"I got something for you today."
Christine looked up at him, wondering what it could be. Raoul looked excited, anxious to please her, and she smiled a little at his expression. He had come back from work and had surprised her by promptly setting down his bag, grabbing her, and kissing her deeply. They had cuddled on the front couch for a long while, and Christine was grateful for the distraction.
"What did you get me?" she said, settling her cheek on his shoulder.
They were in his apartment, and it was warm and homey-smelling, though that didn't settle the uneasy feeling that was constantly in Christine's stomach. After days of sleeping in the chair by Gustave, she had been told (gently and then with increasing firmness) by both the doctors and the nurses that she really was not allowed to live in her father's hospital room. No doubt alarmed by her apparent distress at the news, they had vowed to call her at once if anything changed. Christine had used basically all the money she had to pay for the first hospital bill, but that left nothing for her upcoming rent and the other utilities she was required to pay. And so, with increasing desperation and an unwillingness to trouble her father with such concerns, Christine had given up her apartment and had moved in with Raoul, selling or donating her old furniture and other things she couldn't take with her. She had been living with him for a week, and he was as sweet and supportive as ever. Still…it nearly made her sick to be aware of just how needy and helpless she was. She wanted to help him with the bills and groceries, yet she was virtually penniless. Christine didn't even want to think about the upcoming hospital bills that were surely on their way.
Raoul kissed her forehead, and she could feel a smile on his lips. Then he shifted, and she moved to allow him to sit up. He reached over to his discarded bag and pulled out a bunch of glossy, colorful pamphlets. He presented them to her proudly.
"Ta-da!" he said, placing them in her lap. "I managed to get a bunch of them, so you can have as many options as you need."
Christine looked at them with rising anxiety. They were pamphlets for local colleges and universities, the logos and emblems emblazoned across the front in the varying school colors—blues and greens and reds and purples and oranges…It was like a rainbow.
"Well, what do you think?" Raoul pressed. "Most of them are right here in the city—just, you know, community colleges and stuff. But this one is a smaller, four-year public university." He tapped a pamphlet that had a picture of a bunch of smiling people holding books in front of a red brick building. "My secretary actually went here. She says it's a really good school for having such low tuition. I looked at the programs. They're things that you could really use, Christine. Or if you don't think you're ready for a four-year school, you could try a two-year one to start out with and then transfer…You know, just whatever you want."
Christine picked one up at random and flipped open the pamphlet to give the appearance that she was actually interested in it. She knew it would be good for her to go get a higher education, but…Erik was so strict. And once she was singing at the Opera House, there really would be no time for her to go. And if she was singing there, why would she need to go to school? If she secured employment singing on any stage anywhere, she would be content for the rest of her life.
It was natural for Raoul to want this for her. He was very smart. He had attended one of the top schools in the nation and had graduated with honors. She remembered the first time she had met him—he had been doing schoolwork.
It had been in Paris during a late summer afternoon. Gustave had been playing his violin at a park, and Christine had grown tired of singing. Gustave had given her permission to play, so long as she didn't go too far. She wandered down some of the pathways, looking at all the people with wide-eyed curiosity. As she was passing a large tree, she saw a young man sitting on one of the benches, scribbling in a notebook.
Being eleven, she was instantly smitten by the handsome young man, and she stared at him shyly from behind another tree, watching as the golden sunlight spilled across him, like some heavenly light shining on him. Christine knew she had rather romanticized the memory, but she still liked to think of it that way sometimes.
She was still too shy to even consider approaching him, and so Gustave had come to fetch her and they left for the day. However, a few days later when they returned, the young man was there again. Christine sat by a nearby fountain and watched him some more, playing with her mother's necklace in her small hands.
The young man noticed her after a few minutes, and he looked at her in confusion and awkward embarrassment before looking back to the tree. Raoul liked to tease her about it now, stating that she had simply stared at him for a solid ten minutes—a little girl with wild hair in a pink dress.
As she was watching him while trying to look like she wasn't watching him, her necklace slipped between her fingers and landed with a little splash in the fountain. Christine immediately began to wail, loudly and dramatically.
A moment later, the young man stood and walked toward her. She had been tempted to run away, but she was too distraught over her necklace to even move, and she sat by the fountain and continued to cry.
He crouched down in front of her—sixteen and already tall and handsome. "Bonjour," he said softly. "Are you lost, little girl?"
She shook her head, sniffling childishly and wiping her nose on her sleeve.
"Where are your parents?" he then asked.
Christine pointed over to Gustave, who could be seen in a small stone courtyard, playing a pretty song on his violin.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Why are you crying?"
Christine blubbered that she had dropped her necklace in the fountain and that it had been her maman's—the only thing she had from her.
"Don't cry," Raoul had said, looking over the edge of the fountain. "I'll get it back for you."
She watched tearfully as he looked. Then he took off his shoes and socks and stepped into the water, walking around for a moment before plunging a hand in and pulling out the necklace. Christine gave a strangled cry of delight and held out her hand. He gave it to her with a smile.
As the weeks progressed, Christine saw him again and again, always sitting on the bench with one of his notebooks. For the first few days, she had hid behind the tree and watched him. Finally, apparently uncomfortable with her staring at him from behind a tree, he had told her to come and sit by him whenever she wanted.
