Ch 61

It was impossible to concentrate on the story being told on the stage. I found my mind wandering and eyes drawn to the crowd where I continued to search for Erik, sweeping through the balcony and the box seats nearest the stage while Don Juan boasted about his reputation as a libertine and his servant Passarino praised his master for reasons that were unclear as I struggled to follow along.

The town peasants sang a rousing song, and amongst them, a fair young maiden caught the eye of the hero, who was at once enamored by her beauty, but was convinced that the captivating Aminta could not love him in return.

At least that seemed to be the jist of it. If there was more substance to the story, I was unaware in my distracted state.

Raoul de Chagny also seemed to be less interested in the storyline and more concerned with the audience and the orchestra. He was alone in his private box, which surprised me as I had expected him in the company of many other wealthy aristocrats wrapped in their finery and dazzling jewels, staring down at the common folk such as myself seated toward the back orchestra.

I found myself watching the young vicomte as his gaze darted around and he leaned forward and to the side, neck strained as if he expected the Phantom to spring out from behind a piece of scenery. He seemed to finally settle once Christine sang a grand aria, her peasant gown exchanged for a white dress embellished with hundreds of jewels that made it appear to sparkle in blinding fashion. Pure and dazzling, the audience seemed to be as captivated by her as the character Don Juan, who watched her longingly from afar.

Looking to my right, I noticed Luc Testan in the opera box next to Raoul's, his mouth twisted in disgust as he jotted down notes. He was a husky fellow, with an ample belly barely restrained by the buttons of his waistcoat. His double chin spilled out from his ill-fitted cravat, making him look as though he were a mass of flesh. I couldn't imagine what his review would say about the performance the following day, but he seemed displeased as always.

The Phantom springing onto the stage certainly would have made the first act more exciting, I thought on more than one occasion as the opera dragged on. Don Juan sang of his desire to seduce the maiden Aminta, who risked glances in his direction as she dusted the wall sconces and set the enormous table in his dining hall while dancing around. Don Juan lamented over his tremendous wealth and how his gold provided no love in return while Aminta bent at the waist and gyrated with her rear practically in his face, which earned plenty of murmurs and gasps from the disapproving women in the audience.

As far as I was concerned, I would rather have the full coffers than the witless maiden batting her eyelashes at her wealthy employer any time she was in proximity. If Don Juan were truly a womanizing louse with substantial wealth, I doubted he needed a lowly servant girl to lust after him when he had every woman in the village vying for his attention and money.

Cynically I rolled my eyes at the storyline. The mysterious ghost composer's ideas of love and longing were no different than an adolescent boy who had never kissed a girl, much less anything else that involved the pleasures of the flesh. The composer was probably an awkward, bumbling virgin who had never spoken to a woman in his life, I decided. Somehow he'd managed to crawl out of a hole in the ground and present his drivel to the masses, I thought to myself, feeling quite bitter with how my own evening had gone.

I pursed my lips to prevent myself from sneering at the actors as Don Juan and Aminta sang a duet around the town square fountain, both of them looking longingly at one another while remaining on opposite sides. There was not a chance in hell that any woman who looked like Aminta would ever fall in love with the portly fifty-something Dom Juan. The only good quality he possessed was his wealth.

My own cruel thoughts irritated me. Bjorn had always been a bitter excuse of a human being, swift to criticize everyone and everything around him from his children to his wife. Despite our resemblance, I refused to be anything like him and had no tolerance for my own acerbity.

Resolved to not spend another second in a foul mood, I took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, and slowly exhaled, imagining all of the rocks I carried in the empty seat beside me. When I glanced over, an elderly woman two seats down was staring at me rather than the stage, a peculiar look on her face that made me uneasy.

The first act came to an end, the audience applauded, and unable to sit still for a moment later, I briskly made my way to the lobby where I came face-to-face with my own reflection staring back at me.

