NOTES!
1. After this chapter, you'll never look at the "glass carriage" the same ever again. Every time you see it from this point on, you will laugh your ass off and everyone will think you're insane.
2. If you are unaware, more illustrations have been posted at my deviant art account (I'm littlelivewire), entitled "Adoring the Master" and "Tu Mi Fai Felice", among the usual bunch that are there.
3. As the story winds down, chapters will likely be longer. Please allow me a wee bit extra time between updates.
Chapter Twenty
The Soprano of the Century
(Gangle picks up the story.)
It was September the first, 1907, the day Christine Daae was set to arrive, and it was also my thirty-third birthday. At breakfast I received the customary back-slaps and well-wishes. I was just beginning to wonder where Ariel was with my "surprise" when I suddenly heard the strains of a chirpy singing voice.
"Buon Compleanno a te! Buon Compleanno a te!"
Everyone turned around in their seat, and there was Ariel herself, coming through the tent flap, gleefully singing and holding a covered dish of something, her eyes gleaming. She came to my side.
"Buon Compleanno caro Gangle..." She set the dish in front of me. "Buon compleanno a te!"
Applause broke out all across the dining tent as she kissed my cheek and wished me happy birthday. Half the folks didn't know what they were clapping for, but that's just the way clapping is.
"And many more!" sang Mr. Geddes.
Genevieve leaned forward, eyeing the dish. "Open it! Let's see what it is!"
"I hope you like it." The pinkness of Ariel's cheeks made her eyes even greener than usual. "I worked on it for two days."
Two days! I carefully lifted the hot little lid, and the most heavenly-scented steam wafted into my face. The dish was filled with tomato sauce, and if the aroma was any indication, than it was certain the contents had never known the inside of a jar. I could smell the zestiness of the garlic and a warm accent of red wine. Little bits of green basil were mingled in that wondrous bowl of redness. This was made right, the stuff of fine meals, classic cookbooks, and dreams.
"She had to swear those cooks in the restaurant to secrecy!" laughed Alf. "Had to hide the simmering pot in a corner so you wouldn't notice!"
"Taste it!" someone practically roared.
Mr. Geddes clapped. "Ha, ha, yes! The moment of truth!"
"We gettin' the table flipped or not, De Rossi?"
I blew on a spoonful as ceremoniously as I could, sipped, and savored the flavor, the like of which sent an arrow of bliss into my hardened gangster heart. I swallowed, astonishment and rapture singing in my taste buds. It was everything you could ever ask for in a sauce. Flashbacks of my childhood days came rushing to my mind, days of running out to the veranda garden, days of cutting up baskets of warm, ripe tomatoes, days of coming home from school with Giovanni and smelling Mama cooking them, days spent dipping old breadsticks into sauce with her after hours.
It all came back to me, tasting Ariel's sauce.
"You do like it, don't you?" her musical voice intruded anxiously into my memories.
Did I like it? Is Rome the capital of Italy?
"Ariel," I choked, looking into her eyes, for well-made food always makes me embarrassingly emotional. "I love it. It's perfect."
Apparently, gaining my approval was no mean feat, for everyone at the table applauded Ariel with a fervency usually reserved for Nobel Prize recipients. As for me, the very thought of my emerald-eyed muse slaving over a simmering pot for two days, all on my account, brought a lump to my throat, and I hugged her, loving her more intensely than I ever had before. Ariel! There was no other woman alive to touch her!
"So my first surprise was a success," she sighed, smiling, then she whispered in my ear, "But I do believe you'll like the second one even more."
Something even better than this sauce? If it turned out to be homemade cannoli or something, I would scarcely be able to resist dropping on one knee and asking for her hand in marriage.
"I'll tell you more about it later," she added, grinning, and then she sat down to her breakfast.
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To say that Christine's arrival was making Mr. Y nervous would be akin to saying that a tsunami is damp. When the Three of us entered the Ayrie and made our traditional bow, he remained insensible at the piano for a bit, a cup of tea to his left. His hair was meticulously slicked.
It became necessary to rouse him. "Good morning, Mr. Y," I greeted.
His back twitched sharply at my voice, but he turned around slowly, revealing a face full of paleness and shadow, and two bleary, bloodshot eyes. I looked at his teacup again, which was sitting right next to a decanter, and realized that it was actually full of brandy. I didn't dare turn to the Flecks to get their opinion.
"Good morning." Despite his apparent drunkeness, Mr. Y was anxiously alert. "I checked the glass carriage about an hour ago. It's perfectly sound. Yes, perfectly sound. I gave you the map to where Ms. Daae, her husband, and her son will be arriving...yesterday?"
