Sweet Seduction

Chapter Twenty-Four: Sing Prima Donna, Once More

A/N: Hey everyone! If you didn't get the references from last chap, the POTO stage show reference was "Her Majesty's Theatre" the theatre where POTO was first performed in London, and the Titanic tagline was "Nothing on Earth Could Come Between Them". Also, if you have any baby name or birthdate suggestions, let me know when you REVIEW!

Erik sat at his managers desk across from Georges anxiously as Georges flipped through his nearly-finished manuscript, scoffing in amazement. Erik looked at him expectantly

"Well? What do you think of it?"

Georges sighed, closing the manuscript

"Erik, I don't know how to answer that"

"Remember now, Georges, I'm asking your opinion as a professional, not as my friend. I want an honest, unbiased opinion of it, like any other composer that handed it to you and asked for your thoughts of it. What would you tell him?"

Georges groaned "The truth?"

"Yes. The honest truth"

He let out a low whistle "Erik, the music is astounding, no question of that. The songs are brilliant and the lead tenor and soprano roles seem beautiful, but some of the dialogue and ideas are a bit...risque to put it mildly. 'Serve the maid? Tangled in the winding sheets?' I mean, Erik, you can't have sexual innuendos that obvious in what you want to call a classical opera. Besides, the music, though it is beautiful, no question of that, it's a bit...unconventional. I'm not sure our company would be able to perform it at the standards you or our patrons and audience are expecting."

"But Georges, I've re-written it three times already. My wife's ready to tear down the damn the study because lately I'm spending more time fiddling with this thing in it than I am with her! I can't take out all of the dialogue. That's the point of it! It's shocking, fresh, unexpected. Don't you think our audiences would enjoy something unexpected occasionally?"

"Erik, I'm being frank with you since that's what you asked. As a friend, I'm telling you it's a splendid accomplishment for any composer, and something to be proud of. As your co-manager and a businessman, I'm telling this Opera couldn't perform it. It's unacceptably risque and indecent for a company of our quality standards to consider! I'm not saying it's horrid, Erik, you needn't misunderstand me. I think it would be...quite a show to experiment with, but we have too much at stake now. After all those business losses, the fire, the re-construction, we're dependant on every cent coming in from our patrons for at least the next three years! And I'm aware you know this all already, that's why I'm reminding you, as a friend! We just couldn't put it on right now, Erik. Our audience is expecting classical, traditional operas they recognize and enjoy. We're not ready for a new era your opera might propose and we can't afford to take a gamble with it right now!"

Erik stood up and groaned in frustration "Georges, would you listen to me for a moment? How do you know this show would fail or ruin our reputation? What if it becomes a success? What if the audience likes it and wants more operas like it?"

Georges began rubbing his temples "Erik, please, don't start going on about this all day! We still have those accounts to finish, that grant to award and the sets from the last production need some touching up, as do those wigs! I gave you my opinion and that's that!"

Erik paced around their large office slowly, rebuttals running through his mind (none suitable enough to use of course).

"And, besides, the name of the play, Don Juan Triumphant, it has too much extra baggage attached"

Erik stopped pacing and looked up at him

"What do you mean?"

"Erik, surely you've heard the stories? All those superstitious fools around here say that this was the Phantom's first Opera performed here and it was so shocking and tactless, when the Phantom finally showed himself to all Paris, the chandelier crashed in majesty, wickedness whatever you wish to say about it. The point is, this Opera is almost directly connected to the unfortunate incident when the fire occurred" Georges trailed off, flipping through the manuscript again and Erik realized in a horrible instant he had forgotten to replace his two songs the overture and "Point of No Return" on a new, clean music page. The original pages were still in that draft from so long ago, the night when he had shared his passionate music with Christine and the fire that resulted from his panic. He had gone back later to recover his music pages and now, like an ass, left the almost-burnt, aged sheets of music in the new, re-written ones Georges was now starring intently at.