My God I look like Bjorn, I thought the moment I met my own hardened gray eyes beneath a furrowed brow. I looked as he had when I returned to Conforeit searching for Erik after the letters from Alak stopped arriving, boiling with uncontainable anger. No wonder the woman in my row had been staring at me; my expression made me look as though I'd clawed my way out of hell.

Straightening my spine, I cleared my throat and turned from the mirror where I weaved through the growing crowd of people that flooded the lobby, many of them congregating around the two bars on either side. There were also two separate refreshment tables that sold lemonade and tea that looked inviting, particularly the stand selling small sandwiches and a plate of cheese and meats.

My stomach growled and I regretted that I had not been able to eat before the show, especially given that there were two more acts.

"Enjoying the performance so far?"

I turned and saw Carmen alone in the lobby. Her eyes appeared heavy with exhaustion, her cheeks an unnatural shade of red thanks to the amount of blush on her face, making her almost look like a painted doll. I assumed it was an attempt to add color as she'd appeared bloodless when I'd seen her the previous day.

"I've seen better," I answered. "Are you enjoying it?"

She smiled politely. "The female lead is extraordinarily talented. I don't believe I've seen her before."

"This is her debut, I believe."

"What is her name again? Christine?"

"Christine Daae," I answered. "Betrothed to Raoul de Chagny."

Carmen lifted a brow. "My, she has set to marry above her station."

"Perhaps that is true, but her fiance is a perfect gentleman who was generous enough to provide seats for me and a few of my students," I said. "I wouldn't be here tonight without him."

Carmen nodded, her lips pursed, appearing taken aback by my tone. "An observation on my part, not slander."

"I would hope you did not speak cruelly about either of them," I said.

Carmen eyed me in silence. "Phelan, I must admit that I am surprised to see you here alone tonight."

"I regularly attend theater alone and have for a number of years," I pointed out.

"I was under the impression that you and Abigail Soward would be here together."

"What gave you that impression?"

"Abigail," Carmen answered. "She said so today when I saw her to pick up this skirt."

"Unfortunately she wasn't able to make it."

"That is quite unfortunate. Abigail seemed to enjoy your company, although I know she is not the first woman you've entertained."

"How are you feeling today?" I asked, feeling certain that the conversation would not end well if we continued talking about me.

"Tired," she answered honestly. "Tired and with a bit of a headache, but I shall survive two more acts."

"That makes one of us who feels quite confident in making it through to the end."

"Not your cup of tea, I take it?"

"You know my preference is coffee and this has far too much sugar added to it for my liking."

Carmen inhaled. "You prefer the storyline black and bitter?"

My lips parted, but I had no desire to agree with her observation. "I never said that."

"What are you saying, then?"

"It's repetitive," I said.

Carmen shrugged. "It's about love. The longing, the stolen glances, the doubt of two individuals who have no idea they want the same thing. Of course it's repetitive. I wish you had more experience in the subject matter."

I sighed, having forgotten that Carmen had once been the most brutally honest person I knew, one who reminded me that she told me what I didn't want to hear out of adoration. "This could have been a single act rather than three."

Carmen snorted with laughter. "How amusing."

"What is amusing?"

"I had the very same thought after the first dance. Perhaps I should look in the mirror and see that I am equally unfamiliar with love."

"Don't say that."

Carmen shrugged. "I speak the truth."

"It wasn't always the truth, was it?"

Val and Carmen had been the only love story I thought would last forever. Learning that their relationship was in shambles put a damper on my belief that love could exist at all.

Carmen frowned. "No, not always, but love doesn't always last. Mine didn't."

"I continue to hold out hope that Val comes to his senses."

"I don't know if I will still be here when he does."

I exhaled hard. "Carmen, do not say such things."

Carmen regarded me for a long moment. "You have always been one to hold fast to hope. It's an admirable quality, Phelan, one that I have not had in quite some time."

"Hope is all I've had," I replied. "Although there have been plenty of moments where it doesn't feel like there is enough to continue relying on hope." I smiled to myself. "Unless of course it's the hope that this God forsaken opera's next two acts are mercifully swift."