Alf took the map from his pocket and nodded. "Right here."
"Yes, yes, excellent." Mr. Y looked out the window. "And you know exactly where to go? Just in case...er... 'Oscar' makes an error?"
We assured him that we did.
"And...and also where they are to be dropped off?"
We assured him, yet again.
He smoothed his hair and looked about the Ayrie as though company would presently arrive, and after a moment of contemplation, he turned his piercing eyes to us and said, in a voice as solemn as the grave, "There must be..." Suddenly he did something between a hiccup and a burp, and he thumped his chest a bit. "Pardon me. There must be no mistakes whatsoever. I shall expect nothing but perfection from the three of you."
"And you will have it, sir," Alf replied in his humble grumble. "I guarantee it."
Then Mr. Y's eyes shifted to me, as serious as ever. It seemed he expected me to promise too.
"I guarantee it as well, sir," I said.
Ariel was last. With a slight pinkness to her cheeks, she looked into Mr. Y's eyes and soberly swore, "I do as well, Master."
The man nodded, regarded us one more time, and dismissed us. I heard the brandy decanter clinking as we left, and once we were a good ways down, Alf began growling in high disapproval, just as we all knew he would.
"Liquor," he sniffed, his tattoos scrunched around his eyes. "Vile stuff. The things it does to a man! I should think Mr. Y would be ashamed to greet a lady looking as he did just now."
"I don't believe he's greeting her until tomorrow, or at least later," I felt compelled to correct. "We're taking Ms. Daae and her family straight to the hotel."
Alf was unrelenting. "My daughter," he said, in a tone that shut down the conversation, "Is a lady."
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The notion of driving the glass carriage through Brooklyn was a swell idea on paper, but when our sparkly, suddenly fragile-looking wheels finally rolled out of Coney and crunched against the pavement of the surrounding city, it suddenly felt as though everything was poised to destroy us.
"Oscar!" said Ariel feebly, looking around at the automobiles and thundering horses going by, "Take us to the docks." She bit her lip. "And do be careful!"
There was not a glitter of comprehension in the skeleton's eyesocket, but we lurched forward, bumped over the curb, and pulled out onto the street. I pushed the lever that made the carriage opaque. Soon we were just like another automobile, and Brooklyn went past us in a blur of horses, street signs, and mystified people dropping their groceries.
"Gee whiz!" a little boy yelled from the street. "Look, Ma, look at the..." His voice faded away.
Alf poked his head out the window and looked about. "This Oscar thing knows how to...I mean...he can notice traffic, or obstacles, can't he?" he growled frantically. "I mean, if something was about to hit us, he'd know enough to turn?"
"If he's smart enough to go to the docks," I reasoned, "Surely he'd be smart enough to turn."
Ariel nodded as though her life depended on it, which made all her feathers quiver. "Yes, that must be so. Mr. Y is very punctilious. We're just nervous, that's all."
And the three of us laughed a brief, rather hysterical laugh.
"I guess we've a right to be nervous. I don't trust automobiles." Alf sat back and grew pale around his tattooes. "I just don't trust them. And when we're surrounded by glass, of all things! It's unreasonable!"
More people were noticing us. Beyond the door, I could catch glimpses of ladies and gentlemen pointing at us, and the voices of little children could be heard as they dashed after us, cheering and trying to touch the back.
"Jer-u-salem crickets! If only people wouldn't let their children run wild in the streets! It's not a playground!" moaned Alf.
Panicking Alfs aside, it was an incredible experience, sitting back and letting the carriage (Oscar?) do all the driving. I felt like a king, even though America had no king, and perhaps Ariel was a queen, or a princess. Alf was certainly some variation of a bodyguard, what with his histronic worry-wart wailing about road safety and the potential fallibility of Mr. Y's judgment. I don't believe he was silent a single moment of the whole trip. Every now and again, Ariel rolled her eyes wearily at me, as if to apologize.
By and by the Brooklyn Bridge came into sight, rising importantly above the common-breed little tugboats and knots of frothing white foam, its great steel arms striped with cables. We fell into line (or, rather, Oscar did) with the carriages and honking streams of automobiles. The docks, our destination, was just on the other side. The stacks of a steamliner was just visible on our left side. Ariel pointed it out.
"Big steamliner, left side!" she declared. "I can see the smokestacks! What's the name of the ship they're arriving on?"
Alf had drilled himself so thoroughly on the particulars that he didn't even hesitate. "The Persephone. Can you tell if...?"
"No, all I can see are the smokestacks. Well, could. We've just passed out of being able to see them. What time is it, Daddy?"