"What are you doing?" was the first thing she asked. "With that." She pointed to his notebook.
"Schoolwork," he said. "It's nice out here. I can concentrate a lot better."
For several months afterward, Christine would see him at the park whenever her father went there to play. She would sit by him on his bench and swing her feet back and forth, leaning over his arm to see what he was writing or sketching (he was never a good artist, though not from lack of trying). And he would laugh at her girlish comments and humor her endlessly. Sometimes he asked her to help him with simple math problems or other primary school things, material she could do and feel good about. She talked about her father a lot.
"He's a good violinist," he said kindly as Gustave's music drifted around the park. "He plays here a lot, doesn't he?"
Then spring turned into early summer, and his school year had ended. He came the last day with a present for her. It hadn't been anything incredibly special, just some candies and chocolates, but she loved it and had thanked him earnestly.
"Thanks for helping me with my schoolwork, Christine," he had said. "I got good marks on it, especially on the days when you helped me."
She didn't see him again for another nine years, yet when she did, he was still as patient and charming and good-natured as ever. He wanted good things for her—but she wasn't sure that the good things he wanted were the best things. Christine knew she needed to sing. She needed to do it for herself and for her father. She had been progressing well in her lessons. The Phantom hadn't snapped at her as often lately, and she could hear the improvement in her tone and timbre. She was getting better, and she knew that the Phantom was leading her to becoming a star, just as he had said.
She looked at the pamphlets again, knowing just how much it meant to Raoul, and she gathered them up and forced herself to smile at him. "I'll look these over," she lied cheerfully. "Thank you so much, Raoul." Then she stood and said, "I'm going to see my dad for a couple of hours. I'll be back later."
He offered to go with her, but she insisted that he was tired after working all day.
"It won't be very long," she said. "I'll come straight back. You should stay here and relax."
He conceded, and she rode the bus to the hospital, anxious to be with her Pappa. Still, there was a sad feeling in her heart that she couldn't confide in Gustave like she used to. She didn't want to cause him unnecessary stress or anxiety, and so she lied to him about her state. Everything was perfect—she was getting along fine with rent and with other bills…
"You look pale, Pappa," she then said concernedly, putting a hand on his cheek. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Just tired, Lotte," Gustave replied softly, and he did indeed look exhausted. "Don't worry about me."
Still unconvinced, Christine asked a nurse when she entered whether or not there had been any changes regarding him at all. The nurse replied that there hadn't been any visible serious changes—just normal things like exhaustion and such.
"I wish I could be with you all the time," Christine said, pressing Gustave's hand fervently. "I hate being away from you."
"It is good for you to go out—away from this terrible hospital," Gustave said. "You should not be stuck in here. You are young. You should be out singing and spending time with Raoul."
"Well, I'm only singing for you," Christine said, putting Gustave's hand to her cheek. "When you get better, you can come watch me perform. I'll sing my heart out just for you, Pappa."
He smiled at her, and she felt her heart tug a little at knowing why he was here and that he still thought her ignorant to the reasons. She wanted to know who had taken him from her, and she wanted those men put in prison. But Gustave would never tell her, and the Phantom had said that she shouldn't dwell on it anymore. Everyone wanted her to forget the why and simply be grateful that her father was returned—and she was grateful, but it nearly broke her heart that Gustave had done what he had. And he was still so hurt! The men who did it needed to be punished accordingly. Still, Christine was worried that if she told the police about what she knew, her father would get into some sort of trouble. That was the last thing they needed. Christine rather felt like she had too much to handle at the moment.
They had at last started working on her audition song, and it was difficult. Thankfully, it was in French, so the language was no problem for her, but the practicing was difficult—more difficult than she had anticipated. The Phantom was pressing her for absolute perfection, something she hadn't yet achieved vocally. She had had no idea that so many elements went into singing a song. When she had sung with her father, she had simply allowed the joy of music to shape her voice. The Phantom, however, wanted more—more of her.
Her voice rang in the small, dusty theater for hours at a time, often interrupted by the Phantom's corrections. It came as something of a disgruntling surprise for her…but she found that she did much better if she listened to him. Perhaps it was not the most soothing revelation—but it was common sense, and so she began drinking in his guidance.
More—more emotion during the second verse. Less volume but more intensity on the third cadenza. Emphasis on this phrase. More head voice here—less vibrato there—incorrect pronunciation on this word—a rushed tempo during this line…
The song was becoming overwhelming. Erik was harsh, demanding, and impatient. If he had to correct her on a particular mistake more than once, he would take the time to say something unpleasant. She tried very hard not to repeat mistakes simply so she did not have to listen to his biting comments. He had made her cry several times. His voice was terrible, booming thunder or quiet, hot fire, and they both hurt equally.
