diva; it is true. Only they are rather more women than girls."
"Erik, no!" She splashed in outrage. "You don't permit it!"
"I prefer he conduct his assignations elsewhere, of course; I've told him so. Mostly, he does," I admitted.
"Erik, I don't know what to–"
"Leave it, Christine," I sighed. "He is not a bad child."
"And what if your daughter was in some boy's bed?" she demanded. "You wouldn't expect his parents to–"
"Christine, Masson is not despoiling young virgins; do you see? I wish we could leave off talk of his romantic escapades, for god's sake."
"I hope you remember that when there's a bundle dropped on our doorstep," she warned.
"I will do. Honestly, Angel, I'm much more worried about our princess."
Christine embraced me soapily. "I know you are, Papa." She stroked my hair sympathetically. "What shall we do?"
I shrugged moodily. "Convent school in Brittany?"
"You're not serious."
"No; how are you and the Almighty keeping? Extra prayers, perhaps."