It turned out to be fifteen minutes before they were due to arrive, and Alf immediately jumped on a whole new host of things to panic about. Have they arrived early? That is very common, you know. Ariel, are you quite certain you can't see over the...? No, for Pete's sake, don't stand up! You're apt to crack your head, and then what would I do? Gangle, did Mr. Y ever mention to you if he informed these people that we were coming to get them? If they wander off the docks and we miss them...!
Once we reached the end of the bridge, Ariel was able to discern that the steamliner was the only one in the bay, and no others were visibly approaching, confirming that it must be the Persephone. Before it passed out of view, she also grimly added that the gangplank had been out, and she'd seen people coming down it. I managed to console the horrified Alf with the fact (which I had learned firsthand with Mr. Y) that the passengers needed to go through customs before disembarking. That gave us a cushion of time to operate within.
"Oscar!" Alf wheezed, looking frantically at his pocket-watch, "Take us to where Ms. Daae and her family are, and don't waste any time about it!"
In addition to going faster, our faithful skeletal friend was also terrifyingly accurate, for not only did he speed up, he wove the carriage skillfully around crowds of people, horses, and stray dogs, pickle merchants and hobos. He did not stop once we arrived at the docks, but progressed straight to the customs house. Then the carriage came to a halt. When the wheels stopped creaking, the silence was broken by muffled pops of flash powder and cameras, mingled with the yells of well over a dozen reporters.
Alf peered out the window. "I'll be gosh darned," he breathed. "Oscar did it. That's got to be Christine Daae, right there."
Ariel and I squeezed on either side of him to get a look. He was right. It had to be her.
For out of the homogenous masses of gray top hats and jackets came a startling vision of beauty, a queen of sorts, clothed in a dress that was at once purple and scarlet, a neck pinned with a velvet sash, under which a bit of lace fell. Her face was partly obscured by a veil of netting. Beyond it I could see the suggestion of a tender visage, eyes lovely and kind beneath sensible brows, lips touched with a shade of rose that exactly matched the hat, which resembled something straight out of a French fashion plate, atop her head of chestnut curls.
Mamma mia! If I were Mr. Y, I'd keep a doll of her in my room, too! (But Ariel is still prettier)
Beside me, Ariel self-consciously licked her fingers and smoothed her frazzled hair. "What a hat," she groaned.
Christine's husband, Raoul, stood to her right, imperious and impeccable in a fine suit of gray, with gloves and a bowler to match. The trip had clearly worn down his nerves; there was an apoplectic twitch to his eyes and a general air of dissatisfaction that was evident in every aspect of his appearance: his posture, the lines around his mouth, the way he tapped his walking stick as he stared at our peeking eyes in our carriage. He reminded me of Giovanni, in a none too complimentary fashion.
An excited little boy, in a straw hat and a child's version of his father's attire, suddenly popped up between them. I knew at once that this must be Gustave, for while the father ignored him, the mother leaned down to his level and shared, even if only indulgently, in his childish excitement at the strange spectacle we were about to make of ourselves. He pointed at us and laughed.
"Surely," Alf wondered aloud, more nervously than ever, "Mr. Y told them that we were to be their mode of transportation."
I hastened to adjust my rubber snakes, which were drooping a bit onto my neck. "No time to speculate now, Alf. We need to get moving on this before the cops kick in our doors. I've got the red hanky. Have you got your flowers, Ariel?"
"Yes, in my sleeve!"
"Very good. Now, on the count of three, we'll..."
"Wait, wait!" hissed Alf desperately. "What's the first thing I'm supposed to say?"
Curious taps and pokes began rattling on the sides of the carriage as I hurriedly whispered him his line, and at last we scrambled into place, counted down from three, and on zero Ariel struck the transparency lever. Suddenly the whole outdoor scene spread in front of us, blinding sunlight and all. It was tremendously effective. People fell back gasping like we were parting the Red Sea or something. We sat for a minute, smiling and composed, then Alf climbed out to do his bit.
There was not a tremor in his growly tenor as he approached Raoul, his hand outstretched, singing, "Are you ready to begin? Are you ready to get on? You're about to start out on the journey of your life..."
They began to shake hands, but a spark leapt from Alf's hand, just as was intended, and the man went staggering back. The reporters laughed and added insult to injury by blinding him with their flash bulbs.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he sputtered furiously, grabbing his hat.
"Ha!" a fellow with a camera laughed. "It's a publicity stunt for that freak show on Coney!"
It was my turn. "If you're ready then get in; once you're in then we'll get gone..." I snatched his stick, and before he could protest..."And who knows, once it goes, where you'll be when it arrives."
