Our first Sunday dinner of the New Year was an absurdly eventful one. One of Lili's friends, Simone, daughter of some Comte, naturally, had been about through the holiday, and I'd assumed it was because of Philippe. Silly me.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be here for New Year's, Gaston, Mignonette," Father began. No he wasn't; he had people in for New Year's--they didn't want me around. "You missed my announcement. Simone has consented to become my wife."

What? I had several reasons to think it was a ridiculous idea, but owing to my relatively sober state, I was able to keep my mouth shut about it. Simone had an annoying habit of looking down her aristocratic nose at Mignonette and scrupulously avoiding the sight of me and Chretien–not that I don't understand about that last bit, but shouldn't you make the attempt if you're taking my mother's place? I guessed my future stepmother–ha ha--to be nineteen at the oldest. She was very slim, with nearly colorless grey eyes, wispy ash blonde hair, and skin so fair it was translucent. The overall impression was one of ice.

Mignonette tried to make it sound positive later at home. She liked to take the edge off my moods before they got too evil, and she saw me beginning to stew over it. "I think it's wonderful that your father has found someone, Gaston. He's too young to be alone."

"Hm. He'll still be alone with that…spook. She's too thin, it'd be like shagging a post fence. He can do better."

"I think she's strangely beautiful."

"Strange is the word. Only man in history to die of hypothermia in his wedding bed. He'll lose his prick to frostbite."

"You're impossible…"

"I'm feeling a bit chilly myself, Sweetheart…"

-0-0-0-0-

DON JUAN: PLEASE RETURN TO NUMBER FIVE. ANOTHER MESSAGE AWAITS YOU. E.

It was a year since I'd spoken to Aunt Giry. Erik may have been old, but he was clearly not in any hurry. Maybe he thought I was waiting him out, and he finally succumbed; of course that hadn't been the case at all, my year had just been…hell. I went to the Opera house and fetched the note.

Don Juan,

Mme Giry has related to me the substance of your meeting. I regret that it is impossible for me to meet with you directly. You must know that I treasure my privacy; however, I remain concerned to recover the Sonnets. What is it precisely that you wish to know about me? Mme Giry shall contact you to determine the most effective way for us to communicate.
Hopeful of a mutually satisfactory accomodation, I remain

Your obedient servant,
Erik

Now, the old bastard was irritating me. He knew–he made sure that I knew that he knew–that I knew (are you following this?) how important that book was to him. He did not know what else I was in possession of, or what I knew about him and Mother. I was sure he was dying to know what I had, and what I knew, but he was so convinced of his own superiority that he thought he could play me like a puppy without having to give up a thing. Before Aunt Giry had a chance to come to see me, I put an ad in the paper.

ERIK:
NO MEETING, NO SONNETS. NO MUSIC, NO SKETCHES, NO MUSIC BOX, NO DRESS.
DON JUAN

I felt like the cat who'd got the cream. To celebrate, I took myself to Paris with my two idiot friends, after promising Mignonette that I would not go to Zizou's. When I suggested that it would be strictly for sentimental reasons she threatened my most treasured possession with a knife. Anyway, I was true to my word; I did not go to Zizou's, I went to Regine's. I don't like her establishment quite as much as Zizou's because I was thrown out once in my wild youth, but after nearly eight years, Madame Regine welcomed me, my face, and my money back fondly.

I returned home fairly sober and went in search of my wife and baby. They were playing on a blanket in the shade with Lili, the Ice Princess, and another friend of theirs, Therese. I was in a fabulous mood, being fifteen thousand francs to the good, and bounced and tickled Chretien while I caught up on all the feminine news. They had been shopping, so I was not fifteen thousand francs to the good after all, but it seemed that Simone might be thawing. She did not speak to me, but the other girls laughed freely enough with her. The wedding was turning into a great to do (from which my son and I would be excused). After I got the news, I scandalized my sister and her friends by asking them to keep Chretien so Mignonette and I could play hide and seek in the woods.

-0-0-0-0-

Aunt Giry called on me and promptly took me to task for antagonizing Erik. He was no one to fool with, she insisted. Well, neither am I. Aunt Giry could not stop looking at Chretien. Happy little drooler that he was, he insisted on going to her, and she nearly smiled at him. Mignonette mentioned that he was already taking after me and was sure to be a ladies' man. Which just proves my point that if I can only get between a woman's legs, she'll completely forget about my face.

"Listen, Aunt Giry, it's like this: he wants what I've got, and I want information. I'm not about to spend five years passing notes back and forth with him like a schoolboy. He can name the place if he's such a recluse; I'll meet him in whatever cave he chooses, but I want a meeting, just him and me. He knows I have other things now–I'll make a list of everything for you to carry back to him. We can discuss other things besides the Sonnets if he wants, but it depends upon his cooperation. You tell him."

"You wouldn't have to spend five years. Write all your questions, I'll wait. I'll carry them to him right now, and I promise I'll bring the answers right back to you. I'll wait again to get your responses and I'll do that as much as you like. You don't need to see him!" she insisted.