He hurriedly strode up to Georges desk "You're probably right, Georges, I'm incredibly sorry for that waste of you time. I will just take this piece of rubbish back now, thank you" Erik said, grabbing for his draft when Georges held it out of his reach

"Funny. Some of these pieces look almost ancient compared to the other ones. And, you'll swear I'm mad Erik, but if you hold your book closer to the face, you can almost smell something. Ash-like."

"Oh that? It's not the manuscript, you fool"

"Then what could it be?"

"Well, this is rather humiliating, but," he sighed "Christine gave me this new cologne today and it smells horrid, simply disgusting, but she was begging me to wear it to work, and I couldn't refuse her. I do apologize about that awful smell, I hoped you wouldn't notice. So, about the Gringweld account, we had better start on that, shouldn't we? I can put the manuscript back in my desk for safe-keeping"

"No. But Erik, look at the actual paper the music's on. It's practically ancient, almost like..." Georges trailed off and Erik knew he had made the connection, but he wasted no time swiftly grabbing the manuscript rudely out of Georges' grasp.

Georges looked at him "Erik, was that all your own work?"

Erik turned around, looking at his friend coldly "Georges, I've done many things in my life and I would rather they remain unspoken of, but never accuse me of plagiarizing another man's work or taking credit for something which is not my own. I do have some honor."

Georges face flushed crimson "I know, I never meant to imply you would Erik, but it's awfully... coincidental, don't you think?"

Erik sighed "I suppose you could consider it that way, but every note and word in that manuscript is mine Georges, tactless and risque as they might be. There are many things you really do not know about me, but I'd rather we let those pass, wouldn't you agree?"

Georges nodded in agreement. He could tell Erik was keeping something a secret, behind that mask of his he always wore and some of his peculiar ways, but he wasn't intent on opening up right now and Georges had no intention of pushing him. If Erik started confessing, he would be forced to also and he really didn't feel like revealing all his secrets about his life before the opera, spent with his deceased wife, Annabelle. It would seem a bit awkward and he wasn't ready to tell anyone about his former wife yet. Maybe in time they would both open up.

"Georges" Erik said, ideas flashing through his mind "What if we could perform the Opera?"

"Erik, please don't-"

"Georges, before you say anything, just listen to me. What if this was this autumn's season debut opera? The autumn debuts always bring in tourists and native patrons alike, a crucial mix. Maybe it wouldn't be seen in a negative light like it was last time, performed at that "Phantom's" demand in the middle of the winter season." Erik said

He could see Georges face lighting up "You may have a valid argument there, old boy! Yes, if we could get the timing just right and maybe lower the box seat prices a tad, maybe, just maybe, it could work, but the timing would have to be opportune"

Erik felt himself grinning "It will be, just you wait!"

"And, the company would have to agree to perform it. It's May now, and you want this September first, that should give us enough time for some minor rehearsals and planning"

Erik grinned wickedly "And, by that time, I think I know where we can find the perfect available Aminta..."

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At that moment, Erik's perfect Aminta was sitting in her bedroom reading. Christine was now two months pregnant, almost going to be three, and her form was finally beginning to change, slowly but steady. There were no detectable changes yet in her outward appearance, but Christine could feel her body beginning to adjust to accommodating the new little life growing inside her. She still wore a corset, to preserve her breath support and posture for when she began singing again. She had performed in a few more operas after she discovered she was expecting, but she finally decided to take an early maternity leave of absence, with a little worried persuasion from Erik. All sorts of alternates and aspiring singers were filling in for her roles now, and some frequent opera-goers complained they wanted Mme. Destler (and to some of the older ones, Mlle. Daae) back, and they were assured she would return after her maternity leave. She supposed the complaints could be compliments in disguise.

At that moment, she heard the door shut downstairs and Erik call out "Christine, I'm home"

"I'm upstairs, dear" she called back

She put the book down as soon as she saw Erik come in the room. He kissed her gently on the cheek

"Oh, I'm so glad I'm finally home"

"Rough day?" she asked sympathetically

He groaned "What do you think, dear? Three couples coming in wanting to change their box seats for the upcoming season, then two of them changed their minds and said they preferred their old seats, so Georges and I had to sort all that out! Then there's still all those blasted accounts and to top it all of, that Leroux idiot still keeps coming around the Opera, wanting tours and looks downstairs at the caverns! For god's sake, that blasted journalist is going to be the death of me!"