Carmen chuckled at my response. "It's probably for the best that we aren't seated beside one another. You would certainly get us both into trouble making your little comments."

"Me?" I groused. "I was always the innocent one."

"You and innocent have never been in the same sentence together."

"You were the troublemaker always needing to whisper something in my ear."

"Is that so?"

"That's how I remember it."

"I shall take your word for it and accept responsibility for the times I thought for certain we'd be asked to leave." Carmen grinned deviously back at me.

"Those were certainly some good times," I said.

"They were," Carmen agreed. She looked at me again, this time with more concern in her gaze. "You know, Phelan, I saw the ad in the program," she mentioned.

My heart stuttered. I was certain Val disapproved, but would not say a word to me. I wondered if Carmen also felt I wasted my time and resources on a lost cause.

"No sign of him yet?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I have no idea if he would be here," I said. "I suppose if he is not then perhaps someone he knows well is in the audience and will relay the message. Or he will attend another night."

Carmen nodded. "What are you taking Elizabeth to see tomorrow?" she asked.

I stared at her briefly, surprised by her question given all that had transpired when Val paid a visit to my apartment. "I haven't given it much consideration."

"No? You have always had a tendency to overthink everything. I expected you to have a list of at least six shows you were going to suggest."

I gave her a significant look. "I suppose I haven't checked to see what is playing as I'm surprised Val is allowing her to attend a matinee with me."

Carmen inhaled. "Elizabeth has been talking about spending the afternoon with you nonstop. Given that she is sixteen and wants to be seen with you out in public, I don't believe it's necessary to bring it up and give Joshua reasons to tell her she cannot enjoy a play tomorrow."

"Carmen, I will not go behind Val's back."

"I will tell Joshua after you've already gone then," she said. "And if he is angry, then he can be angry at me."

"Carmen–"

"Do you agree that Elizabeth is my daughter just as much as she belongs to Joshua?"

"Of course."

"Then as her mother, I give my permission for you to take my daughter to a play. Does that seem reasonable?"

"Yes, I suppose that's fair enough."

"Then it is settled. She will see you tomorrow at one."

"And if Val answers the door?"

"He will be preoccupied, I assure you. Another Sunday at the office."

I scoffed at her words. "I told him that I disapprove of his activities."

"I know, he told me when he returned home in quite a mood."

"If there is something more I can do–" I started to offer.

"There is nothing else to be done." She glanced past me at the refreshment line and exhaled. "If you will excuse me, Phelan, I am in desperate need of a lemonade before the second act starts. I will speak with you later."

The moment she turned away, I spotted Florine, who smiled politely from a distance and continued toward the ladies room.

I stared at the line for the concession line that sold sandwiches and decided it was best to join the fray and put something into my belly before my growling stomach became more vocal than the actors on the stage.

"Phelan? I thought that was you," Jean said as he approached me with the unfamiliar woman on his arm and a drink in hand. "Maribel, this is my longtime friend Phelan Kimmer. Phelan, Maribel Arceli."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Arceli," I said.

"What an absolute pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Jean has told me so much about you," Maribel said. "You're an artist, correct?"

"A famous artist," Jean corrected. "Remember the show I told you about?"

"A struggling artist," I said.

"Nonsense," Jean replied. "A famous up and coming artist who has sold several paintings in the last few weeks. And this particular artist of renown owes me dinner tomorrow night, isn't that right?"

Our last conversation had not ended on a pleasant note and I was surprised Jean spoke lightly.

"I suppose I did agree to that," I said. "And I am a man of my word."

Jean grinned back and released Maribel to slug me in the arm. "It may be both of us joining you tomorrow. I hope you don't mind a plus one so long as I pay for her meal."

"Of course I do not mind and I will not hear a word of you paying," I said. "My treat, as we established."

