Chapter 81

The crowd mistook me for Joshua as I returned to my seat, and the roar of applause took me by complete surprise. I briefly stared out into the darkened tavern as their cheers turned to disappointment and I was forced to walk to the center of the room, past dozens of people who heckled me all the way to the table. The jeers were in no way serious, but regardless I was mortified being put on the spot.

Head down, I weaved through the crowd as fast as I could manage and toward my seat, finding Hugo was no longer alone.

"Phelan," Hugo said cheerfully.

I gazed at the four women packed around our table, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.

"You've made friends, I see," I replied.

Lucille was in my seat, staring at the very large and very erect appendage etched into the wood. She startled when I spoke and looked up at me, blushing profusely, which earned her a tight smile from me.

"I hope you don't mind that they joined us," Hugo said. "It was easier to have them sit here than shouting a table over."

"Of course not," I said, attempting to sound as pleasant and sincere as possible. "The more the merrier, as they say."

Whoever had said that clearly had not been forced into socializing with someone who thought so poorly of them as Lucille clearly thought of me.

I surveyed the table, finding there was no room for another chair, and decided to sit behind Hugo at the table that had been vacated by the group of ladies, which hadn't been claimed as there were no chairs around it, aside from one that was piled with coats, which were swiftly claimed so that I could use it.

Inhaling, I took my seat on the little private island of a table in an otherwise packed room, somewhat glad that I was able to sit uninterrupted and collect my thoughts.

Hugo leaned back once I was seated. "You're certain you don't mind?" he whispered.

"It's a little too late for that, isn't it?"

"I will move to the empty table," he offered.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and shook my head. "Don't you dare give up an entire table of young and beautiful women to sit with me."

Hugo grinned. "You truly are the best husband in the world."

"Trust me, my dear, you will make this up to me," I replied.

Joshua appeared on the stage a moment later and waved to the crowd, who hollered and whistled as he sat at the piano and announced that he'd selected a song to play for them. He asked for permission in case anyone had changed their mind, and his words were met with several people telling him to go on with it and stop making them wait.

"Fine, fine," he said. "If you like it, I take full credit. If you hate it, I blame the person who asked me to play it for you."

I wasn't familiar with anything Joshua had composed himself–at least not to the point where I was able to associate the music with him, but as he started to play, it struck me that it was something I should have expected from him. The melody was upbeat, the words slightly raunchy in a humorous way, and the crowd was wildly entertained by his playing and showmanship.

He made up for his shortcomings when it came to his voice by adding an easy chorus with amusing lyrics that engaged the audience and swiftly had them singing along.

"The men only!" he shouted, and all of the men–myself included–bellowed the words.

"Barbarians," Joshua said with a shake of his head. "Ladies, it's your turn. Show these fools how it is done."

The higher, sweeter voices of the ladies put the men to shame.

"Now everyone together!"

Joshua could have stammered over a line or said the words out of order and the crowd would not have thought any less of him. He was made to perform and I was certain my cousin was aware of his triumph. He was exceptionally entertaining, and the tip jar was once again filled.

I was entertained right along with the crowd, so engrossed in the performance that I didn't notice someone had moved to sit beside me until I lifted my hands to applaud and elbowed Lucille in the arm with more force than either of us expected.

"My God, have I harmed you?" I asked, reaching out as she swayed to the side from the impact. If I knocked her onto the sticky, beer-slick floor, I'd never hear the end of it.

"Startled, but not injured. I'm not that delicate," she said, rubbing her arm.

"My apologies. Yet again."

To my surprise, she didn't scowl or look at me disapprovingly.

"This apology I shall accept," she replied. "Given that I moved and you didn't expect company."

"No, I did not."

"That table was suffocating. I don't know why everyone agreed to move."

"My guess would be the abundance of cheese sauce," I replied dryly.

"Is that your assumption?" she asked, issuing a pointed look in my direction.

"I dare not assume." I cleared my throat. "If you want the table to yourself…"

She eyed me sharply. "Don't you even consider turning me into a recluse forced to sit alone."

"You prefer my company to sitting alone?" I asked, raising a brow.

"Barely," she said, maintaining eye contact for a long moment. At last she displayed the faintest of smiles and I did the same.

"I will do my best to stay barely preferred over solitude."

