Chapter 15: Confrontations
Erik was leaning against the wall in the storage room under the top roof, feeling profoundly frustrated.
A day before, he had received a short letter from Christine via their hiding place in the wall next to the chapel. By sending it, she had also revealed the secret space to the young viscount, and it definitely wasn't something the Phantom was happy about (the only good thing was that there hadn't been any previous letters left). Nevertheless, her gesture still meant a lot to him. The fact that she had, at least partially, forgiven him gave him a shy spark of hope, even though it didn't chase away his gloomy mood.
In her note, the soprano stated that she was grateful for everything he had done for her and assured him that she was still taking care of her voice; as La Carlotta's new understudy, she (along with a few other choir girls) was now taking part in extra classes conducted by Monsieur Gabriel, the choir master. She also said that, though she didn't want to resume the private lessons with the Opera Ghost, she did not harbour any grudge against him. She even declared that they could talk again, but asked that it only be done through formal appointment. Unfortunately, that wasn't something he could risk. Particularly now, when their young patron would surely be glad to see him locked behind bars…
Erik clenched his jaw.
He had no doubt that most of these restrictions had been put in Christine's head by none other than the foppish aristocrat himself. And that only made him wish even more to wipe that annoyingly smug grin from his perfect face.
It seemed, though, that there wouldn't be any chance of that happening in the near future. With all the precautions implemented by Raoul de Chagny, there was also no opportunity for the Phantom of the Opera to talk with Christine in person any other way. Last night, he had been able to leave a reply, but – because of the young viscount controlling her every move – he hadn't been able to write much. All things considered, Erik felt almost as irritated as relieved.
And as if that hadn't been enough, there was also this utterly confusing situation with Meg Giry! It was already their second conversation after the masquerade ball, and he still had no idea what he was supposed to think about this whole ordeal!
The Opera Ghost gritted his teeth and focused his gaze back on the blonde-haired ballerina. The girl sat on the wooden crate, recounting recent events from the opera house, even though he had already been aware of the majority of them. It was impossible to miss that she was a little nervous, but for some incomprehensible reason, it didn't discourage her from treating him in a baffling, almost friendly way. Nor did it stop her from chirping babble.
As if sensing his stare, Meg Giry raised her head to look at him. "In the end," she went on, "it turned out that La Carlotta just forgot that she had lent the book to Ubaldo Piangi, so fortunately the whole fuss ended before it fully started." She smiled slightly, and the strange feeling of being completely out of his depth filled him again.
It was as if, by some mistake of the universe, he had accidentally been given someone else's role, even though he was wildly unsuitable for it. And yet, despite that, the dancer seemed to stubbornly ignore the fact.
"And speaking of books, monsieur," she continued politely, "have you read the first volumes of the novel my maman gave you for Christmas? I'm really curious what your opinion of them is." Her hazel eyes rose to his face in an expression of kind interest.
Erik barely stopped himself from gaping in shock. Why in blazes would she ask him something like that?!
With an effort, the Phantom schooled his features into obedience, keeping them (he hoped) inscrutable. Part of him couldn't help but wonder if perhaps insanity weren't contagious and had started to spread from those that had hired their new managers to the other members of the theatre group (not that he had the right to judge).
At his lack of response, Meg Giry shifted on her seat.
"Victor Hugo is definitely a different writer from Edgar Allan Poe," she added, a hint of hesitation in her voice, "but I think that Les Misérables is an interesting story. I only had the opportunity to read the first volume before, but when Maman bought all the books for your gift, I couldn't stop myself from flipping through them, and I was quite captivated." The half-apologetic grin that had brushed her lips turned into enthusiasm.
"I would say it's a vast picture of society and its history, portraying various characters from different social groups, but also showing many of the world's faults and injustices. But it's also a story about change, redemption, compassion and love, isn't it?" Her gaze brightened. "I was greatly impressed by the whole novel, so I was wondering if you had similar thoughts reading it." She glanced up at him with an amicable smile.
The gesture confused him almost as much as her question and the fact that she knew he had read Poe's works.
