I went on a serious drunk when I got home. I finally sobered up after I began having horrific nightmares in which I was running through the caverns under the Opera with something chasing me. I couldn't see it, but I could hear the footsteps getting closer. After the third night of waking up screaming and dripping with sweat, I decided that I'd dry out a bit. I'm not a big one for mirrors, but even I have to admit that I looked like death on toast.
Lili appeared around the time I began to feel human again. She was obviously in distress, but she refused to say anything other than that I was to come up to the main house, Father wanted me and it was not open to debate. He would not get any trouble out of me; Lili's face was pleading. I promised I'd be up as soon as I had a bath.
When I got to the big house, Lili directed me into Father's study; she didn't join us. I was shocked to see that Philippe was home. Philippe refused to look at me, and Father was grim as I'd ever seen him.
"Gaston, I have no idea where you've been," Father game me a withering look of disapproval. He jabbed his thumb in the general direction of the second floor. "There is a young woman upstairs who tried to end her life on your account." He paused. He had to be talking about Lucie, but I couldn't find anything to say. It appeared that he didn't really expect me to. I glanced at Philippe, but he focused on Father and pretended to have no peripheral vision of me. Father continued. "Gaston, sometimes you must to do the right thing, whether you like it or not. For you, that time has come. You must marry this girl."
Obviously Father had not discussed his plans with Philippe, because my brother started and cried, "No!" He collected himself respectfully; everything about Father's demeanor suggested that he'd brook no insolence from anyone at the moment. "Father, don't force him to marry her if he doesn't want to. He'll mistreat her. Please, I'll–"
"Philippe, no." Father cut him off firmly. Looking at Philippe, he sighed deeply, and suddenly he looked twenty years older. "Son, I know what you are thinking, believe me, but I will not allow it. No." Father turned to me, and I could not read anything in his eyes. "Gaston?"
"I wasn't planning to leave her stranded; I told her I would give her money. I don't want to get married." I sounded like a weasel, even to myself.
"And you think that money solves it all for her." Father shook his head. "She trusted you, Gaston; whether she should have or not is another question. What about her name? What about her honor? What about the life of that child, growing up fatherless and nameless?" he demanded. It was obvious that he felt astonishingly strongly about it. "You'll marry this girl, or you'll leave here with nothing but the clothes on your back and a horse. You'll live by your wits as best you can, because I'll have nothing more to do with you."
"You wouldn't do that! Mother–"
"But Mother is not here, sadly, and I fear she was the only one who had any idea how to handle you. You've given us a fair bit of trouble over the years, Gaston. I have tried…" he regarded me strangely.
I was not yet twenty four; perhaps I could support myself by gambling for awhile, but assuming I wasn't murdered before I was forty, what would I do when I got old? The truth is, I cannot live on my own. I function well in my little circle, but the world is not safe for a deformed man without money or connections. I need my safe haven on the Chagny estate. I need my father's protection.
"Fine. Fine, goddammit!" I tore from the house and ran to Paris.
-0-0-0-0-
I stayed in Paris as long as I could. I went home with a wedding ring for Lucie–but I still felt trapped and angry. In my absence, the planning had been proceeding apace, and I was at the altar ten days after Father delivered his ultimatum. I hadn't seen Lucie since the day I told her I wouldn't marry her, but when I saw how unhappy she looked on our wedding day, my heart just melted. It wasn't her I was angry at. The priest pronounced us husband and wife, and I gave Lucie a proper kiss. When I finally released her, her eyes were confused and uncertain, but only for a moment. I kissed her again, and this time when she looked at me, her eyes said that she understood.
Lucie came into my arms on our wedding night as if there'd never been any trouble between us. Holding her, kissing her, stroking her belly, I wondered what had been wrong with me to run away from her. All she wanted was for us to love each other–and we did.
I forgot all about Erik.
We were absurdly happy newlyweds in our little house. Lucie waddled around and made the place look cheery and homey, and she planted flowers outside. Everything she touched with her little green thumb flourished. The bump–that was what we called the baby–didn't disturb our honeymoon at all. It was a delightful game to work out all the ways we could make love as the bump grew.
We lay in bed at night discussing names, wondering what his voice would sound like–Lucie was determined that the bump was a boy–what he would be like as he grew, how many brothers and sisters he should have. So many plans for the future; for the first time I felt I actually had one. I never mentioned my fears that the child would look like me. Lucie was glowing with happiness; I couldn't bear to plant even a hint of worry in her mind.
The midwife expected the baby for several weeks before it finally came. Lucie was huge, uncomfortable, and more than ready. She had minor pains for several days before her real labor began. When it did finally begin, it was violent and protracted. Lucie suffered a long time; a day, a night and another day. Late that second afternoon, the midwife sent for the doctor. He arrived and in short order advised that the child's head was too big, he would have to cut Lucie to get it out.
