Finally, they're at the opera! Thank you all for staying with this fanfic, it's my first and your feedback helps tremendously. Plus, I enjoy hearing for you! Feel free to email me too.
Warning: this chapter earns an H for HOT.
-Leesainthesky
Ch 50 50-Nuit d' Opera
Should I have stuck my tongue out at her? Erik would have undoubtedly frowned on that. The last thing I wished for was to reward rudeness with regard. Most that gaped at Erik were not so obvious; perhaps I should seek her out and kick her petite little ass.
I considered the point that the woman starring into our box could have been engaged in the same sort of folly Erik and I had indulged in earlier.
"At least we weren't gawking at the people whom we found curious."
"Darling, are you of this world?" Erik must have taken notice of my far away eyes.
"Oh yes, I'm here sweetheart," I smacked myself mentally and smiled up at Erik lovingly. "Though I must say; your music does have the power mesmerize."
This must have pleased Erik, because a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he turned his attention back to the opera.
Act two was nearing the end where Signor Donizetti reveals his considerable passion for Talena in a fiery duet. Donizetti and Talena's ladies chaperone were engaged in a recitative concerning his inappropriate feelings for the young Norwegian woman.
Donizetti pushes the chaperone out of his way and bursts into Talena's dressing room. It is here where the duo entangles their voices within the notes of a searing duet.
If one closed their eyes merely to listen, they would become bewitched by the music.
Erik's score titillates the senses from the first subtle caress, taking them on a journey of sustained foreplay before exploding into a frenzied climax.
Clearly, these patrons were victims of Erik's musical prowess.
I had a naughty idea.
I reached over to retrieve my reticule from the table and accidentally dropped it on the floor of the box.
"Opps," I bent down to fetch the little purse but rather than return to my chair, parked my chin on Erik's knees and peered up into his face beguilingly.
Taking a quick scan of my face, Erik arched his eyebrow quizzically.
I answered his silent question by trailing one lace-covered finger up the length of his thigh and across the bulge of his crotch.
Erik's interest was immediately apparent and I took it as an invitation to proceed. Not moving my eyes from his, I made haste with the buttons and reached inside his fine wool trousers to retrieve the object of my affection. Thank goodness, my love likes to go commando, fumbling with under-things within the confines of the box would have been daunting.
Erik possessed a beautiful cock; long, smooth and full, it demanded immediate attention. I lowered my head and enveloped him eagerly with my mouth. Erik closed his eyes, and we both lost ourselves in the ebb and flow of the music.
Familiar with the score from hearing the composer laboring over it in his music room, I followed the score with my tongue, swirling it around Erik's throbbing flesh in time with the music.
From Donizetti's first vocal caress to the swelling thunder of his mounting lust, my mouth bobbed up and down faster and faster.
From the point of anyone looking our way, Erik simply appeared to be engrossed in the music, which was partially true. One hand griped the ledge of the box tightly, the other he laid on my head, stroking my curls appreciatively and moaning softly.
On the stage below, the singers were building up to the final crescendo; up in box six, Erik was nearing his. Lurching briefly in his chair, he crushed his hips into the depths of my wet mouth, furiously expelling his seed in concert with the tenor's final wrenching notes.
The curtain closed on act two.
Erik opened his eyes. He appeared somewhat dazed, but not in the least unhappy.
From his coat pocket, he withdrew a silk handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of my mouth. I tucked him away and re-seated myself, affecting the posture of a proper lady.
When I looked out across the auditorium, I saw her again— the angelic, dark haired woman starring, her eyes wide in disbelief at both of us. Had she guessed what I'd been up to?
Suddenly I felt the burn of a blush roll up from my belly.
Who the hell is she?
I looked to Erik, now sporting a satisfied glow, and tipped my head toward her box. "Sweetheart, that woman over there, do you know her?"
When Erik turned his head to look, she'd vanished.
"What woman, Gabrielle?"
"I swear to you, Erik, there's been a dark haired woman sitting in that box who has been starring at us a good portion of the evening."
"Perhaps she is envious of your beauty my darling."
"A lovely compliment, but highly unlikely, she was beautiful almost luminous. Her expression wasn't that of curiosity, it was more like…as if she knew one of us."
Erik shrugged his shoulders as if to say who cares, so I dropped the subject deciding instead to focus on the nuisances of tonight's performance. I remarked about the hall's excellent acoustics and picked Erik's mind on the difference between the various forms of popular opera and of his predictions of music's evolution in the next fifteen to twenty or so years.
Erik claimed that as attention spans of the average audience became shorter, the demand for abbreviated forms of opera, theatre, and so on would increase. However this tasteless dernier cri, would also lead to a demand for pieces of superior quality within the circles of the true opera aficionado. This is where my brilliant genius and his keen talent fit in.