"What are you so afraid of if we should meet? Why do you protect him so?" I repeated.

"Because no good can come of this," she replied sadly.

"You keep saying that."

"Just give me your list and I'll go," she resigned.

After Aunt Giry left, I told Mignonette about Mother's trunk and what I'd learned. I'm sure she didn't understand why it was so important to me to know what had passed between Mother and Erik, but she understood that it was important, and that was sufficient for her. I was grateful for that.

-0-0-0-0-

Mignonette and I continued to fight a lot. When we weren't doing our business, we were fighting. She was a feisty little bitch who didn't put up with my moods at all, which went a long way toward making the house a battleground. She was a wife now, by God, and I guess she felt she'd tolerated enough in her life that she was determined not to suffer any nonsense from me. It wasn't usually about anything important, just one of us would snip at the other, and the other couldn't let it lay. It kept things interesting, but making up was always fun.

So, once again life was going fairly well for me. But as I say, I have always been a perverse bastard, and I seem to have an in-born character flaw that won't let me leave anything alone. I just can't stand it if I'm not stirring the pot…and I can't keep away from women.

I went to visit Lucie one evening while Mignonette gave Chretien a bath. It still hurt, but in a funny sort of way I was fond of it. I knew it would always hurt; it was a comfort somehow to feel that ache and remember how I was loved.

It was a pretty night with an almost full moon, and I went through the kitchen garden. The Ice Princess was sitting on the bench, wrapped in a shawl. She seemed almost guilty to be caught out, apologized for being there, and started to leave. I told her no, that I was just passing through on my way home, and that she should remain.

"It is a peaceful place, a beautiful night to sit quietly and think," I remarked, moving off.

"I wish I could stop thinking," she sighed. I was not certain she was speaking to me, but it would have been rude to ignore her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said I wish I could stop thinking. I'm worried…nevermind." Ah, cold feet. I should say so, if I were marrying someone old enough to be my father and then some.

"It is a normal thing to be worried just before your wedding day," I chuckled and propped my foot up on the bench. "I ran away, I was so scared."

"But it turned out alright." Simone insisted.

"Yes. It turned out beautifully." I admitted.

After a moment's silence, she asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty five."

"You've lived…a lot. Before you were married," she glanced toward me for confirmation. She looked like a fairy in the moonlight, with her pale skin and eyes.

"I suppose Lili's told tales," I admitted. Before I was married, hell. I still lived every chance I got.

"I've never even had a proper kiss, and I'm about to be married forever," she murmured.

"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that, now. Raoul's kissed you."

"The Comte kisses my hand and my forehead. He's very polite." Clearly she was disappointed that he was so polite.

"Excuse me, but it seems to me that if you want him to kiss you properly, you should not call him 'Comte'," I suggested.

"Oh?" Simone seemed surprised by this idea. "But he is…"

"Yes, of course," I agreed. I sat beside her. Her eyes are beautiful at night. "But you're a very formal young lady, if I may say so. If you want a gentleman to kiss you, you must offer some encouragement, let him know that he will be welcome."

"I wouldn't know how," she replied sadly.

"You do," I assured her. "You smile; when you look at him, you make your eyes soft and think admiring thoughts…" Why do I always find myself telling puppies how to behave around the opposite sex?

"My thoughts will show?" Simone seemed worried by this idea.

"I think in a general way, for instance, if you like him, it can show."

"How?"

"In your eyes, as I said. And perhaps when you speak to him you find a way to rest your hand on his arm for a moment, and you speak his name softly…and in this way you can let a gentleman know that it would be very nice if he should happen to kiss you," I smiled with my eyes. She was looking at me more directly, and I didn't want to scare her. She sighed and thought for a bit.

"Well, it's too late now…isn't it, Gaston?" Soft eyes, hand floating lightly on my sleeve, hint of a smile.

I kissed her, I did. Once, twice; open your mouth, Sweetheart, that's right; cool hands on my neck; kisses, nibbles on her throat; slipped my hand inside her bodice, snug fit, just so; if we slide this blouse down just a bit…aah, yes. Big perky nipples, but built like a boy; this is not a comfortable bench. Let's see what's under the skirt, shall we? Nice, taut bottom, a bit small for me. Just as I told Mignonette, like a post fence; bony hips, have to take her from behind or get stabbed to death. I was wrong about the frostbite, though; it's quite tropical in this little jungle. Juicy; you're more than willing, aren't you Sweetheart, but we mustn't take anything that Raoul would miss. Here, lay down, Sweetheart, scoot down here; legs like so, on Gaston's shoulders; good. This is absurd; on my knees in the kitchen garden with a dress over my head. I don't know how I get myself into…mmmm.

Violent reactions, you'd think my tongue was burning her little bud; no wonder Victor is addicted to virgins. Gently, Sweetheart, Gaston must breathe…oh, here we go; better give her a finger to bite.