Lucie came through the operation well; she was exhausted, but elated when she saw her big-headed baby boy. He was not as ugly as me; not normal and perfect, but a bit less deformed. Lucie declared him beautiful and insisted I fetch Father and Lili to see him immediately. We named him Chretien Raoul Joseph, after Mother, Father, and Lucie's father.
Lucie recovered nicely for two days. On the third morning, she awoke with a fever, and by the time the doctor arrived, she was bleeding heavily. I stayed next to her that night; a little before daylight, she gave a peaceful little sigh…and I was alone again.
When Lili came, she had the presence of mind to send for a wet nurse; the big-headed murderer was screaming for food, you see. She could not convince me to let Lucie go and sent for Father. He took my hands in his, even as they still held Lucie, and when he squeezed them, he made me understand that I would live–though I didn't want to. My father held me for a long time, but I couldn't cry.
I buried my little Lucie in her wedding dress. I laid some peonies with her; she liked them best.
-0-0-0-0-
A week after the funeral I went to Paris. Lili and the nurse had been caring for Chretien, but he was my responsibility, and he needed a mother. I went to Zizou's and proposed to Mignonette. I explained my situation: I wanted a mother for my son and I didn't want to go through the charade of trying to locate a likely candidate and convince her that I loved her. I think Mignonette was startled by my demeanor. I was numb and matter-of-fact as I laid out my expectations; normally when she saw me I was charming, effusive, and at least a little drunk. I think she pitied me in my grief. Likely, whatever I said or failed to say, all she heard was security, respectability, money, and a way out. Thus, two weeks after Lucie died, Gaston de Chagny, widower, married Marie Delon, spinster, in a magistrate's office. I got her a ring and a bunch of flowers; I didn't get our witnesses' names.
Father and Lili were predictably scandalized. They were struck speechless, but fortunately generations of good breeding made themselves felt and they managed to welcome the bride politely. Lili looked at what passed for Mignonette's best dress and promised her a shopping trip soon. Not that the dress was untidy; it just looked like it belonged to a whore. Mignonette was thrilled at Lili's sisterly welcome; I was grateful for Lili's grace.
Mignonette had to draw on all her professional experience to conceal her chagrin at the sight of her new son; I'd warned her, but you just can't prepare someone adequately for The Face. Fortunately, she'd have some time to warm to the idea, since the wet nurse would be wanted for awhile.
I suppose I thought that no girlish dreams would survive the life Mignonette had led, but she had the same romantic illusions about married life that you'd expect from a nineteen-year-old virgin. I thought we had a business arrangement with privileges; anyway, I wanted to be left alone. I set the tone for her on our wedding night when she slithered over and bit my ear; I shrugged her away roughly.
Lili took Mignonette under her wing and helped her assemble a wardrobe of some taste. We began taking Sunday supper at the main house; I didn't want to, but Mignonette enjoyed it. After a few months, I got back to running with my idiot friends as before, but I wasn't a harmless young roué anymore. I was old, cynical and a drunkard.
"Gaston, what have you to do in Paris anyway?"
"The same as I always did, Mignonette."
"But why? Who is it there who interests you so much? Tell me!"
"If there is someone there who interests me, it's because she doesn't browbeat and nag me constantly! She keeps her mouth shut and does what she's told!"
"How would you know if I'll do what I'm told or not--you never touch me! You paid me more attention when I was at Zizou's!"
"Just shut it, woman–you wanted me at home, and I'm home–for all the good it does me!"
"I want you to be nice to me, Gaston. You used to be so nice…you remember all the fun we had. Why don't we go into Paris together? We could go to the theater…play in the carriage…"
"No."
We played almost this identical argument over and over. Chretien would wake up screaming, the nurse would run for cover, one or both of us would throw crockery or a wine bottle, and I would end it by running to the family cemetery and sitting with Lucie until I passed out.
-0-0-0-0-
Actually, the thing which began to bring me back to life was an ugly scene with Philippe at Christmas. If he had been home since Lucie died, I had not seen him. We avoided looking at each other, grumbled the minimum greetings–it was lovely. Mignonette insisted that I had to make some effort to get along with him or Christmas dinner would be impossible. I replied that she didn't know what she was talking about, and to leave it. As I recall, it was another delightful night which ended with us screaming at each other. I passed out on the sofa.
At five months old, Chretien had no idea what was happening, but his first Christmas was made delightful by a loving, doting aunt and mother. He was a fat and incredibly cheerful baby who won everyone over by forcing them to join in his happiness. Even my flawlessly handsome Father, so ungrandfatherly, found his way onto the floor to play with the little troll. I noticed Philippe staring at the child sometimes, and it irritated me. Basically, Philippe's mere presence irritated me, and I'm sure he felt the same about me.
