Christine's heart was racing, and she hurried through the hallways of the Opera House. She couldn't wait to get to Erik and tell him. Maybe he'd give her one of his infrequent compliments. He had to know that those simple words could brighten any day. Spoken by him, a soft 'good' or 'well done, my dear' could make everything seem so much better. And she needed that, especially today.
As she turned into a different hallway, she was suddenly thrown off-balance, and she realized that she had literally run into someone. Her nose began to throb immediately, meaning she must have smacked it, and she held it, her eyes scrunched up in pain.
"Ouch," she said. "Sorry!"
"No—it's my fault. Oh, no! Are you okay?"
Christine blinked, her eyes watering just a little, and she saw a pretty blonde girl sitting beside her.
"I'm okay," Christine said, trying to smile. "Ow—no, I mean I'm fine. Sorry I ran into you."
The blonde girl said, "I wasn't watching where I was going! I'm really sorry. Here, let me help you."
The girl seized her arm and dragged her up. Christine continued to cradle her nose. It smarted, and it felt like her entire brain was hurting as well.
"Sorry again. Hey, wait—aren't you that singing girl? The one who sang at the party?"
Christine nodded. The blonde girl was an inch or two shorter than she was and was dressed in a black leotard and thick white tights. Ballet slippers were dangling from her hand; it didn't take that long for Christine to figure out that the girl was probably a member of the Opera's small but renowned ballet corps.
"Wow," the blonde girl said. "I heard you. You were amazing! It's Christine, right?"
Christine nodded again. "Thanks," she said thickly.
"I wish I could sing like you. I have a really bad voice, though. Oh, I'm Meg Giry. I dance in the ballet here." The blonde girl looked around and then said, "Are you lost? You're new, aren't you? Your rehearsals just got over. The exit is the other way, you know."
"I know," Christine said, wanting to inch around this girl and get away to Erik. "I'm back here for more practice."
Meg Giry grinned. "Dedication!" she said. "Me too. I need to get a few steps cleaned up. My mom's the ballet mistress, you know, and you'd think it'd be easier for me, but nooo…She's way mean to me. So I have to practice more than anyone else!"
"Sorry," Christine said, unsure of what else to say and not feeling particularly chatty at the moment. "And sorry for running into you. Um, I'd better go now…I'm late."
"Oh, yeah," Meg Giry said. "So am I. Well, hopefully I'll catch you later!" She waved and ran off, her blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders as she went. Christine waited until the light sound of her footsteps faded, and then she resumed her own journey. As she walked, she felt her nose pound with every step, and then she groaned when she felt a warm wetness on her fingers and palm.
Erik's rich voice greeted her when she walked into the practice room. "You are late, my dear."
"I know," she said, wiping at her nose. "I'm sorry. I…um, had a little problem on my way here. Erik—can you…?" She let her hand drop, revealing the blood dripping out of her nose, and Erik pointed wordlessly to the nearby chair. After she was seated, he approached and pulled out his handkerchief. It had saved her so many times, and she made a note to get one somewhere and carry it around with her.
"Gently," he said, and Christine pressed it to her nose, tilting her head back.
"No," he snapped. "Tilt your head forward. Otherwise blood will go to your throat." She did as he said, and he then said, "There."
As she sat there, waiting for the bleeding to stop, she looked up at him and couldn't help but giggle weakly. She felt a little silly, but her embarrassment was far outweighed by the polar emotions racing through her. Sadness and joy were battling for supremacy.
"This wasn't how I wanted to tell you," she then said. "But…guess what, Erik?"
"You know how much I enjoy guessing games," he said, his sarcasm biting, and his dry humor made her laugh just a little.
"Well—I just can't believe it! Mr. Reyer talked to me after rehearsals today. And—and guess what? They told me that I'm playing Barbarina in Figaro! Isn't that crazy?"
Erik's bottom lip stretched a little. "Yes, I am aware. You will do very well, I am sure. It will mean many hours of hard work, but I will ensure that you are perfection itself."