Jean sighed. "Phelan, that was meant as a jest," he said. "I will not put such a substantial financial burden on a dear friend of mine."

"Think nothing of it."

"I will not allow you to pay and that is that."

"Jean–"

"If you insist, we split the bill."

At last I conceded and gave a nod of agreement. My evening had been mentally exhausting enough as it was and I had no desire to argue with him over who paid for dinner.

Satisfied, Jean looked around the lobby. "Where is your special lady for this evening?" he asked. "Powdering her nose?"

"I have three students in attendance," I answered.

Jean's eyebrows shot into his receding hairline. "You don't have a date for this evening?" He grunted as though quite amused by my plight, taking Maribel's arm again as he looked me up and down. "How in the world is it possible that I have this extraordinarily lovely young lady as my guest and you are alone?"

"My guest was unable to attend," I answered.

"Oh." Jean's expression sobered. "I'm very sorry to hear that and hope it is nothing serious."

"As do I."

The refreshment line advanced and Jean patted Maribel's arm. "I do believe we are both in need of stronger drinks than lemonade," he said to me. "I look forward to dinner tomorrow evening. If your guest is able to attend, it would be a lovely evening out with four of us. Shall I alter the reservation?"

I had no suitable reply. "I suppose it would be better to subtract a chair at a table than add one."

Jean wore a peculiar smile, one that seemed to hint at satisfaction. "I know you well, my friend. Find someone and bring her along."

Maribel took one last look at me. "You look very familiar," she said. "I'm certain I've seen you somewhere before."

"I teach at the university," I said, hoping to God she had attended classes there and that was why I looked familiar. I was certain it was not for any other more intimate reason.

"That isn't it." Maribel narrowed her eyes. "Do you by chance have a brother?"

"I–I do," I stammered.

"Phelan hasn't seen his brother in thirty years," Jean said. "Unless somehow you have spotted his long lost brother? What an extraordinary turn of events that would be, eh, Phelan?"

Maribel gave us both a quizzical look.

"My brother disappeared when he was three and a half," I explained.

"Oh, how awful. I am so very sorry to hear that."

"You almost made my dear friend's night, Maribel. I suppose it's for the best. He may have tried to run away with you."

Maribel frowned at Jean's attempt at humor. "Perhaps you simply have one of those faces. Regardless, it's been a pleasure meeting you."

They departed from the line and I ordered myself a sandwich, which I consumed like a ravenous wolf as the lights in the lobby flashed. I fully expected that I would spot Erik in that exact moment, my mouth filled with bread and sliced turkey as I furiously chewed all the way to my seat.

The older lady in my row eyed me again as I sat. I forced a smile in her direction and sat back, my mouth terribly dry from the lack of a beverage.

The next act began and out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone standing behind Raoul in his opera box, the mysterious individual's features obscured by the lack of light. My breath hitched, lips parted as I considered shouting out a warning, but Raoul turned his head before I had the opportunity. Once the vicomte noticed the person behind him, and I saw the figure move to take his seat.

The Daroga's keen gaze flitted from the stage to me and he stared quite blatantly for several moments before he turned his attention to the opera boxes on the other side of the theater and then the chandelier, which he seemed to examine much longer than necessary.

I watched him as well, losing track of what happened on the stage until the audience applauded and Christine once again took the spotlight.

Raoul was immediately captivated by his fiance standing front and center before the audience. The slightest of smiles tipped his lips upward, his blue eyes softened. He looked like a young boy smitten by his first love–and by everything I knew of their romance, Christine had been his sweetheart when they were young children.

His adoration for her was quite evident, and I found myself admiring the way he proudly watched her perform. Twice she managed to glance in his direction, her dark eyes dazzling when their eyes briefly locked, and I was certain she sang to Raoul and Raoul alone.

That was the type of affection I had never before experienced, the kind of connection I desired. My heart ached with the need for companionship as I'd never before experienced.