And with that, I snapped the cane, transforming it into a red hanky, using a trick I don't quite remember.
"This..this..." He ungratefully took his new hanky, looking from it to me with a face that could curdle cream. "This is outrageous!"
"It's amazing!" someone cried. "That Mr. Y is an absolute genius!"
Christine and Gustave touched it, exchanging awe-struck looks.
Last of all, out strolled Ariel, chirping, "It's a funhouse where the mirrors all reflect what's real..."
Alf and I joined in. "And reality's as twisted as the mirrors reveal..." We gestured to the carriage. "And the fun is finding out what the mirrors show..."
Poof! From out of laughing Gustave's sleeve came a bunch of flowers, which Miss Fleck pulled out and presented to Christine, bowing. She accepted them, equally enthused.
Not Raoul.
"This is unacceptable, do you hear me?" he roared at Alf as Ariel helped his wife and son into the carriage. "I will be taking this up with your employer, whoever he is! What are your names, anyway?"
Before any of us could reply, little Gustave began the first in a whole litany of questions. "Gee! Is this really glass, Mister?" he asked Alf as the man loaded their suitcases overhead. "How did you make such a spark with just your hand?"
The kid's enthusiasm loosened Alf up. For the first time all day, he smiled and chuckled. "I'm not entirely certain myself, young man."
"And, and..." His eyes fell upon me. "And what's that horn thing around your neck? Do you work at Phantasma? Is it very fun there?"
"Gustave, Gustave," murmured Christine gently. "Let the gentleman get a word in edgewise."
I tell you, that little Gustave kid singlehandedly saved the whole carriage ride from the abyss of awkward, sulky silence with his unabashed enthusiasm. He sat up on the seat and marveled at the Brooklyn bridge when we passed over it, the face beneath his sandy hair filled with boyish wonderment, and then he dove straight into a full fledged interrogation of myself and the Flecks. Within ten minutes, I think he could've written a comprehensive essay about Phantasma, based on the amount of information he wheedled out of us. He was so eager; it was hard to resist, and the only other alternative would've been to listen to Raoul gripe, so we, remaining professionally in character, were pleased to enlighten him.
At length, Gustave's interests turned exclusively to Ariel. Not even children are immune to her charms.
"You are a very lovely lady," he told her. "You remind me of a raven."
"Now, now." Christine touched his shoulder, smiling a bit embarrassedly. "Gustave, dear..."
But Ariel waved her hand in pleasant dismissal of her concern. "Why, thank you, young man," she cooed. "I am ever fond of ravens."
"I am too," Gustave replied. He bounced a bit, smiling as though eager to divulge a special secret. "I know the poem by heart."
"You..." The awe on Ariel's face was comparable to someone seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time. Her meticulously penciled eyebrows flew right up into her hair, and her voice had an almost obscene breathlessness to it as she uttered, "Not..." Here she swallowed a bit, and went on. "Not Poe's Raven?"
"Yes, Poe!" he cheered. "Do you know it as well?"
Ariel smoothed her hair and bit her lip, quite overcome to have found a kindred soul in this little French boy. "I memorized it myself when I was a little child, too."
"Ce n'est pas possible!" cried Gustave, forgetting his English for a moment.
"Gustave," Raoul sighed with an exasperated roll of his eyes.
But the boy was too excited to mind. "I will not believe you until you follow after me, Miss Raven!" he challenged Ariel, sitting up pertly, a sporting gleam in his eye. "Come on, follow! Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore..."
"While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door," continued Ariel with a triumphant smile, pretending to knock with an elegant twist of her gloved hand.
Gustave's cheeky grin could stop a war. He went on:
" 'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door; only this, and nothing more.' "
"Ah! Distinctly I remember," (Ariel breathed a sigh and looked out at the bay as though she truly was remembering) "It was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor..."
Both the carriage and the poem rolled on.
Such a performance had never been seen, nor shall ever be seen again, quite like Ariel Fleck and Gustave de Chagny alternately reciting and acting out "The Raven" in its entirety. Not a word was omitted, not a beat out of line. The effect was, frankly, quite numbing, not unlike watching a flaming zepplin plunging slowly to the earth, or watching a child be born. As we rolled along, off the bridge and into Brooklyn, Alf, myself, Christine, and Raoul could scarcely do anything but marvel in silence as the two recited on and on, as if they were outpouring their very souls into the poetry.
They finished just as we were slowly rolling to a halt beside the hotel.
Ariel's smoky, blackened eyelids drooped dreamily over her eyes as she moaned, "And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, on the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door."