The days of French opera are numbered, but my fear is that music shall be reduced to turgid bits of notes with all the depth of children's nursery rhymes. Of course, much of this is dependant upon whether or not mankind satiates his need for warmongering or acquiesces to a time of peace. All arts are dependant upon sociology, my dear Gabrielle."
"Indeed Monsieur Freud, you've no idea how on target you are with your predictions."
"Simple historic observation, dear, the past merely repeats itself, but with exceedingly dire consequences."
"Yes, by 2005, we will have devised many horrific ways of annihilating our fellow man and woman."
Our conversation was cut short by the strains of the orchestra signaling the audience to the start of act three.
Erik and I turned out attention back to the final act of Le Femme du Nord.
So engrossed was I in the pain and passion of Donizetti and the beautiful and tragic Talena, I forgot about Ms. Nosey in box two until three quarters of the way through the act. I snuck a peek in the direction of her box to find that she was partially hidden behind one of the thick velvet curtains.
Upon completion of the third and final act, Erik and I took quick leave of our seats. The lobby would soon fill with throngs of opera fans heading out of the theatre. Erik had no interest in rubbing elbows with them but he did wish to walk me through the entry so I could take in the great hall of famous heads immortalized in plaster fifty feet over our heads in the ceiling.
Gently placing a gloved hand under my elbow, he steered me across the mezzanine, down the main staircase and into the sparkling new lobby of the Opera Lyric.
The lobby was breathtaking. I was a giddy young woman, dizzy with love and enchanted with the elegance and opulence of all that I heard, saw, and felt at this Grand opera gala.
Even though Erik possessed his usual aloof and guarded countenance, his eyes glowed brightly. The performance had gone well, those few who knew him as the compositeur grand deferred to him with reverence in spite of the curious mask, nodding and smiling at him as we hurried by them.
All was well with our world.
To Erik's relief, only a few patrons milled about the lobby, so we breezed effortlessly across the marble floor making out way to the hallway that would lead us to the side exit where our Brougham would be waiting for us.
"Monsieur DuPuis," A woman's gilded voice called out.
Erik's light grip on my arm increased. He glanced at me as if to confirm that I too, had heard the feminine plea.
"Maybe someone wants the artist's autograph?" I teased.
"Erik, please, I beg of you to take pause," the woman was closer now, Erik stopped and stood rigid, he released my arm and fisted his hands, never a good sign for my darling. Slowly he turned to face the voice behind us.
"Oh Erik, do my eyes deceive me? It truly is you!" A beautiful and petite dark-haired woman held one delicate hand against her heart. Smiling broadly, she approached us and offered a brief curtsey.
I recognized her as the same woman who spent the majority of tonight's performance staring across the opera house at me. Our eyes locked in a brief moment of concession.
Erik did not respond, frankly he resembled a deer frozen in place by the headlights of an approaching car.
My eyes ping-ponged between his face and that of the mystery woman, hoping for a clue to her identity.
Always the forward one, I responded first, "You must forgive him, I believe tonight's overwhelmingly positive reception of his opera has rendered my fiancé voiceless. Am I correct Erik, darling?" I nudged him inconspicuously.
"Indeed, of course, forgive my rudeness." Erik snapped out of his trance and retrieved the woman's hand for the customary buss. Erik voice saturated with glacial courtesy.
"Comtess de Chagny, I am pleased to introduce to you my fiancée, Madame Gabrielle Thomassen of America. Gabrielle, this is a dear friend from my past, the Comtess Christine de Chagny." By the sound of the icicles hanging from his words, Erik did not seemed at all pleased.
"Charmed," the woman acknowledged me with a tip of her head, chestnut curls bouncing. I curtseyed as is the custom with noble women, "Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Comtess."
"Do call me Christine," her honeyed voice insisted.
"You may call me Gabrielle."
"What a lovely name, your parents must have chosen the feminine of the archangel, Gabriel."
When I opened my mouth to reply Erik spoke in my place, linking his arm with mine he looked down into my eyes and, said, "She is indeed an angel, my angel."
Ooh good one-a gold star for you!
"'Flatterer," I said batting my eyelashes coquettishly.
Erik, you are engaged how splendid for you both. Finally, you have a soul mate.
Erik's eyes turned stormy. "Why indeed Comtess, even the most unfortunate creatures crawling about the earth have mates do they not?"
Her doe eyes expressed a sad regret, "Yes Erik but for man possessing your inner beauty, there is surely only one special mate."
I patted Erik's arm. "Well I have won the fiancé lottery with Monsieur DuPuis, a woman could not ask for a more doting husband," I interjected hoping to lighten the conversational load.