However, one afternoon, to her relief, she had been doing better than she ever had. It was almost a repeat of the ethereal afternoon during which the Phantom had sung for her. Her voice felt effortless, weightless, and she felt as if she could do anything. She sang loudly and confidently, and she was glad to see that Erik was obviously pleased. He played the accompaniment with that physical vigor known to talented musicians, and his hands jumped and glided over the keys. He looked at her occasionally, his eyes burning, but she didn't allow herself to falter. She was too far gone, now—nothing could touch her…She was not bound by fear or terror or anxiety. The music helped her escape and achieve complete freedom.
Near the end of her song, there was a loud, sudden slam, and she jumped, her voice squeaking to a halt, and she looked around. The Phantom lifted his hands from the keys and swore quietly.
"We have outstayed our welcome here, I'm afraid," he then said, standing and collecting the music. "It is time for us to leave."
"Really?" she said disappointedly. "I felt like I was just finally getting somewhere…"
"You were. You were finally finding it. But it is late, and the theater is now going to be used for its…intended purposes."
As she watched him close the lid of the piano, Christine heard a distant shriek of drunken laughter, and she blushed a little. When she checked the time, she was shocked to see that it was after six o' clock. She had been practicing for hours without even realizing it.
"I would have liked to work further," Erik said, buttoning his coat, "but it is best to be off before we are discovered by unsavory company…Not that I am one to speak about such things," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Christine laughed, and then she covered her mouth quickly at the glaring look he gave her. "Sorry," she muttered. "I just thought…it was funny." She berated herself a little. It was completely inappropriate of her to laugh at that. Still, her mood wasn't too dampened by that, and she said, "Thanks for the lesson today, Erik. I really enjoyed it. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Memorize your song," he said. Christine offered him another smile as an agreement, and then she turned and headed out of the theater quickly, not wanting to see anyone or meet anyone that might have been in the theater.
The air was crisp, and she couldn't help but grin a little as she climbed onto a bus and headed back to Raoul's apartment. Although hardly anything was solved, she felt the happy, peaceful feeling that things would turn out all right. It would be hard, and there would be struggles, but she felt so good from her lesson that it felt like it was impossible for things to continue being awful.
Raoul was watching a game on television, and he stood up when she walked in.
"Hi!" she said cheerfully, still on her music high. The apartment seemed brighter and warmer than before, and she couldn't wait to see her father later that night.
"Hey," he said. "Where were you?"
"Lessons," she said, somewhat dreamily, and she pulled off her coat and set her bag down. "It was amazing, Raoul. I mean I finally feel that I'm getting somewhere. I'm finally understanding what my teacher's talking about. I just felt so good, you know? I still feel good. Singing just…I can't even describe it. I'm so glad that I'm able to have lessons from such a genius musician."
"Yeah…heh." Raoul cleared his throat a little, apparently unsure of how to respond.
As they ate dinner, Christine resisted the urge to hum her audition song under her breath. She wanted to go back and sing until she fell from exhaustion. It was as if her entire frame was humming with excited energy, and she felt as if the only person who would understand her want to sing was Erik.
"So have you looked over any of those pamphlets I gave you?" Raoul asked. "If you hurry, you could probably make the application deadlines."
"Oh yeah…" She took a deep breath and said honestly, "I dunno, Raoul. I mean…I'm going to be busy with singing in a month or so. I don't think that I'll have time to go to school as well."
"Well, most of them offer classes at night or in the mornings," Raoul said, looking a little unhappy at her unwillingness. "I just really think it would be good for you…You know, when you get tired of being in a chorus for the rest of your life."
The comment hurt deeply, but she didn't want to fight with him, and so she was silent, staring at her plate, poking at her vegetables. She was afraid of making him upset, because what if he broke up with her? Then she would have no one—and nothing. No place to sleep, nothing to eat…He was pretty much everything to her now.
"Look," he said gently, reaching to take her hand. "I know that singing sounds like a fun thing to do now. I'm sure it will be fun for a while. But in a couple of years…I just don't want you regretting the fact that you wasted all this time when you could have done something useful, like get a degree. If you want to sing, great. But please think about night classes at least, Christine. I'd hate to see you make such a big mistake if you spend all your time and energy in something that probably won't turn out. Degrees are solid, Christine. They're never worthless, and an education never depreciates in value. Okay?"
"Yeah," she said softly. "Okay." Her elated feelings were falling, but she didn't want Raoul to see.
"I mean, it doesn't have to be something crazy, like being a doctor or a lawyer. You could just go to school and learn to teach French or something…Maybe you could even get a school to hire you to teach Swedish—there's always a demand for teachers, and they have real-paying jobs." He smiled at her, and she wanted him to stop talking about it more than anything else. She forced herself to return his smile.
Thankfully, he switched the subject after her consent, but his words continued to ring in her ear. He thought what she was doing was worthless…
But it was only natural. There were millions of girls who dreamed of becoming a famous singer, yet only the smallest fraction ever succeeded. Who was she among all those talented, eager, hopeful, ambitious girls? Raoul simply didn't want her to end up hurt. But…he didn't understand. Erik had promised to make her great. He was teaching her to become something—not to spend her life in the chorus, singing backup to someone else. Her audition was weeks away, and she wanted and needed to work and practice hard. Erik would never understand or comply if she said she needed to go to school to make her boyfriend happy.
In fact, Christine rather felt like Erik wouldn't understand Raoul at all.