Young Gustave did not seem young at all. He seemed possessed by an old soul as he intoned, as darkly as ever a child could intone, "And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, and the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor. And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, shall be lifted..."
They spoke the last word together, as solemn as a church bell, as the carriage stopped. "Nevermore."
I looked at Alf. He looked at me. Christine and Raoul looked at each other. We looked at them. They looked at us. We all, in due course, looked wordlessly at each traveling companion separately.
Ariel and Gustave took each other's hand as though they were going to shake, but they didn't.
"Thank you," Ariel told what was certainly her new best friend, "For saying it with me."
"You're welcome." replied Gustave, and then, all at once, he took his mother's hand (for Raoul had leapt out of the carriage already) and became a little boy again. "Hurrah! We're here! Wasn't that such fun, mother? I love the United States already!"
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It was a mission well accomplished: no mistakes, no oversights, no tragic carriage accidents, and an impromptu poetry session a la Fleck. All we needed to do was head home.
Alf slumped over and fell asleep on the way back to Phantasma, his nerves shot, and Ariel draped her shawl over him. He was like a big tattooed baby with tired circles under his eyes.
"Poor Daddy," clucked Ariel softly. "He'll be powerfully glad to get back home. I guess the Raven tired him out."
The setting sun cast a brilliant orange glow, like fire, over our way. The road in front of us seemed to lead to a fantasy land where the mist was like the first rays of morning, and things like horses and milk carts just materialized out of it, like dreams. Perhaps Oscar was our guide. I stretched and leaned back, filled with a quiet but intense joy, although I couldn't quite pinpoint a cause.
Ariel seemed to feel it too. She glanced at Alf, and then her warm little head lowered onto my shoulder. The feather from her hat tickled my temple.
"This has been a strange day," I said. "But a wonderful day to have a birthday."
"And there's your second surprise later, you know." Ariel replied.
Her eyes were beautiful in that sunset glow, green and gold, like rare jade. I might have kissed her forehead, but with Alf napping just a few inches away, I couldn't. It felt wrong.
"When?" I asked.
"This carriage," she whispered. "At eight o' clock tonight."
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"We did precisely as you said, Mr. Y," we the intrepid Trio were proud to declare upon entering the Ayrie. "Not a thing out of place."
Mr. Y's appearance had improved in leaps and bounds since we'd left him that morning. There was not a scent of alcohol anywhere. If it was, it was likely overpowered by the cologne. The Master was looking dapper in the finest suit he owned, a French garbadine, and his shirt and tie were the purest white, just like his mask. His shoes were shined, his gloves were impeccable. He could very well have been married in a get-up like that.
His approving smile was uncharacteristically friendly. "I knew I could depend on you, Mr. Squelch, and Dr. Gangle, and you, Miss Fleck," he almost sang, patting us each on the shoulder individually as he addressed us, and he stopped at Ariel. "And how particularly charming you look today, Miss Fleck. Is that dress new?"
Her cheeks reddened through her makeup. "It's...the same costume I wear every day, sir."
"Ah." He smiled and examined himself in a nearby mirror. "Very droll, very droll. Still, the effect is quite fetching."
A clearly irritated Alf opened his mouth as if to tell him off, but was interrupted.
"Tell me, Miss Fleck..." (Mr. Y was still looking in the mirror) "How did Ms. Daae look? From another lady's perspective, I mean."
The abrupt shift from her looks to Christine's looks seemed to drag a rake across Ariel's heart a bit, and when the memories filled her eyes with admiration, they were infected with a glint of pain.
"She was beautiful, sir," she said. "Just like her automaton, but alive, as though someone breathed roses and diamonds into her and brought her to life. Every bit a lady." Here her eyes grew a bit jealous. "And she had the most fabulous hat I've ever seen."
"She would."
Ariel frowned. "Hmm?"
"Nothing. Thank you, the three of you, for everything you've done today." Mr. Y checked his watch. "There is nothing more I will need of you tonight, as I am going out. Good evening. Ah, wait! One last thing. How was the Vicomte?"
"You mean, Raoul, sir? Well, to be perfectly honest, he was grumpy the whole ride."
"Ah." Mr. Y grinned. "What a shame."
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"Say, Ariel!" said Alf sarcastically, imitating Mr. Y on the way down the steps. "Did you manage to get a tape measure around her waist, too?"
My voice trumpet was hanging uselessly over my shoulder, but I still snorted with laughter.
"Mr. Y was acting unusual, wasn't he?" Ariel neutrally chipped in.
