The Buquet Sister Ch. 26
"More often than not, most of us girls just borrow an ensemble from the costume department. It'll be nice to buy something new for a change."
Christine tugged me along as we walked down the streets of Paris, searching for the boutique in which we were to meet Meg. So much had been going on while were out of the picture. Time had raced around the corner, disappearing into shop windows now displaying hints of Christmas, which had snuck up on us.
During my time with Erik and Christine, I had almost forgotten it was mid December, which held the joyous holiday and all of its forlorn memories…but no. I won't think anymore on that. This time I will start anew, celebrate new things with new friends and try—try my damndest—to move on, move on like Joseph never could.
"It's strange," I began, "I've been in Paris almost a month and still haven't seen much of it, save for La Vie En Rose, of course."
"Then this outing is just the thing for both of us."
We came to a small shop just on the other side of a bakery, which smelled heavenly and had a grand velvet green ribbon draped across the window. The window of the small boutique displayed mannequins wrapped in festive gowns and white fur-lined cloaks. A tinny jingle sounded from the bells that clanked against the door's frame as Christine pushed it open. Meg rushed over to greet us—Christine more than I, as she held little trust in me since our last encounter—flanked by the quaint middle-aged shopkeeper who was built rather like a Pomeranian.
"I was almost afraid you weren't coming!" She hugged Christine tightly.
"Sorry, we're late but someone was being quite stubborn about looking respectable in public." She darted a teasing glance my way, which made Meg roll her eyes.
"Of course, I should expect nothing less. Well, I've already found my costume. Wait till you see it, it's fantastic. I'm an angel."
"I hope you found a big enough halo to cover those horns stickin' out your head."
Meg playfully slapped my arm, which I suppose could pass as an unspoken forgiveness and I was accepted in her social graces again. It seemed Christine had already envisioned what her costume would be for she tried on only one—a black gown that rose just above her ankles and flared out at the waist like a bell, complete with a black domino. I looked through that shop forever, tried on numerous items and although some came close, none quite fit by Meg and Christine's standards.
"Well, this is the last one." I called from within the dressing room. "And I'll be damned if I'm wearing it to the Masquerade!"
"Language! Honestly, Maggie!" Christine chastised. I stepped out for inspection.
"Hmm…what do you think, Meg?"
"I think it…it has great potential."
I grimaced. "You're joking, right?"
"No, no. I think it could work. I'm not entirely sure what we could call you, but we can figure that out later."
Turning to face the full-length mirror again, I couldn't help but notice how much I resembled a frosted pastry. The gown was a glowing off-white with a high collar and enormous hoop skirt. And lace, lace everywhere. I don't think there was one inch that wasn't covered in lace. The base material of the dress was satiny, which was about it's only redeeming feature.
"No, we are not getting this thing."
"Oh, come on! With a few minor alterations and the right accessories, it'll be amazing. It really suits you, Maggie." Meg pouted.
"I look like a cold day in hell."
"Really, I don't know why we bring you out in public."
"I suspect for humiliation." I muttered, slouching into the sea of lace and frills.
"Well, you haven't failed us yet." Christine teased.
"I meant me."
After much more debate and weary sidelong glances from the shopkeeper, I purchased the gown. The short walk back to the Opera, we chatted about our costumes and tossed around idea after idea. In the middle of our conversation it dawned on me that I've been more in tune with my femininity here in Paris than any other time in my life. Wearing dresses, shopping, gossiping about pointless things with other women…Ma would be proud. And what I couldn't quite sort out was that I was starting to adapt to this change, this new me. Meg and Christine (and perhaps on occasion, Erik) were transforming an ugly unbridled duck into a tame domestic swan—one way to put it.
Etiquette and poise still aggravated me, dresses and corsets were vices of the devil, but I found myself enjoying Meg and Christine's company as much as the Hell's Angels crowd. I'd never really had any close companions, none that were female, anyway. The change ignited a warm satisfying feeling inside me and I felt content with the company I was keeping. And then we passed a shop window displaying toys and children's knickknacks: dolls, trains, horse and carts…and amidst it all sat a pair of ice skates, leaning against each other, laces pulled tight and double-knotted; the gleaming blade clean and without flaw.