We sat in silence through the next song while all three of her female companions glanced back and made eyes in her direction, which I was certain was their silent attempt at asking if she needed rescuing from the likes of me. Lucille gave the barest shake of her head before she finally gave a more exaggerated gesture with her hand, shooing them away.

"Do you want me to trade places with one of them?" I asked while Joshua requested a glass of water and the music came to a brief pause.

"Is that what you want?" Lucille countered.

"It doesn't matter to me. I merely assumed–" I winced at my own phrasing, which made Lucille chuckle. I huffed and started over. "I deducted with my astute observational skills that you might prefer sitting with friends over someone you barely tolerate."

"And I do believe you are most accustomed to doing whatever brings you the greatest satisfaction, heedless of others in your path," Lucille said, staring straight ahead.

My words were spoken lightly, hers slightly more vapid in nature. Feeling that we were at an impasse, I started to stand when she put her hand out and unexpectedly touched my thigh.

Immediately we both stared at each other; me in shock and her with enough mortification to turn her face molten red.

"That was an accident," she blurted out.

I crossed my arms, attempting to lighten the mood. "That was retribution for me striking you in the arm and you know it."

Again she gave the faintest of smiles, which made me feel as if I had succeeded in salvaging the moment.

"I am confident I shall survive a minor mishap. As you claimed you are not that fragile, I assure you I am not either," I replied.

Lucille looked me over with one sweeping glance, then turned her attention to the stage. "I've been rude to you."

I followed her gaze toward the stage where Joshua was speaking to the woman accompanying him. I shrugged at Lucille's comment. "By now I should be accustomed to it."

"Do you mean in general or me specifically being rude?"

I thought for a moment and sucked on the inside of my cheek. "Mostly you."

She turned her head and looked at me, but I didn't bother to meet her gaze, assuming she was insulted by my honest reply and mere seconds away from rising to her feet, at which time her friends would do the same and they would all storm off together, leaving me to join Hugo again at our private table that had suddenly been invaded.

"You think I'm rude?" she asked.

"To me? Yes. However, I'm sure you're absolutely lovely to other people."

Lucille thought for a moment. The longer she sat in silence, the more certain I felt there would be no resolve between us. I wasn't sure why I cared in the first place or desired to put forth effort to reconcile. She had meant absolutely nothing to me three years earlier. That was not about to change.

"You think I am in the wrong?"

I didn't speak immediately. "I didn't say that."

She continued to look expectantly at me and I sat back, my eyes trained on the stage as Joshua began playing again.

Without looking in Lucille's direction, I leaned toward her. "I think you are angry and no matter how many times I apologize, you have no desire to forgive me, which is your right and I will not argue with you over how you feel toward me."

Finally I turned to meet Lucille's narrowed, scrutinizing gaze.

"But…if you would care to speak somewhere that you aren't underwater for sixty seconds at a time, or there isn't music that makes full conversations difficult, I will meet with you to discuss grievances."

Lucille skeptically looked down her nose at me. "At your home?"

"That isn't my first choice, no. Nor would I suggest your home."

She searched my face. "You want to have a discussion about my grievances?"

I offered a tight smile in return. "Mademoiselle La Behr, what makes you think you're the only one who feels insulted by this…?"

There was no way in hell I was going to use a word like 'relationship' in my phrasing. Lucille wasn't quite a thorn in my side; more of a pebble in my shoe, which reminded me of Bernard and the meditation that we had done together.

I glanced back at the stage and thought of how I had described my own cousin, hardened like granite, perfection down to a science and unyielding. It was an unfair assessment on my part, much like Lucille had deducted I was unforgivable.

"This what?" she questioned impatiently.

"Unfortunate series of our paths crossing."

"You find running into me unfortunate?" she asked.

"No, I would assume that you–"

"There you are, putting words in my mouth again."

"What do you want me to put in your mouth?" I muttered.

Lucille cocked a brow, her lips parting in disbelief.
I snorted at her reaction. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?"

I ran my hand over my hair. "In the inappropriate way you assume."

"Ah, yes, back to my assumptions."

I scoffed at her. "Do not pretend to be coy. You know precisely that you took my words the wrong way."

"Do not pretend you didn't say something to be filthy. Shame on you for speaking that way in front of a lady."

I cocked my head to the side and furrowed my brow. "Quite clearly you were thinking the same thing. Perhaps you owe me an apology as well."