Christine continued to sit there, holding the handkerchief up still, her mind spinning as she realized just what it meant. "I can't believe it," she repeated. "I mean…it's my first production! I hope nobody is angry at me. I didn't even audition for it. I was happy enough to be in the chorus."
"You are not meant for the chorus," Erik said. "I have told you countless times."
She smiled. "I know, but it's hard to believe. I'm a nobody, really…and now I have this role that I didn't even try for. It's weird to think that." She checked her nose—it was still bleeding a little. To avoid an awkward silence while waiting for the blood to stop, Christine then asked him, "Did you have a good weekend?"
He looked at her sharply and then said, somewhat stiffly, "It was…productive."
There was a pause, and Christine didn't want to think about what 'productive' meant. Had he killed more people? His murder money was going straight to her pocket. Throughout the past several weeks, all of her bills had been taken care of—the hospital bills, the rent, and the funeral bills. No one was sending her rude letters, reminding her that she owed them money. Every two weeks, somehow Erik left her money so she could buy food and other necessities. She didn't like to think of it. It made her extremely upset. Somehow, telling him that she hoped he had had a happy Easter didn't seem as appealing anymore.
"That's good," she said at last. "Mine was…lousy."
"What has upset you?" Erik said.
Christine glanced at him. She was glad he had asked, because she needed to tell someone what had happened. Raoul's comments had been echoing around in her head, as well as the events that followed the day after.
She sighed a little, defeated. "Raoul said some really hurtful things over Easter," she said, watching the floor. "He didn't know I could hear him. But I still…He doesn't get it. I don't think he ever will…So I broke up with him."
There was a long pause, and Christine continued to stare miserably. It had been an awful weekend. Raoul had been so stunned and so hurt—it was obvious.
"What did I do?" he kept asking. "Why? Everything was going so well…"
"I'm so sorry," she had said, nearly in tears. "It's just not…working."
He had tried to ask what wasn't working, and Christine did her best to explain—but it wasn't done well.
"I can't be with—I…" She had stammered, pulling on a curl and trying her best not to let her voice crack with emotion. "Raoul, you're an amazing man. You really are. But I just—this relationship is just not working. You deserve someone better than me. You really do."
He had protested, saying that that wasn't true, but she had taken a deep breath and had been firm.
"You'll realize it as soon as you start dating other girls again," she had said. "I'm so sorry for…everything. You were there for me through the whole…thing…with my dad and everything. Thank you so much. But I just—I can't let you date me when there's someone better for you."
And she had finally realized that it was true. Raoul had been her crutch, because she was too afraid to be without one. Guilt bubbled up in her chest. She had used him endlessly, and he was too good to even be angry about it.
Christine had cried soundly afterward, feeling a deep pain her chest. Was it really all for the best? Couldn't Raoul…was it possible for him to make up not understanding her music by being virtually perfect in every other sense? But his words to Phil had hurt her more deeply than she wanted to admit. Erik then spoke, bringing her back to the present. "That is excellent news. You will progress beyond your wildest dreams now that you are unfettered and unattached. That boy did nothing but drag you down."
"That's not fair," Christine said softly. "He was a good man. He helped me so much."
"You clung to him and would not let yourself see how strong you can be without him. The music can make you strong. Don't you see? The music is the only thing that matters."
She checked and saw that her nose had stopped bleeding. With a little sigh, she put her hand over her eyes, trying to sort everything out. Everything felt wrong, and yet somehow she felt lighter than she had in weeks. Raoul did not drag her down, but he certainly did not support her when she tried to soar with her music.
Soft footsteps drew nearer, and she sensed Erik standing directly in front of her.
"The music that runs in your blood also runs in mine, Christine," he said. "We are the same."
It was a relief to spend so long at rehearsals. Christine hated being alone in her apartment for longer than strictly necessary. She was usually one of the first people to show up at rehearsals, and she left long after everyone else did because of her lessons with Erik. They had started to run longer and longer, but she would not complain. Being alone made her think of things, and those things hurt to think about.
Being truly by herself was harder than she thought. Most of her time at her apartment was spent curled up on the large window bench, staring out to the Opera House, counting down the hours until she could go back and drown herself in music.