"Be sure to double-knot the laces!"
Apparently, my train of thought crashed into Christine, nearly knocking her into the street.
"Oh, Jesus! Are you alright?" I reached out to help her regain her balance.
"Yes I'm fine. Are you alright?"
"You seem to be in your own little world," Meg added.
"Sorry, I must be in need of thirty or forty winks. The day has taken its toll on me, I suppose."
Meg snorted. "What, shopping?"
"Yes, as you might've guessed, I don't usually partake in such excursions as…shopping."
"Don't fret, Maggie," Meg encouraged, linking her arm through mine, "You'll learn to pace yourself."
"It's perfectly hideous."
I ate lunch in my room with Jacques, and upon seeing the colossal dress box on my bed, he was naturally curious.
"It's not that bad," Jacques said around a mouthful of buttered bread.
"Then you wear it." I threw it at him and he barely managed to catch it with one hand.
"I'm surprised they trusted you to hold onto it. Knowing you, I'd hide it as far away from you as possible."
"Stow it, Jacques, I'm not going to sabotage the wretched thing!" I snatched the dress back and held it up against me, trying to visualize how it looked on me in the shop.
"You know, it could work. You could go as an ice cream sundae." I glared. "Or the Ghost of Christmas Past."
"Some help you are, you cheeky idjit." Tossing the gown aside, I playfully punched him in the arm.
"Ow!"
He made a counterattack, brandishing the ultimate weapon: tickling. That used to be Joseph's favorite tactic and I somehow suspected Jacques of knowing.
I stumbled backwards, laughing and contracting, trying in vain to shield myself from his relentless assault. The bed interrupted my retreat, sending me toppling backwards onto it, which succeeded in knocking Jacques off-balance as he landed on top of me.
We both froze, out of breath from so much laughter. For a long awkward moment neither of us moved. I started up at Jacques, his sparkling eyes searching mine before straying to a strand of wayward hair (all of which had fallen out of its usual cap) that had fastened to my lip. He gently brushed it away to rejoin the mass that cascaded over the frothy pool of lace.
"You're quite the girl, you know that?"
"You're probably the only person to ever say that."
"Doubtful. Jo said it." Jacques rolled onto his back next to me.
"I thought he never talked about me."
"He didn't. He mentioned you a time or two, though. Mind you, he was a little worse for wear at those times."
"Well, he was quite the guy."
We lay there in thoughtful silence just staring up at the chalk drawings on the ceiling.
"Maggie?"
"Hmm?"
Would you want to go to the Masquerade with me?" I craned my head to look at him but his eyes remained focused on the ceiling.
"Oh, Jacques, I would but—well, I'm going with somebody else."
He turned his puzzled expression in my direction. "Daae and Giry?"
"Well yes, and someone else as well. A…friend of Christine's.
"Would I know him?"
"I don't think so. He's not very sociable, though I suppose in a way, he could be fairly recognizable."
"He just has one of those faces, eh?" If you only knew... "So, he knows who you are, then?" I nodded. "And how did he come to find out?"
"He's just a good guesser, like you." I teased.
Honestly, I'd never given much thought on how to dodge questions about my current employer should I be asked. And I didn't give much thought on how to dodge questions about my escort to the Bal Masque without raising more suspicion. I suppose I just figured nobody else would ask me to go, especially since the only men who knew my secret were Erik and Jacques.
"You're not going to tell me anything about him, are you?"
I swear Jacques must be gifted with telepathy. "No."
He sighed, but a mischievous smile worked its way into his features. "Well, if you happen to get tired of your man you can always join the stage crew party."
"You mean there are two separate parties on the same night?"
"Oh yes, every year. Some of us will go to the Masquerade for awhile but it always ends up being so stuffy. Those kinds of things are fun for the upper class. After a bit of mingling and good food, we go downstairs where the real fun is."
"Oh? Just what kind of fun?"
His smile grew more devious. "Only the most wicked kind, according to society. I suspect it's right up your ally."
I folded my arms and stuck my chin as high in the air as I could while lying down. "My ally, sir, is none of your business."
His surprise melted into a fit of laughter as he came after me again. "You devilish wench. Let no one doubt you are the sister of Joseph Buquet."