Christine did not go far. Over the years Phantasma's theatre expanded and there were now studio rehearsal spaces. She entered the largest one, complete with its own small stage, where the younger ballerinas were practicing.
Matilda was front and stage right and a sight of perfection. This was her first show en pointe and she had practiced throughout the house all winter. While she was younger than the other girls in this group her skill was too advance for the girls in her age range.
At the end of the dance The Soprano broke into applause.
"Is that Christine Daae?"
The girls all broke form and formed groups.
"Has she been watching our rehearsal?"
"I heard she was a dancer before she became a singer."
"Where did you hear that?"
"Matilda told Amy."
"How would Matilda know?"
"That's her mother."
"Mrs. Y is her mother?!"
"Titla, you didn't tell me that!"
"I thought you knew!"
"Enough!" Their ballet mistress rang a bell and all the girls returned to first position. She turned her attention to the audience, "Mrs. Y, to what do we owe the honor? I thought you had your own rehearsal."
Christine saw a flush come across her daughter's cheeks. Is she worried I am going to embarrass her? Tell her that she has her father's lithe frame and has taken my dedication to music and applied it to dancing. She's better than I ever was even when I was older! I'll have to talk to her tonight.
"I just wanted to see how the dance was progressing. People come to Phantasma to see many performances; not just the main opera. Beautiful job, young ladies. I look forward to opening night." Christine caught her daughter's glance and smiled before leaving.
Once back in the expanded back area of the theatre, Christine saw some of her castmates leaving, avoiding eye contact with her. Then she heard it...Erik's voice booming from behind Violet's dressing room door.
"Gather your things! I don't want to see you again!"
"You cannot fire me! I am under contract!"
"Then I'm buying you out! Right here, right now, with my own money!"
"I work for Christine, not you!"
"Christine works for the park which is mine so you do work for me!"
"What is the meaning of this?" Christine pulled the door open.
Phantom and understudy went quiet.
"Never mind, I know the meaning of this. Violet, if you can find George, go practice with him. If not, take the rest of the day off." She took her husband's hand and pulled him out of the dressing room, "Your frustration is with me, do not take it out on her!" She held out her hand, "The office key."
Erik sighed as he reached into his pocket and pulled it out. Once in Christine's hand, he followed her up the stairs to the management office. The door was barely closed when Erik punched the wall.
"I'm losing control, Christine! I'm losing control and everything is changing again!"
Key in the lock, The Soprano stood wide eyed at the violent outburst. It had been sometime since he had acted so. "What do you mean?"
"Gustave is getting married; he has his own life. When he comes back, he's running the place better than I could. I'm out for a week ill, and I come back to learn my Diva has trained her understudy to be better than her! And I also just learned Gustave and Charlotte have been planning a show without telling me! She's going to be bringing a zebra inside the theatre!" He paced back and forth, "This is Mr. Y's Phantasma! I am Mr. Y yet somehow his family has usurped his crown!"
Crestfallen, he sank down on the settee. Christine let out a laugh and sat down next to him, "Oh my Angel, that's what's bothering you?"
"This is not a laughing matter! I don't know if you forgot but I am older than you. Sixty is a few short years away, no wonder I am not taken seriously anymore…"
'Oh Angel…" Christine took him into an embrace. "None of this is about that! You said yourself you're a family man. All you've done is built an empire and now your family is helping you run it. I know you've talked of this before. And now that it's a reality you're angry?"
"I guess I believed when it happened I would be the one conducting it. You know telling Gustave what exactly to do; what exactly Charlotte would be doing with her shows. And you," He took Christine's chin into his hand.
"And what about me?" She tilted her head up.
"You direct the show for one week and there are changes the actors prefer. You have your understudy singing beautifully. And I can't help but feel you don't want to be in the show anymore."
Christine sighed and closed her eyes.
"You don't want to be in the show! I knew it!" Erik balled his hands into fits and hit his thighs.
"It's not that I don't want to be. It's just…I feel I am playing this part too late," She undid his fists so she could hold his hand. "Marguerite is young and naïve and scared…I am none of those things. And I look rather ridiculous trying to act like it. I'm not an ingenue anymore, I'm a prima donna…you made me into your prima donna."
"I always wanted to see you as Marguerite."
"But you have," She reached up and removed the mask. "The roles you wrote for me; Persephone, Celestial Maiden. Were they not just a version of Marguerite…a young, naïve woman who learned to love a wretch?" She caressed his deformed cheek, "I decided to leave the Met because I wanted to focus on being a mother and the diva to the man who wrote those roles. I didn't realize you would want to keep reliving that dynamic of our relationship."
The man furrowed his good eyebrow, "What do you mean?"
"I haven't been the young, naïve woman in a long time. And while you might still believe yourself a wretch in some shape or form; you're not. You've worked long and hard to change. You still have your moments, but you're not deceptive and manipulative like you were."
Erik smiled and gave a light chuckle.
"And you know I love you, right."
"I do, though I still sometimes wonder why," He ran his fingers through the few loose curls of her updo.
"Oh Erik, Erik…" Christine leaned in and kissed him softly. "What did you write once in Don Juan Triamphant…our games of make believe our through. Let others act the part…allow me to give them pointers."
"You really want to direct?"
"I would at least like to assist. And I can still do special performances. I know I the public likes to hear me sing."
"I like hearing you sing," Erik traced his wife's jawline with his finger before slowly bringing it down her throat. "It's been some time since you've sung for me."
"We've been busy and you've been ill."
The Phantom's hand slid down past her throat so it was now cupping and caressing her breast through her dress. He leaned in and kissed her throat, "Don't make me beg, Christine. I thought you said I was no longer that wretch."
"I saw a little of him today," Christine shifted her body so she straddled The Angel of Music's lap, "Forgive me for being a little naïve and wanting to make sure the poor fool actually understands what this woman desires." She pulled her skirts up exposing significant thigh as her stockings only went to her knees and her pantalettes were of the new shorter style.
His large hands were quickly on the exposed skin, "Did that wretch husband of yours really let you leave the house so barely dressed underneath? A woman of your status and age should…"
"The poor wretch doesn't seem to mind from what I can tell," She spread her legs wider and pushed down into the firmness she felt coming up from him.
Erik leaned back and groaned but he grabbed his wife's hands as they went under her skirts and tugged at the buttons on his trousers, "Before I lose myself, you'll finish out this season as Marguerite?" His breaths were already ragged.
"Yes, but not every show. I get at least one day off."
"And next year?" One of The Phantom's hands slid up her thighs, finding the open gusset of those short pantalettes.
"Next year…next year…" The Soprano gasped as she felt his finger brush her pubic hair. "Next year I will assist you in directing and…sing…we should make a contract, Erik."
"We will, after I make you sing," Erik leaned in and kissed his wife as his fingers found their way through the open gusset.