It All Comes Down to This

Christine couldn't dial Meg's number fast enough. Meg normally kept late hours; for this, Christine would have waked her up anyway.

"Hi, Miss Chris! I thought you were normally online with your man right about now…" Meg drew out the word 'man' until it was three syllables long.

"Hey Meg. That's actually why I'm calling. I mean, he's why I'm calling."

"Damn. And here I thought you just wanted to talk to your old friend. It's ok, girl. I know what it's like to be smitten. So, tell me about wonderful Erik." Meg sat down in her favorite overstuffed recliner and put her feet up. The moment the chair unfolded, her little Jack Russell terrier jumped up into her lap and made itself at home.

"It's two things, really. The first thing, the little thing, is that I know his last name…"

"GOOGLE!" Meg shrieked. A split second later, Christine could hear her apologizing to the dog, "Aw, come back, Chino. Mommy's got a snacky for you. yummy, yummy snacky treats. Good girl! Now, Christine, as I was saying. Go now and Google him."

"Will you give me yummy, yummy snacky treats if I do?" Christine snorted laughter. Brash, aggressive Meg was an absolute push-over when it came to her little dog.

"Absolutely."

"The other thing…" Christine sat down at her computer and opened Firefox, accessing Google a second later. "…is that something happened to him today. When I logged on, he was waiting for me. He seemed really upset, said he wasn't ok, and begged me to play something for him. But no matter what I said, he wouldn't talk about it with me."

"Normally, I'd say that's weird. But then, he is a musician. I can't count the number of times you've told me you didn't want to talk and then shut yourself up in a room with Nine Inch Nails or some such. " Meg spoke with her case closed tone.

"It's not that it's weird...How would you spell Valliere? I know he spells his first name with a k at the end. Valliere...hmmm. It's not that it's weird; it's that it made me worried for him. He sounded completely torn up."

"I don't know. I only took a little French in high school. I'd bet on two Ls... Well, if it worries you that much, just make him tell you."

"Meg. Please. You heard him talking. How do you make a man like that do anything he doesn't want to do? Ok...nothing under V-A-L-L-I-E-R." Christine groaned in frustration. In English, she was a spelling whiz.

"Try adding an E to the end. The French love to add Es to the ends of their words. And I don't know. Use your feminine wiles. Seriously, hun, it could be important."

"Oh my god, Meg," Christine breathed.

"What?"

"I found him. I found Erik." Christine still barely whispered.

"You don't sound happy about it." Now Meg bit her tongue, knowing that a shout of 'out with it!' would not speed up the process one bit.

"June twenty-fourth, nineteen ninety-four. Erik Valliere, charged with misdemeanor simple assault. Guilty." Christine could barely make herself say the words. She searched for a mug shot, but there was none. "Meg, he's been to jail!"

"You haven't told him where you live...have you?" Meg's voice had lost its chatty tones. Christine's amour was a convicted criminal!

"No. No I haven't. Of course not. I'm not stupid. But, what does 'simple assault' mean? He assaulted someone simply?"

"Don't be dense. It means he didn't use a weapon. It basically means he got in a fistfight. It means he's violent. You don't want to get mixed up with a man like that." Meg could just see Christine in a battered women's shelter with a black eye. And then Meg would have to kill the man responsible. No way. "You need to stop talking to him, stop emailing him, stop whatever it is you two are doing, because this is..."

"I probably will. But Meg, I have to know the story first." Christine braced herself for the tirade she knew would come.

"And naturally he'll just tell you the truth? I don't think so, girl. Just don't talk to him anymore." Meg's voice was filled with dire warnings. "Let's just make a general rule against men with criminal records. I think that's a good..."

"No. I understand what you're saying, and it sounds like good advice, except that...I just have to know. I promise I'll keep you up to date on anything I find out. Ok?"

"You know it's not ok." Meg projected every ounce of dire disapproval she could muster.

"I know, Meg. I'm off tomorrow. I'll be at work the day after. You can inspect me yourself and see that no one has eaten me." Christine's weak attempt at humor fell utterly flat.

"Be careful."

"I will."

"Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight, Meg."

Before she went to bed, Christine sent an offline message to Erik.

minorchord: I do not work tomorrow. I will be near the computer, practicing starting at noon. As soon as you get this message, please respond. It is important.

Christine practiced cello first. She strongly believed in moving from strength to weakness. Playing her cello worked out some of the jitters that had been plaguing her all morning. She did not want to have this conversation with Erik. She wanted to pretend that she had never seen his criminal history, but that would truly be foolish. She couldn't imagine how he'd react. After whatever happened to him yesterday, this could be the last straw. But, as she told Meg, she had to know.

Around two, he appeared. She waited for him to send her a message first.

AngelofMusic: Christine? Are you there?

minorchord: I am here. We need to talk.

Erik's heart careened painfully against his ribcage. He'd never been in a relationship before, but he knew those words usually were a death-knell.

AngelofMusic: Voice chat?

minorchord: No. Your voice would influence me, I think.

AngelofMusic: You are worrying me, Christine.

minorchord: You gave me your last name. I searched for you on Google. I found out about you.