I glanced down at the sleeve of my overcoat, of the part of Abigail that was with me for the night and frowned. Her unexplained absence didn't anger me, but left me both hurt and worried for her well-being.

If I did not hear from her by Saturday afternoon, I would walk by her shop Sunday and ring the bell, hoping that she would answer despite her business being closed for the weekend.

While the dancers took to the stage for the second act ballet, I ran through every possible scenario as if rehearsing for her words.

Phelan, I have given it a lot of thought, and I cannot see you any longer, either on a personal or professional level. We are two different people and I cannot be there for you as I had hoped.

That was the absolute worst possible outcome, but I would accept her decision and continue with my life as I'd always done, working at the university, caring for Elvira, and creating my own art.

I once again found my gaze drawn to Raoul, who was still captivated by Christine even though she was off to the side during the ballet.

Perhaps at my age, the opportunity for that type of relationship was behind me. I imagined Hugo scoffing at my words, reminding me that I was in my mid-thirties, not my nineties with one feeble leg in the grave, and there were still decent women who would enter into courtship and the possibility of marriage.

"Marriage!" Don Juan sang with his servant Passarino faithful at his side. "A man of my age so smitten with a girl. Could it work?"

"Of course it could work, my most kind and gentle master. What woman would not desire to offer their hand in marriage?"

Don Juan hung his head. "Aminta, she is the only woman for me. My heart yearns for her each time she enters the room. But do you know what I see, Passarino? She longs for someone like you."

"No, Master," Passarino sang.

"Yes, my loyal servant. She wants youth, which you possess. Oh, but if you could give yours to me! I see your young years have been wasted."

"She needs a man who has experienced life," Passarino sang.

"She desires someone handsome," Don Juan said with a shake of his fist.

"Looks will fade, Don Juan. You will be everything she has ever needed. She will see it! She will see it! This I swear to you. Now is your chance!"

Raoul stood, drawing my attention and the looks of several others in the audience. The actors playing Don Juan and Passarino briefly paused, as did the orchestra.

Silence penetrated the theater and my breath hitched as I waited for The Phantom to pop out from the trap door and proclaim Christine belonged to him.

Clearing his throat, the maestro tapped his baton on the stand holding the music and the orchestra resumed.

"Looks will fade, Don Juan, and you will be everything she has ever needed," Passarino swiftly sang his line for a second time, bypassing part of the lyrics. "Now is your chance!"

Don Juan hesitated.

"Seize it!" Passarino improvised.

The man playing Don Juan looked to the maestro, who whispered something in return that prompted the actor to sing his line at last.
"Come, my friend, we must devise a plan to make Aminta mine! There is no turning back, my dear Passarino. I know what I want and I shall have my treasure in the end. No one dare stand in my way, destiny is mine! I–"

Without warning, all of the lights on the stage went out at once, plunging the theater into absolute, impenetrable darkness. Women everywhere screamed and I gripped the arms of my chair, eyes wide despite being unable to see anything at all.

"Remain seated!" a disembodied voice shouted. "A slight mishap, nothing serious! Please, I beg of you all, remain calm."

The doors in the rear of the theater opened, providing light from the lobby as the house lights slowly turned on and the chandelier overhead was illuminated.

"That concludes our second act," the same disembodied voice proclaimed. "Complimentary refreshments are available in the lobby during a twenty…no, thirty minute intermission."

oOo

No one was more delighted by complimentary refreshments than my ravenous students, who never turned down anything that was free of charge. Jovina and Mateo had already gulped down their lemonade while Ink politely sipped his tea.

"They didn't have coffee, but I was able to get you a lemonade. I figured that was preferred over tea," Ink said as I approached the three of them.

"Yes, I am not one for tea and I'm surprised you remember such an inconsequential detail," I said.

"Everyone remembers," Jovina said. "You gave a twenty minute speech at the start of this semester about how disgusting tea is to drink."

"Ah, yes, my annual tirade over tea," I replied. "I'm glad at least two of you listened."