I sucked on my lip and helped my future stepmother to sit up. Her eyelids were fluttering and she grabbed my shirt and kissed the hell out of me. "Is that me? Is that what I taste like?" she sounded breathy and maybe a little faintish. Please don't faint, Sweetheart. Gaston does not want to have to carry you into the house.

"Yes, Sweetheart, you're a luscious little girl. Simone, Gaston needs to run, and so do you. We'll be missed soon," I worried. More kisses. Raoul, you bastard; the skinny little tart is insatiable.

"When can we–" It was a surgical procedure to get her arms off my neck.

"Let's get through the wedding, Sweetheart; remember Raoul? You have a nice wedding, a nice wedding trip, and Gaston will see Simone when she comes home, alright?" She nodded obediently. I checked her for steadiness, and she seemed pretty much recovered, everything intact. Right, off you go.

Another good thing about my face is it's very difficult for me to look guilty. Of course, I rarely am guilty; that may have something to do with it. I didn't know what was going on with me all of a sudden. I had more free women than I could use, almost. Nice problem, and one I never imagined I'd have. I had a lot to work out on Mignonette that night.

Simone and Raoul were married in the social event of the season, according to Lili and Mignonette. Chretien and I went swimming, talked about women and took a nap under a tree. You may wonder why, now that I'm able to do so, I don't invade one of these affairs and terrify all the guests. I don't know. I guess because I don't want to be anywhere I'm not wanted. Bugger them all.

-0-0-0-0-

Aunt Giry delivered me a note from Erik.

Don Juan,
I have knowledge of a letter written to me which was never sent; do you have it? I will meet you personally for it and the Sonnets.

Yr obdt svt
E.

I asked Aunt Giry what letter this could be.

"Your mother told me years ago that she had written Erik a letter; she claimed she wanted me to deliver it, but whenever I mentioned it, she said 'Not yet.'" She shrugged. "She probably destroyed it."

Shit. I took everything out of the trunk, shook it out, all the sheet music, all the sketches. Nothing. No letter. I decided I would ask Father if there was anything more of Mother's anywhere when he returned from his honeymoon. How I'd explain why I wanted to know, and what it was, I had no idea, but I had time to work that out. I penned a letter back to the Phantom for Aunt Giry to take with her.

Erik,
I have searched my things and find no letter, sadly. At present, I am not able to go through any of Christine's things which are not in my immediate possession, but will do so at earliest convenience to attempt to locate the letter. Perhaps Christine destroyed it?

Regards,
Don Juan

Mignonette was quiet all afternoon after Aunt Giry left. Sometimes she got in a mood, so I ignored it. After Chretien went to sleep, she asked me if I thought Raoul would actually give me such a letter if he had it. I didn't know; I had no idea what it could say. Still she was quiet, and finally she walked over to the window and looked out at the night.

"If your Mother really meant to give that letter to you, Gaston–since she gave you so many other things concerning the Phantom–maybe it would be best not to trouble your Father with it now…starting on a new life as he is." She said, hesitantly.

I was furious at what I was hearing. "You mean I should just give it up? After all this time, give it up, because he's got a skinny new toy and doesn't want to be reminded of my mother?" I shouted.

"No, I'm saying...maybe it would be best if you didn't trouble him about the search. Maybe you could look for the letter…without bothering him." Sly little whore; a man could get to love a girl like her.

-0-0-0-0-

In a few days Mignonette and Lili went for a shopping trip and I went snooping in the big house. In the attic, I found clothing of Mother's; nothing else. In Mother's closet, I found a box that looked promising, but it was all mementoes of us children: baby shoes, baptismal certificates, baby teeth wrapped in paper, carefully marked and dated; our first toys and clothes; silver monogrammed cups. Another box of stuff concerning Mother and Father. More dried roses, for God's sake. Their wedding announcement; the marriage certificate, duly signed by the priest; a scarf; some papers relating to Father's military service; a Chagny family tree. My brother and sister were on it; I was not. I didn't have the luxury of time to deal with that new wound, so I pressed on.

I even went through Father's desk. Nothing: the man has no secrets. No letters, no notes from mistresses, no dirty postcards. I left his office positive that he did not have Mother's letter to Erik.

I wandered back to Mother's room and plopped on the bed, depressed, ready to go home and get drunk. Sitting there, I stared at her nightstand; it looked just as it always had. Globe lamp with roses painted on it; crocheted doily beneath; little porcelain bird figurine. Her precious Bible. I picked it up; it was like touching Mother's hand to touch her Bible. The pages were as thin as onion skin and smelled of Mother's perfume. I didn't want to cry. I jumped up to run home, fumbled and dropped the Bible. A creamy envelope fluttered from the pages and skittered across the floor. I stared at it as if it was a poisonous viper. I restored the Bible to its rightful place and reached for the envelope with a trembling hand. It was sealed. There was no address or designation of any kind on the front.

Was it right to open this? What if it was Erik's letter? What if it wasn't?