The show did go on. Quite well, in fact. I was able to see Grandma and Horace sitting in the front row. Everyone looked mesmerized while I, especially, was singing. During Think Of Me, I took a peek at Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber and Joel Shmaucher. Webber, especially, looked amazed. That kept me going and gave me the strength to push away the lingering worry that Mom would kidnap me. I made it through very well.
I had never seen so many people applauding at the same time in one place until the end of opening night. I was the second to last to bow, after Greg and before Alex. The applause was just as loud and cheerful when Alex, who still had the plaster gross half of the face on, came on. When everyone bowed together, the lights went out and the curtains went down. I ran to my dressing room and saw Erik enter through the mirror as I entered. I smiled and leaped into his arms. "How'd I do?" I asked, my voice muffled because my head was leaning against his black cloak.
"No one could have done better, ma cher," he replied, stroking my hair.
I lifted my head off his shoulder after a while and said, "Andrew Lloyd Webber is here, but why can't the real composer of the amazing play join us for the cast party?"
"You know why I can't, Avril," he said.
"Too bad, Erik, I told Emily."
He loosened his grip on me. "What?"
"Well, I didn't say that I'm dating the Phantom of the Opera, but I told her I was seeing someone who wasn't Alex. After…um…my mom said she was coming for me."
He pulled me closer to him and let me cry. "She won't take you away from me,mon amour. No one will."
"Please come to the cast party," I said. "Or just be there. I don't wanna see her."
"Perhaps I'll join you…as long as you don't let Monsieur Moreau kiss you."
"Psh, he's tried on numerous occasions and I know how to handle it. As long as you control your Punjab lasso." After another silent pause, I continued, "At least go away so I can get my clothes on."
He kissed me goodbye and left.
The audience was gone when I came to the ballroom for the cast party. Everyone was wearing something nice, sitting at the long table for more than enough of the cast to sit. I couldn't see Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber anywhere, but there was an empty seat at the end of the table across Alex. I sat at that seat and Alex said, "Avril, you were fantastic. I can't believe it. Fantastic job."
"No, you," I replied. "You were a better Phantom than Gerard Butler himself. And that's a huge compliment from a huge Phan."
After an awkward pause, Alex said, "Avril, I'm just gonna come out and say it. I…I—"
Frank coming in, with Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber by his side, interrupted him. Frank said, "You all were amazing. I can't believe it. I'm so proud." He gestured to Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber. "As you all should know, this is Andrew Lloyd Webber and he will be joining us for dinner!"
Everyone clapped as Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber came to the table…and sat at the end seat by me. "The caterers will come shortly to take your order. I'll be back," Frank said. He left. He left me alone with Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber. I was speechless. But then I remembered that it was Erik who wrote his most famous work. Still, he wrote everything else. I couldn't talk, though. So he spoke. "You played Christine, didn't you?"
"Y-yeah, I did," I replied.
"What's your name again?" he asked.
"Avril Hills," I answered, trembling.
"It's a pleasure, Avril, I'm Andrew."
"Think I don't know that?" I chuckled, feeling free to be casual. "I'm a huge fan of…everything."
I had been talking to Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber since the food came. We didn't talk about Erik, but I really wanted to. So I blurted, "So…do you talk to him often?"
"Who?" he asked.
"The ghostwriter," I replied. "The frickin' awesome ghostwriter who wrote your most famous production."
"H-how do you know about that?" he asked.
"He told me so himself," I replied. "For all we know, he's probably watching now." I took a forkful of my spaghetti. When I swallowed, I added, "I begged him to come because everyone here should know the truth. Not that you suck for lying about POTO, you wrote Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, didn't you?"
"I did…and I didn't write Phantom…Erik Destler did…how do you know him?"
I gave a little laugh. "Knowing is an understatement. The Gerard Butler Phantom are a lot of Phangirls' boyfriend. The Phantom of the Palais Garnier, the ghostwriter for Gaston Leroux and you, is actually my boyfriend."
Alex, who was talking to Greg the whole time, looked at me. "Huh?" he said, shocked. "Who's your boyfriend?"
I saw a shadow come across the hall. "That might be him."
I was horribly wrong. A woman with ratty brown hair, angry gray eyes, a push-up bra under a cheap dress approached me. "Oh…fuck…" I murmured. It was my mom.
She went to me and I pretended not to know her, staring at my plate. She yanked my hair and stood me up. "Where have you been?!" she hollered, loud enough for St. Cloud to hear.
I couldn't talk, I was so scared. Before she could slap me, I felt something pick me up. Erik. A trapdoor brought us under the floor and to a cellar or something. Erik gently put me down and I mumbled, "She really is out to get me, isn't she? She wants to take me back to hell."
"Not while I'm around," he said. "She'll never find you in the lair, if you don't mind staying there for a while."
"Please do take me down there," I replied.