"This has certainly been exciting, hasn't it?" Ink said as he added more sugar to his tea.

"Perhaps a bit too exciting, given how the second act came to a close," I replied.

The three of them nodded in uneasy silence.

"Professor Kimmer, what do you think happened with the lights?" Mateo asked, keeping his voice low.

They all crowded around where I stood and stared quite expectantly at me for an answer I was not confident in giving.

"A mishap," I said. "These things do happen, especially in live theater."

"Involving the ghost?" Jovina asked.

"Shh! Jovina! We aren't supposed to mention the ghost!" Mateo warned.

"Well, I want to know what Professor Flan says," Jovina replied. "If anyone knows, it's our professor."

Just then, Marco walked past us, his pace slowing as he overheard Jovina's question. He looked directly at me as if waiting for me to confirm or deny my student's suspicions.

"There is nothing supernatural at play," I assured them.

"Truly?" Jovina asked, sounding disappointed.

"There is no ghost," I said.

"But while we were painting the backdrops, something certainly happened," Ink pointed out. "And then when we were at the special performance–"

"Those were the actions of someone made of flesh and bone," I assured him.

Marco continued to stare at me. I thought he would step toward us and question my stance on the matter, perhaps claiming that he had seen the ghost with his own two eyes.

I considered inviting Marco over since he had clearly overheard the discussion, but instead looked away from him and took a sip of lemonade.

He lingered for several more moments until he walked toward the refreshments and grabbed a cup of hot tea and lemonade, which he delivered to Florine, who watched us from the opposite side of the lobby while speaking to two other women. I swore she reprimanded me with a single glance, appearing disappointed, but not terribly surprised when I didn't acknowledge Marco.

The following morning at Hugo's home would probably be more difficult to connect with Marco–if he showed up at all given that I provided no reason for him to welcome me into their painting sessions.

I sighed to myself and cleared my throat, feeling quite certain that the night could not possibly be any worse.

"What are you doing after the opera?" Mateo asked me.

"Going straight to bed," I answered.

"To bed?" All three of them said quite loudly and in unison, drawing several stares from the people around us.

"Yes, to bed. The show is three hours with an additional hour of intermissions. I probably won't be home until one in the morning and I'll be wide awake at four."

"You are awake at four?" Ink questioned. "On purpose?"

"Yes, on purpose."

"I think I'm usually asleep by four," Jovina said.

"My gran wakes up at four in the morning," Mateo added. "She goes to bed around six, I think, but she's twice your age."

Jovina looked horrified. "Are you asleep by six, Flan?"

"I prefer retiring at a reasonable hour," I answered.

"Six is not reasonable," Mateo argued.

"I am not in bed by six," I groused.

"He's being quite cranky because it's well past his bedtime," Ink quipped.

"You are all dangerously close to failing this semester with these remarks," I said.

The three of them pretended to be quite taken aback by my threat and murmured their apologies.

"We were going to ask if you'd like to come back to the dormitories for a bite to eat after the show," Mateo said. "Nothing much, just a small gathering."

"I'm afraid I will be heading in the opposite direction," I said.

Ink and Jovina longingly eyed the refreshment stand and the small plates of sandwiches, and I assumed my young artists were literally starving. One half-sandwich had done nothing to sate my hunger and I nodded to the three of them.

"Turkey or cucumber," I said.

Their eyes lit up as if illuminated by fireflies at the mention of food, but was swiftly extinguished once they explained they weren't able to pay for the small meal.

"A treat to my favorite students," I said.

Jovina gasped. "We're your favorites?"

"You didn't let me finish. I was about to say a treat to my favorite students in this building. Unless I missed someone, in which case I need to further evaluate my statement as I'm certain there might be someone I like more than you three."

They were not amused by my words, but ravenously accepted sandwiches, which they proceeded to stuff into their mouths just as I had done before the start of the second act.

"Professor Kimmer," Ink said while Jovina and Mateo returned to the line for more lemonade. "Is that your ad in the program this evening?"