She gasped, but there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Indeed. And now we have completed our little dance by you once again assuming what is on my mind."

"What is on your mind then, if I am not good at guessing?" I asked.

I wasn't sure if annoyed or frustrated was the better term for how she made me feel. Nor was I sure why I insisted on continuing such an unsatisfying conversation.

"Nothing that would interest you."

"Lucille, are you attempting to put thoughts into my head?" I dryly questioned.

Unexpectedly she smiled back at me, staring at my temple. "I feel quite certain there is plenty of room in there for something."

I raised a brow. "Is that so?"

"Is there not?"

"Of course there is. By all means, give me something to consider."

Lucille inhaled. "What would you have done if I had started to drown Monday morning?" she asked.

"In the pool?"

She gave me a sideways look. "Where else would I have drowned?"

I chuckled to myself. "I suppose that was not a necessary question." I pretended to think for a long moment, eyes narrowed and hands clasped. "If you would have started flailing about, sputtering for air, I would have been quite perplexed."

"Perplexed? Why perplexed and not concerned? Why not concerned and immediately compelled to jump into action?"

"How tall are you? Five feet even?"

"Five feet and three inches," she declared proudly.

I doubted she was that tall with heeled boots on, but didn't argue her point. "The water isn't nearly deep enough for one to drown. It would have taken a lot of effort on your part to succeed." I shifted my weight. "And before you go on assuming, Lucille, no I would not want to see you drown."

"No?"

"Of course not. I was already dry and didn't want to leap back into the pool. I would have told you to extend your legs and find the bottom of the pool."

She feigned a gasp of horror. "I would absolutely consider stuffing a rag in your mouth, as you seem to say quite a lot of things thoughtlessly, but I will admit you are slightly entertaining. Do not think I am attempting to compliment you, as I am not."

"I am thinking absolutely nothing of the sort."

"That doesn't surprise me one bit," she said. "That you were thinking nothing, that is."

I grunted and turned my attention back to the stage, stifling a yawn that crept up on me. It was quite unfortunate as I was starting to find the conversation somewhat tolerable.

"Have I bored you?"

"On the contrary," I answered.

"No?"

I shook my head. "I am awake quite early in the morning," I replied.

"It's not even nine."

"Yes, and I am usually awake by four. This is a late night for me."

"Four? You wake at four in the morning?"

Most individuals had the same reaction. I was aware that it was not the norm for most people.

"With the birds," I said.

"How tragic," Lucille said. "For the poor birds."

Her words made me smile inwardly. I regretted not remembering more about her, particularly if she'd spoken to me the same way three years earlier. She was equally entertaining as well as exhausting.

"I'm in my studio usually by eight, sometimes earlier," I said, feeling the start of another yawn deep within me.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Given that you are aware of where the building is located," I said, giving her a pointed look to indicate I'd seen her the previous morning, "you are more than welcome to stop by if you would like to have a conversation."

"I will consider it," Lucille replied.

"I sincerely hope that you do. Enjoy the rest of your night," I said. "It was a sincere pleasure seeing you, Lucille."

I waited for her to say the same to me, but she merely looked at me and turned to her friends. They nodded at one another and stood at the same time, then made a swift exit.

"Are you ready to leave?" I asked Hugo.

"Whenever you are, my dear."

oOo

I arrived at the university at seven in the morning on Thursday, two full hours before class started, and waited for Lucille while cleaning the windows and organizing the shelves. I removed the couch cushions and brushed them off, then fluffed them back into shape so that she would have somewhere comfortable to sit if she didn't want one of the stools.

By eight-forty-five there was still no sign of her, and my efforts felt wasted.

I should have expected as much, but still found myself disappointed. The last thing I should have wanted was to see her again, the annoying pebble in my shoe.

And yet I felt the pang of something unresolved.

"She can't ruin my week," I reminded myself.

Somehow, her absence didn't improve it, either.

OoO

There were two letters in my post box when I returned from class Thursday, both from Wissant. I grinned like a mad fool all the way up the stairs to my apartment, feeling like a child on Christmas morning, giddy with delight.

Or at least that was what I had assumed one felt like on birthdays and holidays where gifts were given or exchanged.

"There is no greater gift than Bernard Montlaur," I said to myself, which made me chuckle as it felt quite true.