Well, probably anyone who had seen him as the Opera Ghost at the New Year's Eve ball could have guessed that he was at least familiar with the short story about the Red Death. Only, why the hell would she pay any attention to that and care what opinions on literature he had?!
Some small, treacherous part of him felt bizarrely touched, but Erik did not allow himself to dwell on such a ridiculous feeling.
During the masquerade, he had foolishly let his guard slip as the day's events and his memories had affected him, but he was not willing to make the same mistake again. Meg Giry was only acting like this because she felt she had to – he reminded himself. An echo of throaty, mocking laughter filled his ears.
And what will you do? Escape? Complain? You are nothing more than a pitiful circus freak! No one will ever give a damn about you or anything you say. You should be grateful that I'm still keeping you here, even though you barely bring enough money, you ungrateful runt!
An invisible, choking band closed around the Opera Ghost's chest. His hands clenched at his sides so tight that it was almost painful.
"Why should any of this matter?" Hoarse notes slipped into his harsher tone, and he cursed himself inwardly.
He could sing the majority of the most famous baritone arias without a single flaw – and, with slight rearrangements, many tenor ones – and yet he was so easily losing control over his own vocal cords while speaking.
Pitiful.
His lungs constricted even more.
"I… I'm not sure I understand." A small, confused crease formed on the ballerina's forehead as he watched her. Somehow it only inflamed his irritation.
Erik gritted his teeth. He was really starting to have enough of this game.
"Well, then, allow me to explain." Taking a step forwards, the Phantom straightened to his full height. His right eyebrow grazed against his mask as his frown deepened. "I may lack some social experience, but I'm not a fool, and I know when something is off." His gloved hand gestured between them with vexation.
"You said that you need to ask me some questions, but all the explanations I gave today could just as well have been provided by your mother. After the masquerade ball, you didn't have to see me again, yet you still asked for another meeting. And I can't help but wonder why?" His gaze bore into the dancer's face, searching for clues, but there was nothing save a flash of uneasiness.
Swearing silently, the Opera Ghost looked away. When he spoke again, his tone was thick and almost an octave lower.
"I've been wondering the real purpose behind all this for some time, but I cannot find a satisfactory answer. Is this some sort of attempt to keep an eye on me? A way of making sure I don't do something stupid?" Sparks of frustration and anger tinged his voice as he turned back to the ballerina.
"If so, Mademoiselle Giry," he ground out, "then I have to kindly warn you that I have had enough of your mother's reprimands and do not wish to be told what to do, nor to be involved in any strange games." His declaration ended with a wrathful growl, and he didn't fail to notice how the colour drained from Meg Giry's cheeks. For some reason, it made him feel worse.
His jaw contracted so hard that something twitched in his deformed side, and Erik scowled even more, averting his gaze.
"I won't draw any conclusions from it," he said more quietly, "but I don't like being played with and I would prefer if we stopped this farce. I'm certainly not a charming conversationalist or adept at small talk, so if you do not wish to tell me your real reasons, I won't keep you here any longer." His lips twisted in a bitter grimace as he glanced back at her.
Meg Giry's features were even paler than before. He was almost sure she would simply take her chance and go, but instead, her wide eyes rose to meet his own.
"I'm so sorry. I just didn't think, and–" Her distraught words broke off almost as abruptly as they had disrupted the silence.
Erik froze in utter stupefaction.
Meg Giry lowered her head, and a shaky breath escaped her.
"The truth is that my maman worries more than she shows, and I'm more confused than ever before, so… well, I just felt I had to do something. But it was never my intention to deceive or use anyone…" An evident guilt filled her voice, and she hunched even more.
It was impossible not to notice the tension etched in her features, and for the first time it came to Erik that perhaps, despite her optimistic outward demeanour, the ballerina was as deeply concerned by all of this.
Meg Giry swallowed hard.
"I've never formed any detailed plan. In the corps de ballet we tend to talk all misunderstandings through, and when I help with the classes for the younger girls, I always try to get to know them and listen to them in order to solve their training-related problems better. So, in the face of new complications… I guess that talking was simply the only natural choice for me…" A tiny, helpless smile passed over her face as she glanced up fleetingly.