"It is," I answered.

"I had no idea you were searching for your brother. No luck this far, I gather?"

"I didn't think he would answer immediately," I lied, feeling quite disappointed that Erik had not magically appeared in the lobby. "Perhaps by the end of the week when more people have attended the performance I'll be able to locate him."

"I hope you find him by the end of the show, sitting a row behind you. Or perhaps he's employed by the theater and will make an announcement at the end of the performance. Wouldn't that be something?"

"It certainly would," I agreed, smiling to myself at the thought of Erik appearing on the stage, stating that he was looking for me. "Unfortunately I do not believe he is in attendance this evening."

"Regardless, I sincerely hope you find him," Ink replied.

"I do as well."

He offered a smile. The lights flashed, signalling it was time to return to our seats.

"If we do not see you after the show, have a good evening and thank you for the sandwiches," Ink said before he scurried up the stairs toward the balcony.

oOo

"The plan is set," Don Juan sang, stamping his foot at the start of the third act.

"The trap is laid," Passarino agreed.

"The maiden shall be ensnared," Don Juan bellowed.

"An innocent lamb before my master," Passarino said. "She will practically fall into your arms, unable to resist your charms."

"Believing I am you," Don Juan said with a chuckle.

The two men laughed heartily and I furrowed my brow, feeling a bit sorry for the naive Aminta being tricked by a fellow servant and the master into his arms and apparently his bed by the sound of it.

Passarino departed from the stage, saying he would return with wine that would solidify the plan while Don Juan remained on the stage and sat heavily on the banquet hall bench.

He lamented his woes of a loveless life, of the suffering he had endured and the loneliness of his life. Aminta was his one and only chance of true love, of a future with happiness.

"One single moment," he sang. "She may not love me for the man I am, but once she is in my arms, she will know that we are meant to be one."

It seemed like a terrible plan, to trick this woman he said he loved into believing he was someone that he was not. Then again, I'd been perfectly honest with Abigail and she had decided to lock the doors and turn off the lights.

No, I told myself. I am jumping to unfair conclusions.

Passarino returned to the stage with an armful of wines and spirits and lined the bottles up on the table.

"She will be here any moment," Passarino said. "I saw her in the hall."

"Then my dear friend, it is time! Let us exchange cloaks."

Don Juan was a man of much larger stature than Passarino, and I had no idea how Aminta could possibly believe the master was the servant. I sat back and examined the architecture around the stage while Passarino first stepped behind a curtain, followed by him laughing in the distance.

Don Juan then rubbed his hands together, tossed his cloak aside, and proceeded to step behind the curtain. Suspenseful music played as the curtain rustled, making it appear that Don Juan wrestled his way into his servant's cloak.

The wardrobe exchange seemed to take longer than it should have, but at last Don Juan appeared. I furrowed my brow and glanced at the people around me, wondering if they saw the twist in the storyline. The fellow on the stage with his hood pulled over his eyes was quite clearly not the same individual who played Don Juan. He was taller and more slender than the older Italian gentleman.

Passarino, I thought to myself, surprised and delighted that the servant had not switched places with the master. Aminta would discover she was alone with the younger servant rather than the old master. Finally! An interesting development in an otherwise dull performance.

Aminta appeared on the stage and filled her goblet with wine, appearing to use the entire bottle, which she consumed in three gulps while the hooded figure sang of their undeniable lust. He grabbed Aminta's wrist and sensually ran his fingers up her arm and around her waist, sending a murmur of astonishment through the audience at the quite lurid lyrics and gestures.

Lips pursed, I turned to see if Carmen was looking at me rather than the stage and found her seat and Val's empty. I was severely disappointed that they had departed early as I could not begin to imagine the faces Carmen would have been making over buds in bloom, blood rushing through veins, the burst of spring into a full-fledged summer, and dormant seeds bursting with life.