Alf made a dark sound in his throat. "Indeed. And if he's looking to remain on good terms with me, this'll be the last time he does so in front of you. Of all the outrageous performances...having Ariel wax poetic over a married woman's beauty for him right before he goes to see her!"
No subtlety could ever be lost on Alf, who had deftly pieced together the purpose for Mr. Y's evening outing. He'd been around too long. Likewise, no breach of propriety could ever elude his notice, either, although tonight it was clear that the day's stress and fatigue was turning his traditional irritation into outright anger. He looked tired.
"And if he ever looks at Ariel like that again, I'll crown him King of the Fools!" he concluded, growling, with a clenching of his fist.
Ariel squeaked. "Oh, Daddy!" her voice echoed feebly in the staircase. "You wouldn't really hit Mr. Y, would you?"
My tattooed friend was unrelenting, but his growl took on a warm, fatherly tenderness. "I'd take any man who violated your chastity to the cleaners, Baby Fleck. Yes, and iron him for free."
"Oh." Ariel's tiny chuckle sounded disturbed. "Lucky thing."
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Eight o' clock. The Ayrie garage, in the glass carriage, at eight o' clock. Between my nerve-easing drinks, I obsessed over what surprise she could possibly have waiting for me in there. I drained my glass and sent some more wine swirling into it. I certainly had my fantasies.
I hoped it would at least be worth having to call Maria off. She had telephoned not too long earlier, gushing about all the wonderful things we would do in honor of my birthday. The silence on the line when I meekly mentioned that Ariel and I had plans was the most aggressive I've ever heard.
"Ah-ree-ella?" she eventually growled again. "Always this Ah-ree-ella. What you do tonight, eh? Play chess?"
"I don't know. She says it's a surprise."
There was a distinct snicker. "Ah. Hopscotch, then. Not to be missed, no?"
In all fairness," I felt compelled to state rationally, "She asked me before you."
"Tell her you must be elsewhere."
"I'm not going to lie to her."
Silence. I could picture her rolling her eyes.
"You still there, Maria?"
"Yes, Greg, I'm here," she snapped. "I won't argue anymore. If you want to spend your birthday playing pinna-de-tail on the donkey, I don't care. Buona notte."
And now, here I was in the Roman Colosseum Restaurant, dressed as nicely as I was able, drinking wine at the counter and watching the clock tick excruciatingly slow. It was seven thirty.
One of the cooks, who was acting as bartender, gazed at me. I guess he was so used to seeing me in a fury that my nervousness was jarring. "Se stai bene, capo?" he asked.
"Si," I sighed heavily, pushing my empty glass towards him. "Rosso, per favore."
He refilled my glass. I drank it down. I twiddled my thumbs. I waited a bit. I translated the Italian writing on the liquor bottles into English. I looked at the clock.
It was seven thirty-one.
I slammed my face onto the counter. The marble was cool beneath my cheek.
"Per favore, capo!" cried the cook-bartender again, slapping my back. "Hai un aspetto malatto! Posso aiutarla?"
My eyes were misty as I looked at him. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all, even if he couldn't cook. I pushed my empty glass towards him again. "Rosso, per favore," I croaked.
He took it away reluctantly as I began wildly theorizing. Eight o' clock in a dark secluded garage. Apparently, this was a secret surprise. It couldn't be food. That would be ridiculous. In light of her recent falling-out-of-love with Mr. Y, a desperate idea poked to the forefront of my mind. A romantic surprise? In the dark?
I received a full wine glass again. I looked into its sparkly crimson depths and saw my reflection. When I tapped it, the image shook. I looked at the clock.
It was still seven thirty-one. I didn't know how much more of this I could take.
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At last! Eight o' clock. If you're wondering how I survived the wait, I spent the remaining half hour helping the cooks scrub pots. That's how desperate I was.
Anyhow, when I entered the Ayrie garage, only a few lights were on, and Ariel was seated inside the glass carriage. She looked up as I shut the door behind me.
"Right on time," she said pleasantly, though her countenance was anxious, patting the seat beside her. "Sit down."
I did.
"I'm reeeady for my surprise," I crooned. I felt as though I had been forced to wait for seventy years.
Her throat bobbed, and when she took my hands she couldn't seem to be able to decide whether to look into my eyes or not.
"You already know that I don't love Mr. Y anymore."
So love had to do with it! I nodded, heart racing.
"Well, there's someone else now." She smiled a bit, still looking away. "He's just wonderful. He looks out for me, and has always been there when I needed him, even when I'm a pain in the neck. I couldn't ask for anyone better. Now, I suspect he feels the same about me, and I'm not entirely certain how he'll feel when I tell him I love him..."