"Why are you staring at my son?" I demanded finally.
"Why, I'm admiring your lovely family, Brother," he replied innocently. "Handsome son, charming wife–tell me: is she salaried, or do you pay her by the encounter?"
I called him every foul thing I could think of as I flew at him. The women scooped the baby up and moved to my father for protection. Philippe and I ignored their pleas to stop fighting.
"You killed her, you killed her, you bastard!" he screamed as we pummeled each other.
"Stop it, Philippe!" I heard Lili shouting as she tried to pull him away. "He loved her! He loved her!"
It seemed that idea had never occurred to Philippe. When it finally sunk in, he allowed Lili to draw him off me and I ran off to the cemetery.
Sometime later, Mignonette came to cover me with my cloak. I was slumped over, but not asleep, and I started as she smoothed it over my shoulders. Some minutes passed, and I thought she had left me; then I heard her just behind me. "Gaston, if it was me, I would have forgiven you, and I would want you to forgive yourself. For the child, and for you. I don't think she wants you to be miserable." I heard her footsteps as she moved off.
Finally, I cried.
-0-0-0-0-
I crept in alongside Mignonette awhile later, trying not to wake her, but she turned toward me and pressed herself into my arms. I cried again, and she held me strongly.
"Thank you," I whispered when I was finally through.
"It's alright, I'm your wife," she reminded me.
-0-0-0-0-
We left Chretien with the nurse and went to Paris for New Year's. The hotel we stayed in seemed like a palace to Mignonette, and she was beside herself, incredulous that we could actually stay in such a place. I took Mignonette to restaurants she'd never dreamed of being in, and the Opera, and the ballet, and an art museum. I felt marvelous to be able to give her so much happiness by doing such an ordinary thing.
We finally consummated our bizarre marriage. We took a late supper after the ballet and made our way back to the hotel. Mignonette ran off to the bath immediately. She was enthralled by the bathtub because it was huge, and there were all sorts of fragrant goodies to dump into the water. Presently, I carried a bottle and two glasses into the bath. "Madame de Chagny, may I?"
"Ooh, yes," she giggled, peering out of a mountain of frothy bubbles. She accepted the glass; I toasted her.
"To a happy new year." We drank, and I kissed her. She wrapped her bubbly arms around my neck and responded happily. I was feeling something like my old self, so I climbed into the bath with her, clothes and all.
"Agh! Gaston!" Mignonette squealed and splashed. "You're a fool!"
"I'm your fool, Madame," I reminded her.
"You are," she mused. She wrapped her long, luscious thighs around my hips, familiar and new at the same time.
"I don't think this will work..." I laughed. I shucked my wet clothes and we played hide-and-seek in the bubbles. More soapy games ensued. We abandoned the bath for the bed after I shampooed her hair, a surprisingly arousing experience.
I surprised Mignonette by putting more emphasis on her pleasure than I had in our previous liaisons; she seemed to have no expectations that I would. If her sounds and wriggles were to be believed–and how do you know with a professional?–she enjoyed my groping, but it soon became apparent that it wasn't going anywhere. I thought she was getting close to her release, but she flopped back on the pillows and seemed to give up. "I'm sorry, Gaston. Don't…just…I can't anymore," she sighed, embarrassed.
"You're supposed to have a good time, too, Mignon," I reminded her.
"Oh, I will," she promised, putting on her best smile. "Come here."
"Not yet, Mignon. Just let go, give it to me."
"I can't…"
"Yes, you can," I soothed and moved between her legs. I'd never kissed a whore's cunt before, and though Mignonette had been with me for months, I'd be lying if I said it didn't give me pause. First time I'd ever had a thought like that about her, but it was fine once I got to work. Mignonette became self-conscious at being the center of attention; a woman's version of being unable to keep it up, I suppose. We had to go through some contortions so she could work my shaft while I ate her, just so she could relax. She kept telling me to stop, because she couldn't, but she did finally. I thought my jaw would never recover; it seemed I was down there an hour. Noisy, too. I was glad we weren't at home, or she'd have wakened Chretien with all her screaming.
She was almost unconscious when I got inside her, but a few minutes frisky shagging revived her nicely. I was glad of that because I was in the mood to sit back and let her ride; no one does it better than Mignonette. As I got closer, I got the urge to pound her senseless, so I turned her around and took her like a bitch. We said stunningly nasty things to each other and collapsed in a sweaty heap. I fell asleep thinking that I may never love her, but she's great fun, and at least I'll be well and truly shagged.