I was quite certain no such lyrics had ever been sung in a proper Parisian opera house. Surely Luc Testan was light-headed, barely able to process Aminta locked in the arms of the masked servant, his hands roving over every inch of her body.

My God, Raoul must be beside himself, I thought. Sure enough, he had the most bewildered look on his face. I wondered if he had sat through the rehearsal of the duet and if perhaps his fiance and the other man on the stage had taken greater liberties in their roles. At any moment, I was certain that the tension between them would boil over and, caught up in the moment, Christine would wrap her legs around the other actor's waist and send the entire theater into a frenzy.

"Shame on them," the elderly lady beside me loudly whispered. "I want a refund on this nonsense."

I fought the urge to snort with laughter at her observation, certain that half the audience would be demanding compensation for the distasteful sexual display while the other half would return straight home, increasing the population of the city in nine months when couples could not get enough of one another in the most Biblical sense.

The composer was certainly well on his way to being the talk of the town with the third act. The first two were simply foreplay leading up to quite the climax.

My thoughts were that of a boy of fourteen newly visited by puberty, which I found terribly amusing while the audience around me fanned themselves with their programs and squirmed in their seats.

I would have given up my salary for the next decade to have Erik beside me as I desperately wanted to see his reaction to such a risque performance. I wondered if he would have smirked while glancing at me from the corner of his eye or if he would have covered his lap with his program and crossed his arms, attempting to mask his discomfort.

Point of no return indeed, I thought to myself as Aminta pulled her hands away from Passarino. The two actors stood before one another in the middle of the stage, both of their bodies visibly heaving in a fashion that no longer seemed like acting. Mademoiselle Daae appeared transfixed by her co-star, her dark eyes wild, her lips trembling.

The masked figure lifted his hand and gently stroked her cheek. Christine closed her eyes, her body swaying in a way that made me think her knees were about to buckle as she became swept up in their passionate exchange.

The crowd and orchestra went silent, all eyes on their performance that felt as though it had overflowed the boundaries of the stage and spilled into their real lives. It felt quite forbidden, a voyeuristic display we as the audience were not meant to witness, which made it all the more difficult to look away.

"Christine," the actor playing Passarino whispered. "I love you."

Whatever spell Christine had found herself under snapped like a broken chain. She snatched the end of the deep hood and drew it back, revealing Passarino's identity.

The audience gasped in unison, and Christine pulled away, but not before the masked man before her grabbed her wrists and drew her toward him.

"Now!" Raoul shouted from the balcony.

A gendarme ran onto the stage, pointed a pistol at the masked individual, and shot at him, missing his mark and hitting one of the candelabras.

People all around the theater jumped to their feet, women shrieking and men dragging their wives toward the exit. I stood, gaze darting around as the masked figure grabbed hold of Christine and put her between himself and the gendarme.

"Don't shoot!" Raoul ordered.

Christine twisted around, swatting at her captor. The two of them exchanged words briefly, struggling until Christine lost her balance and landed on the wooden bench, toppling several goblets that rolled fake fruit onto the stage.

"You are hurting me!" Christine shrieked in a blood-curdling yelp. "Release me at once!"

The masked man took a step back and gestured at Christine, pleading with her to listen to him. She nodded, beckoning him closer, and as he bent at the waist, she reached up, pulling off his hairpiece along with the mask, which she flung across the stage and out of his reach. The unmasked man stared back at her in complete horror, as if he could not process her betrayal.

"Christine," I heard him plead as chaos erupted around me. Despite being bumped in all directions, I remained stock still, my gaze pinned on the stage. The audience fell into a panic, driven in all directions like cattle attempting to escape a slaughterhouse.

"Out of the way!" someone yelled, pushing me so hard I nearly lost my balance.

I shoved the man back and anchored myself to my seat, desperately wanting to move toward the stage while others fled.

"My God," I said aloud, my words falling on deaf ears as I gaped at the unmasked man and stepped over the row of seats in front of me. "Erik."