Someone else? I looked at Ariel where she sat, dressed up and glowing, and was taken sharply aback. Now, what sort of surprise was this, that she would get all prettied and take me in here, and then tell me there was another man? Unless that wasn't what she meant.
"Ariel," I asked seriously. "Who is this man?"
At this, her little chin wobbled, and when she looked up at me her eyes were filled with tears. "It's you."
For a good minute I was completely speechless. I coudn't believe it. But slowly and surely, I began piecing it together, returning to reality, and as I looked into Ariel's earnest, blushing face, it all became real, gloriously real. She loved me. The joy rushed from my heart, all over my body like a tidal wave of warmth, and all the world was a song. The battle within myself was over. Ariel loved me! Of all the birthday surprises in all the world, this couldn't be better.
I could confess it at last, and off my chest it came like a weight, setting me free. "And I have always loved you too, Signorina, but I felt I could never tell you...I didn't think we could ever..."
One of those foolish tears of joy snuck down my cheek as I took her into my arms, and speech became utterly ridiculous. Our first kiss had been me surprising her in the tunnel, the second had been her surprising me in the city, and now our third was no surprise whatsoever, save for the surprise of two wandering souls finding each other at long last. It was, up to that point, the most wonderful moment of my life, holding her in my arms and kissing her, and feeling her kiss me back with the same love that I felt for her.
The glass around us sparkled in her eyes. "Oh, Gregory dear. Happy birthday."
Whether it was wine or courage, I can't say, but in that moment I felt as though the world were in my hands, that anything could happen, that the rules of the world hardly mattered, and without even asking for Alf's permission, I took (well, violently grabbed) Ariel's little white hand, the one with the emerald ring.
"You have such a beautiful hand, Signorina. Would you...could I...put an engagement ring on it?" I was so excited that I tripped over my words, but eventually I asked, "I mean, will you marry me?"
And the joy on her face was abruptly frozen with anxiety. "Oh," she gasped, pulling her hand away from me and bringing it to her lips. "Oh my, I..."
"Don't get frightened and don't say no right away," I told her. "You don't need to decide right this minute. It's a big decision, to get married to someone. If you want, the two of us can go nice and slow, and when you're ready we can become more serious..."
"Oh no, no, I'm not frightened, dear. It's just all so much, being engaged like this." She gave a hysterical little giggle. "To be someone's fiancee!"
"Then you accept!"
Her perfumed head burrowed into my jacket. "I do, darling. I do!"
There was no ring to give just then, but the promise was enough. Ariel and I were engaged! The glass carriage and the dim workshop around us became hallowed ground, and despite the grime and tools and simplicity I thought it was the most wonderful place on earth, because my love was there. For an indefinite period of time we reclined in each other's arms, luxuriously kissing the other's lips and cheeks, brushing eyelashes, stroking foreheads, letting the grim old world with its trials and tribulations pass us by.
She was mine. I held her dear little body, so small compared to mine, and amazed myself with the truth that she was mine at long last, and I would do anything for her.
"Ariel dear," I said, an indescribable feeling stirring in my heart. "I feel that...we must...do something!"
The night was young. Outside the stars were gleaming, Coney Island was bustling with life and lights, rides and dances, music and thrills. The world was ours, at least this little bit of it. I thrust my hand into my trouser pocket. I had a crumpled dollar bill and fifty cents in change. I couldn't wait to blow every penny of it on Ariel. And what better place to do so than in...
"Do something?" that divine creature asked wonderingly.
"Yes." I kissed her cheek and leaned on the opposite seat, bringing my face close to Oscar's glittering jaw. "Oscar!" I ordered. "Take us to Luna Park!"
)
(
)
It's gone now, preserved only in photos and crackling old film reels, but there was never a more wonderful place (other than Phantasma) than Luna Park at night. Away we rolled, out of Phantasma's eerily grinning gates, and with hearts aglow we beheld the Park's majesty. It was a triumph of modern electricity. Imagine the funny onion-like towers of Moscow, combined with all manner of European castles, turrets, arches, Persian motifs, and then adorn them in swirls and piping of screaming, vibrant hues, and you will begin to have an idea of Luna Park.
It was through this otherwordly fantasy land that me and my love went driving, happy as clowns. Were we allowed to take out the glass carriage without permission? Absolutely not. Into Luna Park? By no means. In plainclothes, out-of-character, cackling and kissing like newlyweds? Get out of town. But we didn't care. Any rationality I had left was promptly intoxicated into oblivion at the first restaurant we trooped into.