"Is he still writing that Phantom story?" Christine asked worriedly

"Yes, unfortunately, he's getting a draft ready. That man just gets on my last nerve! And of course Georges is so hospitable to him, since the family used to have some money. So guess which Phantom had to give Monsieur Leroux a tour around the Opera?"

She smiled "What did he say about your mask?"

"Oh, I made up some stupid excuse and told him I lost a bet or something and had to wear it"

Christine twirled her hair nervously "Will his book actually get...you know-"

"My dear, I doubt it will ever be published, it's so muddled up and badly written. He showed me a first chapter of it, all about ballet tarts locking themselves up in a closet with Carlotta! That I wish had really happened" Erik said, chuckling

"Yes, but Erik, if it gets published, what would happen to you? I mean, what if people start believing in it again and all the publicity...it wouldn't be at all fortunate"

Erik kissed her again "Christine, don't worry your pretty little head over my stupid petty complaints. I'm still just a tad worked up"

She smiled, running her hands through his hair. He sighed

"So, what have you been doing all day Christine?"

"Nothing. Some laundry, I finished one book and started this one. I was just so tired this morning-but I'm fine now" she said, cutting him off before he asked if she was all right.

At that moment, her stomach growled. Erik raised his eyebrow

"I'm assuming you're ready to eat dinner?"

She sighed "Erik, what do you say if we go out for dinner tonight?"

"Tonight? Well, Christine, I was hoping we could eat quickly, because, well-"

"Erik, I didn't make any dinner" she confessed "I forgot to go shopping at the market yesterday and I was so tired this morning, I didn't make any and I just forgot about it. Sorry" she said meekly "Are you angry?"

He smiled, kissing her forehead "Of course I'm not angry. It's just dinner, Christine and I believe with everything else you have...occurring right now, it's completely understandable" Erik said, turning beet red.

Christine sighed. Erik got all awkward and uncomfortable speaking about their baby lately. What on earth was he going to do when she actually had their child ?

Erik began fiddling with his collar and Christine knew something was up

"Erik, what is wrong now?"

"Well, you know how the Opera's putting on Hannibal tonight?"

"Of course. That was why I wanted to go out to eat. Then we could just eat and go see the show"

"Well, you know who's playing Elissa, don't you?"

"Isabelle, of course. She'll do fine, Erik, stop fretting about it"

"Well, actually she isn't going to. Isabelle's mother stopped by this morning. Isabelle is quite ill with a horrid fever, and she can't sing"

"Well, who's her understudy?"

"That's the problem, dear. Her understudy's already out sick and we were hoping something like this didn't happen"

"So what now?" she asked suspiciously

"Well" he laughed awkwardly "You're going to think this is hilarious. You really will, I promise. M. Gringweld requested you to step in and do the role, and, I know, ironic as it is, I didn't want you pushing yourself before, but Georges boxed me into a corner and I told them you'd sing tonight."

"Erik, I don't think it's hilarious" she said dryly, getting up off the bed and going downstairs. He followed her

"I didn't think you would. But, Christine, please, you know the role. You debuted in it. Just one performance, tonight only, I promise"

"Erik, I only knew the role last time because you worked with me for three months on it! It's been years since I sang that"

"Christine please, the opera needs you. Come on. Just for tonight?"

"Erik, you know I'd love to, but, what if I don't remember anything? What if I make a fool of myself? What if everyone can tell I'm expecting in those slim costumes and it's indecent? What if-"

"What if you do a fantastic job, sing beautifully and look gorgeous?" he asked kissing her hands

She sighed "Erik, please, don't make me do this. I'm not trying to be difficult, really, but I just-"

"Christine, please. For me?" he asked innocently, trailing kisses down her arm

She sighed "I suppose. All right I'll do it"

"Really?"

