Disclaimer: Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.
Chapter 3 - Good advice
Going to his appointed meeting with Carlotta, Erik thought what kind of information he should ask her first. Should he focus on the main events that happened in the last century, like all those wars and discoveries she had mentioned? Or perhaps it was more important to learn about that iStuff everyone seemed to carry around and use for all kinds of purposes? He couldn't imagine that Carlotta already had some plans for their first encounter.
"If we are going to be spending some time together," she said when he finally joined her in her dressing room, "I require that you make yourself presentable."
"Are you implying I'm not presentable?!" he blurted out, deadly offended. He had actually dressed up for the occasion, putting on his best tailored suit and shirt complete with a pair of white gloves to conceal his bony fingers.
Carlotta gave him a critical look. "Erik, you look like an undertaker," she summed him up.
Crossing his arms in defiance, he drawled, "Erik prides himself in dressing very well."
"Perhaps in 1898. Now you just look like you're ready for the coffin. Not to mention these clothes have been lying underneath the Opera House for a century. I wouldn't be surprised if they just fell apart on your back."
Erik looked at her grudgingly but she didn't seem to care.
Standing up, she went to retrieve a black duffel bag from her wardrobe. "I took the liberty of purchasing some clothes for you," she said, shoving him the bag. " I hope everything fits. If something doesn't, I can have it returned or exchanged for a different size as long as you don't remove the tag."
"I can't accept these." He pushed the bag away. It was downward humiliating that an all in all unknown woman would buy him a new wardrobe.
"It's no big deal," she assured. "I come from a wealthy family. I can afford this."
He was just about to protest again when he was interrupted by a melody that suddenly played and the sound seemed to be coming from Carlotta's bag. Gesturing for him to wait for a second, she retrieved that little device she'd been playing with the other day and slid her finger across the screen. The music stopped and putting the device to her ear, she began talking to it.
"Okay, I'll be right there. Just wait a second. How much is it? Ok. I'm coming," she said with some pauses in between. Putting the device away, she addressed him, "I'll be right back. In the meantime check out those clothes," and she just ran out.
She returned about ten minutes later carrying a flat square box. Making some space on her vanity, she put it down and opened it to reveal a sort of flatbread coated with tomato sauce and a mix of sausage, vegetables, and cheese.
"It's called pizza," she told him. "Have a slice."
"I'm not hungry," he lied.
She shook her head disapprovingly. "You're not a ghost anymore Erik. You have to eat."
"I already ate," he lied again if only to oppose her.
"Really?" She gave him a doubtful look. "And where, may I know, did you get the food?"
He didn't reply. In the old days, having been provided with a substantial salary of twenty francs a month, he simply bought everything he needed, including some food. He never ate much though, somehow having never found the gusto of it. Currently, he'd been starving since the moment he awoke in this foreign reality.
"Erik," Carlotta said patiently as if she were explaining it to a stubborn five-year-old, "you're already pretty slender. If you don't eat, you're soon going to transform into that living corpse your beloved Christine ran away from. Think of it," she appealed to his better judgement. "What if she was also reborn in this century and the two of you meet one day? Do you really want her to have that same reaction again?"
Damn! Did the woman know exactly where to stab that knife!
Inadvertently he remembered the night when hidden in the shadow of Apollo's Lyre he evesdropped on Christine telling Raoul how repulsive he was. It had hurt even if he'd known that she was telling the truth. He had been a living corpse, an old, wrinkled, dried up remaining of what many years before used to be an almost human being. His abhorrent face he was born with, but the rest of it, he finally admitted, he did to himself.
Reluctantly he took a piece of pizza and put it in his mouth. It wasn't too bad.
"Every day you'll be coming with me to the Opera Restaurant for lunch," she decided. "Other than la carte they also have a daily menu for the workers of the Opera. Each month we're granted a number of coupons, kind of like pretend money, we can spend at the restaurant so we don't have to worry about food throughout the day. You can use some of mine."
"That's out of the question." There was no way in the world he'd deprive a lady of her food to have it himself.