"Get my fiancee a glass of Coca-Cola, my fine fellow!" I roared proudly, slapping the waiter on the shoulder. "And fetch me some wine!"
After our brief drink, my delightful Ariel pointed through the window at a coconut shy. "Oh! Let me try my hand at it, darling, please?"
Into her hand went a crisp dollar bill, even though it only cost three cents, and Princess Ariel promptly sent a coconut soaring through a whole pyramid of bottles. Her reward? A big stuffed heart, which she bestowed upon me, "her lovely fiance". I gave it right back, because "I loved her more". She shoved it right back, because "she loved me more indeed". We fought over it until we saw a dance hall.
They were banging out ragtime inside, 'The Entertainer' to be exact, and after one last swig of my beer (purchased after the coconut shy) I taught lovely Ariel how to do the ragtime one-step. Or perhaps she taught me. I remember giggling and leaning on her a lot.
"We're getting married," I told the bass player, who looked a bit concerned. "Isn't that right, Arie..." A burp shook in my throat.
After the dance, we decided to just ride around. I was glad for the rest. We lay against each other and watched the stars above us as Oscar worked his driving magic. It was all so wonderful. Never could I recall being this happy.
"No more drinking, Gregory dear," whispered Ariel. "You're starting to smell like a bar."
I kissed her and slid off the seat. What a night. What a birthday.
)
(
)
Unlike it had been earlier, the Ayrie garage was completely black when we came rolling back into it, and when the door shut us in, we were enclosed in a world of complete darkness, me and my new fiancee. It was as though we were the only two beings in the whole universe.
"It's been a wonderful night, darling," murmured Ariel. I felt her warm hand clasp mine. "You knew just where to tell Oscar to take us."
The blood in my veins, already warm with wine, became even warmer as I nuzzled close to her ear. "I was going to tell him to take us to heaven," I said, "But that's where I am when I'm with you. Luna Park was the next best choice."
"And this," she added gently, "Is the next best after that."
One simply must kiss after an exchange like that, and we did. But as I made out the softness of Ariel's lips, I sensed a shuffle; she was moving over on the seat. A multi-layered sort of softness filled my lap, and I perceived by the arms that wrapped around me that she was now sitting on my lap. Her breath whispered across my cheek, and her lips were against mine once more.
She chuckled a bit. "There's wine on your breath."
I might have replied, but she reoccupied my lips too swiftly, and my body was presently overcome with a feeling akin to electricity, deeper, almost painful electricity. It was as though she were the power, and I was the Luna Park of sorts, being brought to life by her, and she in her turn was enjoying the spectacle. A give-and-take. A man and a woman. That's all we were. Unable to see in the darkness, I could sense things about Ariel that were somehow obscured in the light of day. I could sense the flesh of her arms beneath the filmy cotton of her blouse, the thighs beneath all the lace, the heart beating between her breasts. She intoxicated me.
Now, if the lights had snapped on, and the two of us could see each other, and ourselves, and what we were doing, that's where our intimacy would have stopped, but the complete darkness of the carriage and the garage enclosed us in a strange world where nothing mattered, and when Ariel sat up and hungrily pressed her body into mine, the temptation was suddenly overwhelming. All that separated our bodies were a few paper-thin layers of fabric.
Not a word was spoken. All it took was a tossing up of skirts, a shifting of fabric, some unbuttoning and pulling, and all at once Ariel Fleck and Gregory De Rossi were together, as only lovers can be. The particulars of how we went about enjoying each other and the desperate things we whispered in the dark are, I'm afraid, not for anyone to know but myself and Ariel, but this I can say: I'd had sex many times in my life, but that night with Ariel was the first time I'd ever made love. It made all the difference.
Now, there is always (and I know this because I've experienced it many times) an inevitable awkward moment after satisfying sexual congress, after all the post-rapture kisses and tingles have subsided, in which you know it's quite through and it's time to go your separate ways. There's usually a nod towards wherever the exit is, a last "gee you did swell" grin, and then off you go. In the darkness of the Ayrie garage, however, I couldn't see Ariel well enough to make out a facial expression.
I kissed her and said goodnight softly, and she did the same to me, and off we went, separately. I hit the pillow and fell asleep almost immediately, giving me no time to reflect on the realities of what I had done to Alfred "Take Him to the Cleaners" Fleck's only, beloved, virgin daughter.
That would be tomorrow.
(Gangle stops here for now.)
NOTES FROM AUTHORESS:
1. See what I said about the carriage? Tee-hee. Keep it classy, Fleck and Gangle!
2. There's a fic on this site called "Into Light". For Pete's sake, go read it.