Once I was inside, I dropped my satchel at the door, unhooked Elvira from her stand, and sat, tearing through both envelopes with my brass letter opener, unable to contain my excitement to hear from both Celeste and Bernard.

It felt like an eternity since I'd seen the two of them when it had only been a week. Celeste had a full front and back letter detailing everything I expected from a girl her age: the room in Bern's house was quite lovely and she could see the ocean from her bed. The biscuits from Tilly's were better than Bern had led on, quite possibly the greatest biscuits that had ever existed. There was a cat living on the property and she was wondering if she should ask Bern if they could bring it inside. She wanted my advice on the matter.

After all of the exciting news from Wissat she wanted to know how everyone in class was doing and closed her letter saying that she looked forward to hearing from me and hoped I was well.

I set her letter aside and opened the envelope from Bernard, whose correspondence was more brief than Celeste, but still filled my heart with unexpected joy to hear from him.

Bernard indicated that the train ride went well and Celeste settled into his home without a hitch. They intended to travel to Brussels at the start of June and I was invited to pay a visit if time allowed before I headed to Italy.

He was considering retirement more seriously, the frame he had commissioned would be done most likely in ten days, and he would have the framers contact me for approval. He mentioned there was a chance they'd be heading back to Paris, but would send word when that might be happening as he had a few orders of business to take care of first.

Immediately I grabbed paper and a pen and wrote both of them back, dropping the letters into the post on the corner of the street on my way to the salon, hoping that they would send word as soon as my letters were received. It would most likely be at least a week before I heard from either of them, but it was worth it.

My good week continued. I had only to get through Friday and I would be quite satisfied, and then perhaps I would focus on having a good weekend, then another good week, until I was at the end of April and finding it was possible to experience more joy than numbness or despair.

I want to be happy. I want to be able to return at the end of the day, sit in my chair, and feel a sense of peace and accomplishment.

That was my goal: to sit alone and not feel as if the world was placed on my shoulders. I wanted to be able to sit and be relaxed, not anxious.

"Phelan."

I closed the post box bin door and turned, finding Jean behind me.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

Jean gingerly touched his bruised cheek. "This? I thought it was from you."

"Me?" I questioned. "You know very well I would never strike you."

Jean frowned. "I'm not sure who struck me in the face then, but I assume I deserved it given how terribly drunk I was the other night."

In all of the years I'd known Jean, I'd never known him to drink past what was considered socially acceptable. He'd never been one to stumble, slur his words, or pass out–and for the most part, if I was in attendance to one of his gatherings, he was considerate enough to limit his own intake of drinks and made certain to have coffee on hand as he knew it was what I preferred.

"I came to your apartment, didn't I?" he asked. "Late Saturday night?"

I nodded.

"And I was inconsiderate, to say the least, wasn't I?"

"You weren't yourself," I answered, hoping my answer would suffice.

"Not myself?" Jean frowned at me. "What did I say?"

Jean had spoken to me in a way that I never would have anticipated after all of our years of friendship. He had insulted me thoroughly and called my artwork rubbish. If he had not come to my apartment stinking drunk, I would have taken his words to heart, but in truth I hadn't thought much about what had transpired after he had left.

"Nothing that needs to be repeated."

"Phelan–"

"Jean, it doesn't need to be brought up again. It will only make things worse. I am willing to let it go if you are as well."

He regarded me for a moment, his eyes glassy with remorse. "You must think I'm a drunken fool."

I smirked at his words. "Fool for certain."

"Which way are you heading?" he asked.

I nodded down the street.

"Do you mind if I walk with you?"

I shook my head. "Of course not. I would be glad for your company."

Jean nodded, but appeared uneasy. I eyed him, but didn't remark on how uncomfortable he appeared, which was odd as I'd grown accustomed to there being no secrets or hard feelings between us, even after the occasional incidents where we disagreed.

"Maribel broke off communication with me," Jean said suddenly.

As far as I knew, they'd not known each other long. Perhaps a week at most, if I had to guess.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I replied.

"She said I lacked stability," Jean continued. "She said I was far too volatile for her to trust."

"Did something happen between the two of you?"

"No, I don't believe so. I suppose I was a bit hot-headed Saturday night."

I wasn't sure why Jean told me or what he wanted to hear in return. There was a chance he merely wished to clear his head, in which case I would listen.