His heart stopped racing and stood still. She'd found out?

AngelofMusic: What did you find, Little Latte?

minorchord. Don't call me that. Not until you've explained about the assault.

AngelofMusic: Oh. That. It was a fight.

minorchord: Why? Who? Erik, I thought you were a better man than that.

He was glad they were not in voice chat. The disappointment in her voice and face would have killed him on the spot.

AngelofMusic: I was younger. Young and stupid is the phrase, I think.

minorchord: And that's the truth? The entire truth? You were young and stupid, you got in a fight, and that's the whole of the story.

AngelofMusic: Essentially, yes. A man was ridiculing me. I was young and stupid. I punched him. I hurt him quite badly.

minorchord: A guy made fun of you, and you attacked him?

AngelofMusic: It sounds bad, but it's more complex than that.

minorchord: If you can justify it, Erik, I suggest you go ahead.

AngelofMusic: Why do I have to justify anything to you? What good will it do either of us?

minorchord: It depends. Oh, go ahead and turn on voice. I can't do this in instant messages.

AngelofMusic: Done.

"Ok. You can hear me, and you can see me – right?"

"Yes." He sounded wary.

"I can only hear you, but it will have to be enough. It's not fair, though, and you know it isn't." Christine had not openly complained about that before, but she was laying everything on the line now.

"Less fair than you know."

"Stop that! Stop being cryptic! Erik, I am going to tell you why you need to justify this thing to me. I am not going to be cryptic. I like you. And I think I could come to...like you...a great deal more. But I can't do that if you are the sort of person who is going to lose his temper and be violent. So, justify it to me, Erik. Please." She was facing the camera, flushed with frustration.

"You like me?" He sounded like a child, then. All his smooth power was gone and his voice was small and vulnerable.

"Yes. I like you. What I know of you. But you constantly remind me that I don't know much about you, because you are afraid to tell me. I'm a grown woman, Erik. I really don't have the time or energy for high school games anymore."

She likes me? he thought. "Christine, there are three questions left. Why don't I perform, what conclusions do I expect you to draw, and do I have a girlfriend. If you can give me a couple of hours to go take care of some business, I will answer all those questions and justify my past actions to you. If there's a chance that you could truly grow to...to like me, I'll do that. Can you give me two hours?"

Christine's curt, impatient, "Yes," was like a blessing.

"Two hours. Maybe less."

AngelofMusic has logged off.

Christine wanted to call Meg, but she refrained. For one and a half hours she sat in front of the computer absently playing little tunes on her cello. It kept trying to flow into his song, but she would not let it. The mystery would end tonight, one way or another.

When he reappeared, she hurriedly set her cello aside.

AngelofMusic: Ok. Christine, click on the webcam session. I'm there. Try to keep an open mind. That's all I ask.

minorchord: Are you serious?

AngelofMusic: Before I lose my courage. Go ahead.

When she moved the mouse to open the session, she found that her fingers were trembling. The window opened, and there he was. Erik's camera had far better resolution than hers. She saw a tall, lanky man with untrimmed shaggy black hair falling over his masked (masked!) face, sitting in a brown leather computer chair staring at his computer screen with the most intense black eyes she'd ever seen.

"Erik? Why are you wearing a mask?" Christine asked.

"That's the sixty-five-thousand-dollar question, isn't it, Little Latte? And it's the answer to all your questions. Why did I have a fight? The guy tried to take my mask off. I broke his face for that. Why don't I perform? Because no orchestra would have me – not unless I took the mask off, and then they really wouldn't have me. What conclusions did I expect you to draw from the fact that I wouldn't use a webcam? I expected you to conclude that I must be terribly ugly. And I am. Do I have a girlfriend? No. I don't. Nor do I ever expect to have one." Erik paused to breathe. Christine was sitting very still, very solemn. "Do you remember, Christine, that you almost didn't meet with me because you were afraid I wouldn't like how you look? I laughed when you said that. I laughed because of the irony. So, have I justified myself enough for you? I hope so, because I won't show you what's under this thing. I won't show you because...I like you, too. We will talk tonight. I'll show you my one-of-a-kind Leonhardt violin. I'll play for you – anything you want, as long as you like. But when we log off...will you come back tomorrow? Now that you've seen me, will I ever see you again?" "

Christine continued her solemn, quiet examination of him. "It's still not right to beat someone up. It's just barbaric. A wise man I knew once said that music is the closest a human being can get to peace. And you are closer to music than anyone else I know." She narrowed her eyes and steeled her will. There was no point in going only half-way. "What happened yesterday? Tell me."

"The truth?"

"From now on, nothing but the truth, please." She could feel his tension, his vulnerability. Christine was very careful to keep her voice gentle and kind, but firm.

"You made me happy with that beautiful cello piece you wrote for me. I felt normal – I felt human – for the first time in many years. I went for a walk in Carkeek Park. My mask blew off. Women screamed, children cried. I needed you to make me feel human again. You are the only person who could have done it. Thank you, Christine. Thank you for giving me back my humanity."