She thought about Raoul a lot, wondering what he was doing, how he was feeling. Was he looking for a new girlfriend already? Or would he wait for a while? Whatever he did, she guessed that she would never know. People didn't usually keep in touch with their exes…did they? And it wasn't as if she could call him up for a friendly chat and ask if he'd met someone yet. It'd reek of desperation, and it would be even worse because she was the one who had broken it off. Raoul had wanted to marry her…and she'd shut him down. No. Raoul was out of her life now.
The thought was painful.
After all he had done for her, she had simply pushed him away. It was a hard thing to swallow.
Christine had those thoughts swimming around in her head as she walked into rehearsal one morning. She sat in her usual chair—near the back—and pulled out her score, humming a little absentmindedly, trying to busy herself and stop thinking of Raoul. She had had a dream about him the night before. She couldn't remember just what exactly it was about, but he had been in there.
Other people were filtering in, and a few of them said a very polite 'good morning' to her. She nodded and smiled a little in return, though she didn't feel like really talking to anyone at that moment.
As she was looking over her lines, trying to sort out the Italian, something lightly brushed her arm, and she looked over to see that someone had sat next to her. It was Carlotta Guidicelli, and she was looking at her and smiling widely. Christine stared.
"Hello…" she said hesitantly.
"Morning, Querida," Carlotta said, her perfect teeth glinting. "You are feeling good today?"
Christine nodded, completely confused. "I'm good. Thanks."
"That is good." Carlotta continued to smile, and Christine stammered out something. However, by then Mr. Gabriel had arrived, and they began with some warm-ups. Thankfully, Christine wasn't talented enough to talk and sing at the same time, so she quickly engrossed herself in the scales so that she wasn't outright ignoring the Prima Donna.
As the rehearsal began and the trickier parts were being picked apart, Carlotta turned to Christine once again.
"You are playing Barbarina?" Carlotta asked.
Christine nodded, tucking some curls behind her ear. "Yep. I'm…excited."
"That is good. It's good to be excited." She was dressed stylishly, and her beautiful dark hair was swept away from her sculpted face. "Have you ever sung in any place before?" Carlotta then asked. "I sing in Spain and then London some years ago, but now I am here."
"Oh, that's nice," Christine said. "I haven't sung anywhere else. I'm still…you know, learning and everything. I'm not a professional like you."
Carlotta laughed loudly, and a few people turned to give them annoyed looks. Christine ducked behind her score, staring at the music.
"You are too kind, Querida," Carlotta said. "You have beautiful voice. I hear you at the gala."
"Thanks," Christine muttered. "But I'm still training…trying to become as talented as you. Heh."
Carlotta smiled widely. "Then you are training with someone? Who is your teacher?"
"Oh." Christine felt a panicked flush begin to warm her neck. "Just…um, someone…"
She glanced up and saw that Mr. Gabriel was looking over in their direction with annoyance. Christine held up her score again and sang a few lines with the rest of the ensemble.
"Who is it?" Carlotta asked. "Your teacher must be very talented. Would I know this teacher?"
"I don't think so," Christine said vaguely. "He's really…private. He doesn't teach a lot of other people."
"Perhaps he would think of meeting me," she pressed, her accent thick and rolling. She rummaged around in her huge purse and then pulled out a small card. It was embellished with her name in a flowing script and had a phone number underneath it. "Perhaps he will give me a call."
Christine took the card carefully and forced a smile. "Yeah, maybe…I'll give it to him."
Thankfully, their lunch break followed shortly after, and Christine sighed a little in relief as everyone stood and began shuffling out. She grabbed her bag and followed the crowd out the door. For her small midday break, Christine always walked the couple blocks back to her apartment and ate there.
As she was exiting the side doors, she heard a shout and her name. Christine turned to look and saw that a slim blonde girl was hurrying toward her. After a moment, Christine realized that it was the pretty girl she had literally run into some time ago. When the girl approached her, she smiled and waved.