"I said yes, didn't I?" she asked shrilly

Erik laughed "Darling, calm down. You'll do wonderfully, I just know it. The opera's in four hours, so-"

"I'll go get dressed" she said angrily, cutting him off

Christine didn't know why she was so emotional lately. She was always delighted to sing in these operas. Why was she being so difficult about it?

Well, she knew why. It wasn't the opera that held that memory, it was what happened after the opera, when Raoul came to visit her. Why did she have this awful feeling she'd see him again tonight? She was being ridiculous. He was locked up back in the asylum, the papers said so, weeks ago. She'd be fine. Really. She forced herself to put these silly lingering doubts in the back of her mind, with all those other awful thoughts and doubts she'd think about later.

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Christine breathed a sigh of relief, removing her heavy wig once she reached her dressing room. The performance had gone splendidly, not a single mistake or mishap. Amazingly enough, she had remembered all her lines and solos right on cue, and she had gotten a standing ovation and an encore! Although she still had to suppress shuddering when she had to sing that love song with the pudgy tenor playing Hannibal. He looked so much like Piangi. Speaking of which, she never had heard what happened to him after the night of Don Juan...

She shook her head. Her thoughts kept constantly wandering tonight. Well, at least the show had been a success and everyone was pleased. Hopefully Isabelle would be ready to perform the role she'd worked so hard for tomorrow night. Christine hated the feeling that she had stolen it from that poor girl who had been waiting eagerly for her own debut. Christine unlaced the back of her gown and folded it neatly, placing it in the wardrobe closet in her dressing room. She threw on a sheer robe over her corset and petticoats. She was beginning to feel so tired again.

At that moment, her room went dark and Erik's face was suddenly illuminated in the nearby mirror. She gasped as he sang "Brava, brava, bravissima" He pushed the mirror door aside and stepped through into her dressing room, laughing, relighting the gas lamps he'd magically extinguished. She sank down into a chair, her hand over her heart "You shouldn't have frightened me so"

"Come on, Christine, you loved it when I did that last year"

"Erik, it gets a little old after a time"

He grinned sheepishly "Sorry. I just couldn't resist" He kissed her hand lightly "But, my dear, you were absolutely magnificent tonight! I don't believe you've ever sounded more wonderful."

She smiled weakly " Thank you, but I'm just glad it's over"

He looked at her. She did look awfully pale. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed her so much to perform tonight.

He cleared his throat "Dear, I have some wonderful news"

"Yes?"

"Well, uh-" Erik paused. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say it. He was going to tell her that the Opera was going to perform Don Juan for the Autumn's Opera next year, but he couldn't do it. Saying it out loud would somehow strangely finalize it, and he wasn't completely certain something wasn't going to fall through and keep the opera from being performed. But he felt so guilty for spending so much time working on it. Didn't Christine have a right to know what he'd been so busy with lately?

Then again, maybe she wouldn't like to be Aminta after all. After all, all those things had happened that night they last performed Don Juan. Like Georges said, it did have a lot of extra baggage attached to it.

Erik sighed. He couldn't tell her now. But he would. Sometime. Later, maybe

"Dear, what's the news?" Christine asked sleepily

"Uh, we finally decided to give that grant to the ballet corps, so Meg and Mme. Giry can get more of the supplies they need and probably have some money left over" he blurted out hurriedly.

Christine yawned. She was to sleepy to notice his awkward behavior "That's nice"

He stroked her hair "Darling, are you really that tired?"

She nodded and leaned her head back against the chair. Within a few moments, her eyes were shut and she was sound asleep. Erik chuckled, gently lifting her out of the chair and tucking her into the bed in the room. Just like old times he thought nostalgically. It wouldn't hurt to sleep here at the Opera tonight he thought. After all, they had lived here anyway and practically still did. He yawned, sliding into the bed next to Christine, not even bothering to undress and take off his conductor's suit. Looks like it's been an exhausting day for us both he thought dryly

And tomorrow, I'll definitely tell her about Don Juan.

Well, maybe later. It took me twenty years to write the thing anyway. What could a few more days hurt?