For a moment, Christine had no reply. What did you say to something like that? 'You're welcome,' seemed pitifully inadequate. Erik watched her with the coppery taste of fear in his mouth. He did not like unpredictable situations, and this was wholly new ground for him. She had not answered him to promise that she would come back. She had not even admitted that he had been justified in beating that creep senseless. Christine was giving away nothing and he found that he desperately needed something. Finally, she spoke.

"I'm glad I could be there to help." It was a thin, flat inadequate statement. "Why did they scream at you? What's –you don't have to show me – what's wrong with your face?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Christine. Let me just say that I am severely disfigured and they saw me and then let's drop it. Is that enough? Can you be satisfied with that?" Erik was sitting back in his chair, pulling away from the screen.

It must be bad, she thought, and then on the heels of that thought came a less comfortable one; Can I deal with something like that?

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'm satisfied. I don't mean to pry." That seemed to help. He appeared to relax a little; he no longer looked as though he would spring from his chair and run away any second. "You could have told me this sooner, you know.

"How could I? You've become very…" Erik searched for a word. All the words that suggested themselves were too sloppy-sweet. He didn't want to sound like a Hallmark greeting card. He picked the least sentimental, "important to me. I didn't want to risk that you would stop talking to me."

"I'm not that shallow. Do you really think I'm that shallow?" Christine gave him a reproachful look.

"It's not shallow to reject something like me. You're a young, single woman. You have to protect yourself. I'd understand…" but he wouldn't, and he knew it. Still, it was better to let her think that he would, "…if you logged off today and never spoke to me again."

"You said you had a Leonhardt? May I see it?" Christine abruptly changed the subject. She couldn't stand to hear him talk about himself as a 'thing.'

Erik smiled, and she saw that he had a beautiful smile. He reached off camera and lifted a beautifully crafted black violin case into view. "Christine, you are about to meet my best friend. She's been with me through these worst, last twenty-two years." He opened the case and lifted the beautiful thing out, displaying it to her with parental pride.

Christine was suitably impressed. It was a thing of beauty, but, "I've never seen a violin with a finish like that. In fact, I've never seen any instrument with a finish like that."

Erik looked down, ashamed. He had done this to his violin the same year he got it. He'd scuffed it lightly with fine-grain sand-paper until it no longer reflected his face. "That was me. My father was very angry, saying that I'd destroyed the value of the instrument. But I knew better. I'd never sell her – the monetary value means nothing."

"Will you play…her…for me?"

"The first thing I played on her when they gave her to me was the Moonlight Sonata – my adaptation. It's a well-known piece, but it's still one of my favorites."

Erik put the violin under his chin and lifted the bow. He began to play and the wistful sound filled both apartments and both minds. Sitting in his computer chair, Erik had looked like a nervous, thin, shaggy man. Aside from his eyes and mask, there was nothing remarkable about him. That changed the moment he began to play. It was a transformation so complete, Christine almost rubbed her eyes to make sure what she was seeing was real. He was beautiful; if he'd sprouted wings, she'd hardly have been surprised. The music was wrapped around him like cloth-of-gold. She didn't know it, but she was seeing the same change Erik had admired in her the first time he saw her play. By the time it was over, Christine was sure of her choice and Meg would just have to deal with it.

"Imagine what it would sound like if we played together…" She whispered the words, not wanting to break the spell. Spoken language was so harsh. Why couldn't everything be music?

Still caught in his trance, Erik smiled. "I don't dare. If I were to imagine such a thing, I would want it to come true."

"Why can't it?"

He looked up sharply. "I've got a conviction for assault. I'm…" he gave up on words and gestured at his mask. "this thing. It can't come true, can it?"

"I'm not afraid of you, Erik, if that's what you are thinking."

Erik felt his throat tighten. The truth was in her eyes; she really wasn't frightened by him. He reached up and touched the image of her face on his monitor. The gesture was habitual since Christine set up her webcam. Erik had momentarily forgotten that she could now see him as well.

The gesture was so unassuming, so innocent, that it made Christine's breath catch in her throat. This was a side of Erik his carefully controlled voice hid. "If I invited you to meet me at the entrance to Interlaken Park, would you come and bring your violin?" Christine made the invitation fully aware that his horrible experience the other day was in a park.

"That's… I don't know."

"I'll lug my cello out there. And…I'll bring sandwiches. And a blanket. We could play together, and have a picnic lunch…" Christine was already there in her mind. The weather was supposed to be beautiful; for once, there was almost no chance of rain.

Erik blinked. "You'd do all that?"

"If you promise to show up, I will. But if I go through all that trouble, and you don't show up…" She let the threat hang in the air.

"And you're sure you want to be seen in public with me?"

"You are just being silly now. Don't." There was only so much self-denigration she was willing to hear from him.

"I am not. I'm serious. What if something happens, like yesterday? Things go wrong." It seemed to Erik that things went wrong more often than not. "You would be caught up in it…"

"Then we will leave." Christine could understand his need forreassurance. She felt she could give it to him without making herself a liar.

"Together?"

"Together. I promise. Just meet me there at four, ok? I need to get some sleep now." She didn't mention that she needed to be well-rested to defend herself against her own best friend.

"I will be there. Goodnight, Little Latte."

"Goodnight, Angel."