As if guessing his thoughts Carlotta added, "I wouldn't spend all of them anyway because I prefer to have breakfast and supper either at home or on the town."
"I can't do this," he insisted.
"If you decline, our deal blows up," she warned and when that didn't have the expected reaction, she added with a sigh, "I come here to work Erik. By the evening I'm simply tired. I thought I could use my lunch break to teach you things. If that won't be enough we can have an hour or so in the evening but no more than that. Is that clear?"
She was leaving him no choice. "Fine," he breathed out in defeat.
The girl broke into a wide smile. "Great!" she cheered and then produced another bag, a paper one with some sort of logo on it. "I also got you some other stuff you may need like a shower gel, toothpaste, shampoo, razors, you know, things like that. In case I forgot anything, just tell me and I'll get it for you the next time around."
He gave her an incredulous look.
"What?" she snapped. "I would only expect of a respectable Opera Ghost like you to keep a certain level of decorum."
Did she just call him indecorous?! That insolent child!
Deeply insulted, he informed her, "Erik does possess all the necessary toiletries and he certainly does use them."
"And now he will also possess their updated versions and will use those," she refuted. "Here," she gave him a piece of paper, "I made you a list of some good behaviors I expect you to adopt."
He glanced at the list, then shot up, eyes blazing, and stormed out of the room.
"Ma dai, Erik!" Carlotta called out to him. "This is for your own good!"
Ignoring her plea, he rushed across the corridors, trying to boil out his anger before he would snap someone's, preferably Carlotta's, neck, screwing up the whole arrangement and with that his second chance at Christine. He didn't even notice when he came by Daroga again.
"Hey Erik, what got you so bent out of shape?" the guard asked, taking notice of his foul mood.
"The little toad dared to imply I don't take care of myself," he growled. "Look!" He shoved Daroga a crumpled piece of paper. "Look what she wrote!"
"She?" Daroga inquired. "Ah, Mademoiselle Giudicelli I presume?"
"Just look!"
Daroga checked the paper. "Shower daily, brush teeth at least twice a day, leave dirty clothes in the laundry to be cleaned, eat at least two proper meals a day…" he listed. "Seems all excellent advice to me."
"She thinks I don't even bathe!"
Daroga gave him a dubious look. "Erik, an occasional swim in the underground lake does not count as bathing."
He stared at him in disbelief and cried, "I have a bathtub in my house!"
Daroga broke into a chuckle. "Erik, your ways might have been ok in the 19th century but certainly not today. We'll all be happy to let you use our showers, so why don't you?"
Ugh! Why didn't he get it?! It wasn't about the damn showers, whatever those were, it was just that she treated him like some… some… some bum!
"Just look at the last point!" he raged again, pointing out to a highlighted sentence at the bottom of the page.
"No getting yourself drunk senseless," the guard read out loud. "I would say she couldn't give you a better advice than that."
"Et tu Brute? Even you, Daroga, are against me?"
The guard rolled his eyes. "Nobody is against you Erik," he said tiredly. "The girl means well. Smartass, she must've realized you died of liver failure and wants to prevent it."
"I died out of love!" His liver certainly had nothing to do with that.
"Sometimes I wonder why do they consider you to be a genius," the guard muttered. "People get their hearts broken all the time Erik and none of them ever dropped dead because of it."
"Fine, I could've died of liver failure, but how would Carlotta of all people know that?"
"The book describes you as having yellowed skin and eyes. Those are common symptoms of liver deficiency which is often caused by alcohol abuse," Daroga explained. "It really isn't so hard to figure out."
Words died out on Erik's lips. Daroga's argument was irrefutable.
"The book clearly suggests that at the time you were very old and very sick," he continued. "Even if Christine loved you and stayed with you, you would've died soon anyway. Now you're young and healthy again. You could do anything if you only wanted to. You could get recognition for your work. Damn, I think you could even find love. Don't screw that up by making the same mistakes over and over again, " he contended. "Listen to Mademoiselle Giudicelli. She really is just trying to help."