"Hey, Christine! Are you on lunch now?" the girl—Meg, Christine remembered—said.
"Yeah. I just got out." She shifted her bag on her shoulders.
"Hey, me too! Do you wanna go out somewhere with me? I know this nice little place that's just a block away. I go there all the time." She was smiling, eager, and very friendly. Christine hesitated. It was…odd. She had never really had a close girl friend before. All the friendships she had made during her lifetime had never really lasted. She had moved from Sweden and had lost touch of her friends there. Four years in Paris was enough time for her to make some friends, but she moved from there as well. And by the time she had arrived in America, she was old enough to begin worrying and stressing about Gustave, and by then it was difficult to make close friends in an American high school where everyone had grown up together and already had years of friendship behind them.
But Meg was waiting for an answer, and Christine glanced behind her toward the Opera House before looking back and nodding. It would be nice…having a friend, especially since she felt incredibly friendless at the moment.
They walked, and Meg chattered in a carefree, amiable way. She had a light, graceful gait that made her stand out as a dancer.
After arriving at a small, warm little diner, Meg led the way to a booth and handed over a menu. Christine looked it over, using the silence to try to think of something to say. However, she soon realized how lucky she was that Meg was incredibly friendly and talkative.
"So how long have you been singing?" Meg asked.
"Um—all my life, but I've only been taking real lessons for about four or five months now."
"Holy cow!" Meg said, looking mightily impressed. "You sound like you've come out of the Met or something! And you've only been taking for a couple months? You're way talented."
"Thanks," Christine said, smiling and blushing a little.
"I wish I had natural talent like that," Meg said, though there wasn't a hint of bitterness in her voice. "My mom's got talent like yours, but I have to work really hard to keep up. It's crazy, you know, because my mom's a dancer and so was my dad, so you'd think that I'd inherit something to help me, but of course not." She laughed.
"I'm sure you're wonderful," Christine said. "I wish I could dance, but I'm about as flexible as a piece of wood."
Meg laughed a little. "No, I'll bet you'd be great with four or five months of instruction."
They continued to talk, and Christine found herself warming to the little blonde dancer. She seemed completely genuine and very kind. It was nice to talk to someone that wasn't Erik, who was constantly irritated and brooding.
Christine was a little surprised at the amount of food Meg ordered, though she hadn't said anything, of course. Still…it was kind of funny to watch such a small girl eat so much. Christine supposed that it was only natural, as Meg was moving for the majority of her day.
To her amazement, Meg somehow found her very interesting and asked her a lot of questions—about her past, her life in Sweden and France, her father (it was still a little hard to talk about), and other things. The really sticky question came when Meg asked gleefully,
"So do you have a boyfriend? I'll bet you do. You're pretty and nice and talented. Someone has to have you!"
"Heh. Thanks," Christine said, pushing some hair behind her ears. "Actually, um…Well, I just broke up with him a week or so ago. It was really…difficult. He was perfect." She laughed weakly.
"Then why'd you break it off?" Meg asked. She added quickly, "If it's okay to ask."
"No, it's fine," Christine assured her. She thought for a moment. Was it okay to tell Meg? Christine scratched the back of her hand absentmindedly, wondering. Maybe Meg would be able to tell her if she was crazy or not. Erik had been pushing her to break up with Raoul for…months, but he was Erik. He was not a normal person. As far as she could tell, Meg was nice and down-to-earth. If she told Meg the truth, perhaps she'd be able to give her an honest, solid, real opinion.
Christine sighed a little and rubbed her face. "His name is Raoul. He's French, and he's smart and nice and rich and—and gorgeous. He's the most handsome man, really. He really cared about me, too. He wanted to marry me."
Meg's eyebrows rose. "And you didn't want to marry a loaded, hot Frenchman because…?"
Christine groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's weird. It'll sound crazy. I just—couldn't. Raoul was great, but he didn't really support my singing. He thought it was a waste of time. I mean, he never actually said that to me, but I know he thought that. He kept pushing me to go to school, which meant that I'd have to give up singing. And I couldn't. I can't just give it up. I need to sing. Does…that even make any sense? Or am I just crazy?"