Erik couldn't help but stare. Before he could digest the fact that he had just been indirectly compared to a bunch of tutu-and-pink-ribbon-wearing underage girls, the dancer shifted in her seat again.
"I was also honest when I asked for these meetings as a way to understand the circumstances better," she said quietly. "You said, monsieur, that I could probably learn all this from my mother, but I think there is a big difference between getting information from an observer and from the source. Just as there is a clear distinction between gossip and the truth." Meg Giry straightened, and her eyes locked with his own once more.
"And I believe that everyone should be allowed to tell their own story themselves instead of being judged by rumours. Even though sometimes, in haste, I forget about that rule myself…" An apologetic crease formed on her forehead.
Erik felt a strange lump in his throat.
The ballerina looked down again. "I know I have no right to make any demands," she whispered, "but whether we like it or not, we are in this together now, so I really hope we can at least talk from time to time…"
The Phantom's eyebrows arched in complete disbelief.
"You wish to continue this?"
The blonde nodded.
"Yes, I do. Besides, it would be hard to find any solutions without talking. And I really would like to help somehow." Her gaze moved back up to meet his.
For the second time that day, Erik barely stopped himself from gaping. Something inside him shifted in a weird way.
He would be a fool to believe that it was anything more than her worry for her family speaking through her.
The Opera Ghost clenched his jaw and looked away.
"I… think it would be better if we ended this conversation. We are already past the appointed time. And the general meeting with the press and the visitors starts in just a few minutes." A slight hoarseness slipped into his voice again.
A moment later, Meg Giry's shoes thudded softly against the floor.
"I understand." Her voice was noticeably sadder, but when he glanced back at her, the ballerina sent him another small smile.
"I wasn't asked to attend the meeting with the press, so, fortunately, I don't think my absence will be noticed. Being just one of the nameless ballerinas, or – as La Carlotta sometimes says – 'background for the other artists' certainly helps in remaining unnoticeable." The corners of her lips pulled up in an attempt at a joke, but something in her light tone made Erik frown, just like the sound of one slightly flat key in a tuned piano.
The idea that Meg Giry and her always-positive attitude could be affected by such a remark was more than absurd. Among the ballerinas, she was the one offering support and words of encouragement, not the one needing it. And yet…
Unnoticeable…
"Is that really so?" The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
The dancer froze with one palm on the door handle.
"Do I really think they won't notice my absence?" Meg Giry spun around, and her fair eyebrows furrowed as she looked at him, confused. "Well, I'm sure of it. I mean, I could go to the meeting if I wanted, but I wasn't asked, so no one would really expect me to appear."
The Phantom couldn't help but scowl. "I didn't mean the meeting," he rectified. "I was talking about the ballet. Do you really think of it as an unnoticeable background role?" His question sounded harsher than he had intended. The ballerina twitched.
Cursing himself, Erik swallowed hard.
"Our new managers haven't staged any ballets recently, foolishly not allowing the dance team to show their true potential, and that can certainly be disheartening. Just as infuriating is the fact that many subscribers perceive the ballerinas more as pretty objects to watch rather than as artists worth their respect. But I believe that the choreography still is an important part of every performance." His firm gaze locked with the dancer's shocked one.
"The opera is a synthesis of arts, where costume design, scenography and stage engineering combine with storytelling, words join with movement, and all of this unites with music. Every one of these elements is important, just as the theatre is built by many people." Erik spread his gloved hands to emphasise his point.
A part of him realised that he was probably letting too many shards of his real emotions slip through the facade he was trying to keep, but he felt obliged to finish what he had started.
"Ballet isn't my area of expertise, but I've always been it impressed by the way it gives the music a new dimension, changing it into motion. I would never call it a background, but if we want to stick to the term Signora Giudicelli likes, then we can also imagine how incomplete a landscape would be without elements of depth."
His eyebrows furrowed.