"I am surprised that your doting husband allows you from his protective sight for a single moment. Where is the Comte?"
Christine lowered her eyes, the tips of her lashes kissing her cheeks, "Sadly, Raoul perished just this past November in an unfortunate hunting accident."
Instinctively, I covered my mouth with my hand, "Oh Christine, I am most sorry for you, you are too young to be a widow."
"How kind of you, dear. We'd not even had a chance at being parents and then he was simply…gone." She bit her lip and retrieved a lace hanky to dot the tears now trickling down her lovely face.
Erik and I stood by dumbfounded while the dainty Comtess quickly composed herself.
"Forgive my impertinence on such an occasion of grandeur. Le Femme du Nord was spectacular Erik, as are all of your works. It pleases me to know that your works are receiving their proper due."
He looked down at her expressionlessly except for the hint of melancholic gratitude in his eyes.
It was then when I saw; felt a bond existing between the two of them that could never be broken.
"Erik," she continued to refer to him in the familiar, "your opera was sublime... at once subtle and understated then fiery and bold. Manifique!
"You are too kind. Christine was always my most ardent fan." He addressed me sheepishly.
"Perhaps, I could audition for your next opera. Now that I have no real obligations to the noble de Chagny family, I may do what I wish. Of course having no living males left in his line, my dear Raoul's estate has past to me."
"Audition for my opera? I suppose, yes, indeed your
"My voice has been silent for far too long. I fear the instrument is quite rusty, and desperately requires a tutor. Why, it's been six years since I've sung in public, save a few parlor performances for my husbands wealthy friends," said the little wench.
All right sister, now you're fishing, hands off.
"Yes, of course, if you're serious, I could, perhaps resume my tutorage."
Huh? Did he just unwittingly agree to let that woman weasel her way into his life again?
"Oh Erik, you are too kind to me, after all this time has passed. Perhaps I shall call upon you, that is, if I am not being too bold and assuming," she faced me when she said this, a properly groveling smile now plastered on that perfect porcelain face of hers.
Erik simply continued to stare at her as if she were an apparition. I saw the opportunity for interjection.
"Why on earth would you wish to subject yourself to the cruel rigors of the stage when you don't need to Comtess?"
"Oh dear, Madame Thomassen, I'm afraid that life has become most tedious for me since I lost my dear Raoul. Day's drag on endlessly and I simply cannot strand to languish as a bird in a gilded cage. Singing is, or, was my life—I must embrace it to truly live."
Yeah, whatever...I hear Wagner's popular opera's have lots of parts for soprano's these days. I am trying my best not to glare at her.
"Dear Christine, I've no plans for a new opera until late next year as I anticipate a goodly run with Le Femme."
"But should I wish to revive my voice, please, tell me that I may call on you considerable skills as a teacher," the corners of her big eyes pled with him hopefully. I bit my tongue.
"As always dear, I'm your obedient service. Call on me if you are serious about the endeavor."
"Do call on me if you are serious about the endeavor. I am your obedient servant."
Jealousy was not my strong suit, but something about the way she eyeballed my fiancé was working my nerves—it was time to redirect the conversation. "Christine, you're not alone are you? Ladies of your station don't venture into the night without a companion do they?"
"Oh heavens no, Gabrielle, a lady would never consider venturing out sans escort at night! It is most improper, not to say dangerous. Would you?"
I bit my tongue to stifle an ornery smile. "Why never, my dear Comtess, only the most bold and independent of women would dare attempt such an endeavor. Not I," I flashed my eyes at Erik, who chose to ignore my layered remark.
"Monsieur Beaumont is my departed husband's business partner and a dear family friend. Darrell often escorts me to these events. I adore the arts and will not forgo the pleasure. At the moment the dear man is off retrieving my gloves; I left them in the box…most careless of me. I do not know where my mind is," her laugh was a melodious little trill.
So he's not her sugar daddy, damn.
Erik made a quick scan of the lobby and noticed that the crown was increasing. He addressed her with a bow, "Madame, Comtess, we must take our leave, a pleasure to see you again."
"And you dear Erik, Madame Thomassen...Gabrielle, blessings and happiness to you both." Christine curtsied, and then dissolved into the rapidly infringing crowd.
With more haste than was necessary, Erik nearly dragged me through the lobby, making his way to the back hallway, which led to our waiting brougham at the side entrance.
Two more seconds and we would have been free of the drama.
"Monsieur DuPuis, please wait up a moment will you?"
It was Monsieur Vincenzo.
Dear Lord, what next?
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What indeed. Thanks for reading, now it's your turn; please send me your much-appreciated reviews. Thanks Amy & Kay.
-Leesa