He knew Daroga was talking sense but he really had had enough of being patronized.
"Some irritating little brat won't forbid me to drink if I wish to do so!" he shouted and stormed away, leaving Daroga shaking his head helplessly.
Without wasting much time he found that restaurant Carlotta told him about and stole a bottle of wine with a clear intent to drink it, if only for the sake of defying her orders. He just waited for the Opera House to get deserted, then sat in the middle of the Grand Escalier and proceeded to get himself dead drunk. He had eaten so little in the last few days that he didn't even finish the bottle before he was sprawled on the marble floor completely unconscious.
He had no idea how long he'd been out when a quiet voice drew him back into a semi-conscious state. "Oh my God, is he dead?" it said.
A weight rested on his chest. "He's still breathing," another voice observed, "but he smells funny."
"I think it's just the clothes. My grandpa's old suits always smell like that."
Really? Even the voices in his dreams would torment him about his damn clothes?
A hand entwined itself in his hair, pulling slightly and he let out a small groan. What the hell was going on?
"Is it real?" one of the voices asked.
The other one replied, "I think so. It's so soft."
"Strange. He should have a wig."
"The mask is also wrong. It should be a white half mask."
"The Phantom in the musical has the half mask only because it makes it easier for him to sing or something. They must glue it to his face so it wouldn't slip. If he was real he'd surely have a full mask."
Oh no! It had to be those crazy groupies of his! How did they call them? Ah yes! Phans!
"He's kinda cute, you know," one of the voices said and he felt tiny fingers touch his neck, then travel further across his chest to his waist and all the way down his legs.
Daroga was right. If given the chance, they would actually try to take physical advantage of him! He had to get up! Now!
"Do you think he really could be…?" the voice didn't finish but the other one seemed to have understood.
"There's only one way to find out." The little prickling fingers that caressed his jaw slowly pulled at the edge of his mask.
The fear of being revealed made him instantly come to his senses. Adrenaline rushed through his veins and his eyes snapped open.
"Aaah!" the voices cried in unison. They belonged to two girls of about twenty.
"Oh God! What's wrong with his eyes?!" one of them mumbled, staring at him in horror.
The other girl seemed a little bit braver. He suspected she was the one that had meant to remove his mask. "A-Are you the Phantom?" she stuttered.
Erik ignored the question. "Out of here!" he roared.
The girls cringed but stood their ground.
"I said out!" he pointed downstairs. "I am the phantom and this is my Opera House and I will not tolerate trespassers!"
"E-Erik, we only w-wanted t-to..."
"Get out of here before I find my lasso and have you two hanging by your feet from the chandelier!" he drawled, striding at them, his yellow eyes flashing in rage.
"What's this bustle?" a man's voice spoke from the top of the staircase and turning around, Erik saw one of the night shift guards. "You two," the man addressed the phans, "what are you doing here?"
"We got lost," one of them lied, "and the Opera closed before we could leave."
"Yeah, we got locked up," the other one confirmed eagerly.
"I'll let you out now." In a flash, the guard was at their side and pushing them down the stairs. "And you," he hissed at Erik as he passed him by, "go back to your dungeon and sleep that off."
"Don't you order me around!" he yelled back but the guard didn't listen, busy escorting the two girls out, so he just turned on his heel and ran to the nearest hidden passage that would take him back to the tranquility of his underground home. There he just lay at the lake shore, waiting for the pounding in his head to stop and thinking of everything that had transpired in the last few days.
A/N: "Ma dai", a phrase the real la Carlotta uses also in the musical/movie, means sthg like "Oh, come on". The same kind of meaning can be also achieved with an "Andiamo" which could also mean either "come on" (if figurative) or simply "let's go" (if literal).
Next chapter: Erik runs into the cleaning lady again, this time without the vacuum, and meets a friendly coiffeur
Is he overreacting in regards to Carlotta's instructions?
Does he really have a proper bathroom with running water?
Did he really die of liver failure?