Meg was sucking on her straw, watching her carefully.
"You know, actually it's not crazy," she then said, putting down her lemon water. "This will probably sound a little corny and stuff, but…being part of this business is hard. It's really grueling, and it takes a lot of time and tons of sacrifices. I can't remember the last time I've gone out for a night with friends because I'm just so tired when I get home. If you want to make it, you have to be dedicated, and you have to really give yourself to it."
Meg fished the slice of lemon out of her glass. "The last thing you need is someone who doesn't support you one hundred percent. If you're going to be with someone, they have to understand what you're going through. He sounds like an amazing man, but if you really want to sing, then you need someone who'll have your back no matter what." Meg then laughed a little. "At least, that's what my mom always tells me. Honestly, the only reason I'm alive today is because my mom found someone who understood. My dad was a dancer too, and so they both supported each other. If Mom hadn't found him, there's no way she would've gotten married. She would've chosen ballet over anyone else in a heartbeat."
Christine listened to it all carefully, feeling relief and sadness creeping through her chest. She now knew that she had done the right thing, but it was still a sinking feeling to fully understand that she couldn't be with Raoul.
He needed someone else, and, hopefully, so did she.
When rehearsals ended that afternoon, Christine returned to the practice room for more lessons with Erik. They had started spending a majority of their time on her role as Barbarina, and Christine was beginning to feel a flutter of nerves every time her accompaniment music was played. Her first production in an established Opera House—and she had a part!
Christine smiled in greeting as she opened the door.
"Hey, Erik," she said, walking over and setting her bag down on the chair. She approached the piano.
"Christine," he replied, his voice melodious. He had been much…calmer now that she had broken up with Raoul. Erik must have always understood what Meg had just told her hours ago—she needed to be with someone who supported her fully and was frustrated that she didn't see it. Now that she had ended her relationship—her distraction—she could put all her focus on music and performing.
"Did you have a productive rehearsal?" he asked, sitting on the piano bench and opening the lid to reveal the black and white ivory keys. They gleamed in the dim light.
"Yeah," she said, watching him. He still had never removed his mask in front of her. She wondered if it would be okay to talk to him again about it. The mask was probably extremely uncomfortable and hot.
"After you warm up, we will spend the majority of the lesson working your recitative. You are still having quite a bit of trouble keeping the correct tempo." Erik played a scale for her to follow, and she smiled a little again, ready to learn. However, just as she began to sing, she stopped, remembering.
Erik paused and looked up at her in irritation. The smile on her lips grew wider, and she said,
"I was told to give something to you."
There was a split-second of surprise in his gaze that was quickly overshadowed by suspicion, and his visible lower lip curled in displeasure.
Christine pulled out Carlotta Guidicelli's card and handed it over to him, beginning to giggle a little.
"She asked me about my teacher and wanted to meet you. I said that you were a private guy, and she told me to give this to you so you could give her a call." Christine laughed. "Hey—you do think she could do with a few lessons, don't you?"
Erik's eyes narrowed, and he held the card between his long fingers with distaste. There was suddenly a short popping sound, and the card burst into flames in his fingers. Christine squeaked and gasped, putting a hand over her heart and backing away from the fire. Erik carelessly flicked the card onto the floor, where it smoldered and smoked gently.
"You will stay away from Carlotta Guidicelli," he said. "She is a jealous viper."
Christine stared at the card. "Holy…" she whispered. "Wow. How'd you do that?"
"How did I do what?" he said.
"That!" she said, pointing to the piece of ash on the ground. "It just—like, blew up in your hand! That was amazing!"
Erik shrugged, his thin, bony shoulders going up and down almost elegantly. "Parlor tricks," he said, completely nonchalant about the fact that he had just made something catch on fire in his hand. "Now come back here and begin your scales."
Christine obeyed, and she grinned at him as he began playing. Now that she was spending so much time with him, she was beginning to realize that Erik was the most interesting man she had ever met. How many more talents did he have stowed away?
And—more importantly—what was hidden behind his mask?