"And you, Mademoiselle Giry, are a very good dancer and a promising choreographer. The sequence for a soloist you created for the 'Do not forget me' reprise was excellent. I could only complain about the fact that you weren't allowed to dance it, at least at a few performances." The Phantom scowled, and an irritated growl crept into his voice. "Sure, La Sorelli is much more popular, but the decision only proves again how incompetent the managers are…"
Meg Giry stared at him in utter shock.
"You've paid attention to my choreography?" The confusion visible on her face mixed with something that he couldn't quite name. "But I thought box number five was occupied during the spectacles?"
Erik immediately regretted bringing up the topic.
"It was," he confirmed grimly. "However, I was able to see fragments of the final creation process and the first rehearsals carried out by Pierre Lefevre."
Meg Giry's eyes widened even more. "So that means that you saw me? But… but when I worked on it, we were doing it in the Foyer de la Danse behind the drawn curtain, and only a few people were around." Her surprised gaze focused on him.
Erik suddenly found himself at a loss for words.
"Well, I…" Of its own accord, his hand rose to the nape of his neck. Catching himself, the Phantom lowered his arm, scolding himself for such a reaction.
He was only observing the places opened for all the employees as well as for some of the richest subscribers, so why the hell was he so embarrassed?! What was more, he had every right to be particularly interested in the song.
Officially, the whole opera had been created by Chalomeu, but thanks to Monsieur Lefevre's friendship with the author, the Palais Garnier's "anonymous advisor" had been allowed to contribute more to the score for the first time – even though, at his request, this hadn't been revealed publicly. Both the music notation and the words he had written for "Do not forget me" had been accepted by the main composer with only minor changes.
The Opera Ghost cursed inwardly, wondering why he had even begun to answer all these questions.
"The tunnel hidden behind the Foyer de la Danse," he said.
Meg Giry blinked.
"I assume it's the one Madame Giry used last time?"
A nod.
Erik swallowed hard. "Well… the trick is that there is a small gap between the edge of the great mirror in the foyer and the rest of the wall on which it is mounted. It allows the observer, hidden in the secret corridor, to see what is going on inside the room and also – when the curtain separating them isn't drawn – what's happening onstage. I believe it's important to see things from the coulisses' side when one helps in directing a performance."
Perhaps he finished a little too defensively, but somehow Meg Giry didn't seem scandalised or even offended. For a moment, she just looked at him with another strange expression, then a warm smile brightened her face.
"Thank you for sharing this with me. And even more for the opinion about my choreography and the ballet." Her delicate features somehow became even softer.
Unsure how to react, the Phantom averted his gaze.
A moment later, Meg Giry slowly turned to leave, only to stop mid-step.
"As I said before, I don't exactly agree with the Phantom of the Opera's decisions," she said quietly, "but I think that you are a kind man, even though you sometimes try to pretend otherwise. And, despite what you say, you can be quite a nice person to talk to, especially when you decide to share your thoughts." A shadow of a friendly grin flashed across her face as he glanced at her. Then, Meg Giry bid him goodbye and finally left the room.
Despite his efforts not to think about them, her last words still resounded in Erik's mind long after she had gone.
Author's notes:
1) As an annotation to Erik's comment about the subscribers (and also Meg's musings in chapter 13): The rich subscribers were allowed to go to the hall behind the stage called Foyer de la Danse or to the wings, where they could meet and talk with the dancers, but also offer them their support (according to information from the operadeparis website). A few sources (for example, the victorianparis wordpress blog) claim that perhaps some of these wealthy men went there more to look at the pretty ballerinas than to appreciate the art of ballet, so it might have also had a bit of a controversial side. (Regarding this topic, you can take a look at Jean Béraud's painting The Wings at the Opéra (1889), for example.)
2) "Do not forget me" is basically my poor version of Andrew L. Webber's amazing song "Think of me". It will be mentioned again in one of the final chapters. :)
3) Once again, I want to express my infinite gratitude to all who read this fanfic! Extra thanks to everyone who has favourited my story or commented on it – I've read all the comments I've received many times already, and every time they brighten my day. :) Thank you! ‹3