"Perhaps in time she will reconsider," I said.

Jean frowned. "I highly doubt that. She was waiting downstairs in your building when I came here Saturday night," he said.

My pace slowed as I turned and looked at him. "You brought her with you?"

Jean shook his head. "Yes and no. We were at Yolanda's and I insisted quite rudely that she come with me to your apartment. She didn't want to. I don't remember what I said or did that not, but apparently I told her she didn't have a choice."

"I see."

Jean sighed in frustration. "She overheard everything, every word I said to you, words that I have no recollection of ever speaking and probably never will."

"And therefore you want me to tell you what was said?" I asked.

He sullenly nodded. "If you would do me the honor of thoroughly disgracing me, my friend."

I hesitated, unsure of what I wanted to say to him. "Well, for one, you quite adamantly accused me of sleeping with Maribel, then you called her a hedge whore, and lastly you told me my art was rubbish that you never intended to purchase again. That's the gist of it, at least."

Saying it out loud renewed every insult. I regretted speaking at all.

Jean stared at me in disbelief. "My God," he said under his breath. "Are you certain you didn't strike me in the face? I wouldn't blame you if you did."

"I did not nor would I ever," I assured him.

"You should have," he answered. "If you want to strike me now…"

"No," I said. "Never. There is nothing you could say or do that will ever make it come to that."

Jean slowly nodded, but said nothing in return. I waited for him to apologize or express remorse, but he did neither.

We reached the end of the street where we were heading in different directions, and I turned to face him, still hopeful that he had more to say to me, something to indicate his words were not true, even if he didn't remember saying them.

He gave me nothing and I wasn't sure he realized it.

"I assume the answer is 'no', but if you would like to stop by tonight…"

"Next week," I said, which was my standard answer to refuse.

Jean didn't argue. "Good night, Phelan. Be well."

oOo

The Carlyle Club was located approximately half a city block away from Salon Vive and a street away from The Muse in a section of the city surrounded by art shops, galleries, bookstores, and the like in a charming neighborhood with plenty of flower boxes in windows, colorful banners atop doorways, and a centralized park with a pond that was bursting with life all summer long. There were windchimes hung from apartment windows that made walks quite musical even when the salons where entertainment was the norm were not open during the day.

It was a lovely part of the city, one that always felt quite vibrant, and I was quite glad I had chosen an apartment not far from the art district. There was more inspiration available in that small part of town than there was in the entire city, I was certain of it.

Bloom's Art Store was across the street from the Carlyle Club, which was really the only reason why I knew the location. Given that I still had time before the meeting, I walked into Bloom's and looked around.

There were several other people browsing, much to the dismay of the man behind the counter as it was nearly time for the shop to close.

"Five minutes," he announced.

I rounded the corner of the paper section and narrowly avoided colliding with a woman my age holding several bottles of ink in one arm while she limped on her cane, hurrying as fast as she could with a limp. She glanced at me, unsmiling, and rushed toward the counter.

"Three bottles of ink," she said, keeping her voice low.

I turned toward the counter, thinking her voice sounded quite familiar, but unable to place it.

"Oh, and a ream of paper as well," she added.

"Account name?" the man asked.

She leaned toward him and whispered, which I found quite odd given that she was in an art shop, which was hardly a top-secret location.

"The account balance is two hundred and eight-six francs," the clerk said. "It has to be paid in full before May first."

"Very well," she replied. "I will let Monsieur Ki…" She swiftly glanced around to see if anyone was listening. "I will let the account holder know. May I still purchase paper and ink?"

"It cannot be added to the account and needs to be paid in cash now. No more credit until your balance is paid in full, Madame."

I glanced around the corner at the woman and found myself unabashedly staring at her. She turned and looked at me and I stepped back, feeling like a predator awaiting its unsuspecting meal.

"What is my total for today?" she asked.

"Twelve sixty-three."

The woman appeared relieved. "I can pay thirty," she said. "Put the rest toward the balance, please."

"As you wish." The man nodded in agreement while I pretended to read a label and continued to stare at the woman.

I was certain I had seen her before at the theater, but I wasn't sure which one and if she had been a ticket taker or someone on the stage. Given the cane propped up against the counter, I doubted she was a performer.

"Did your apartment survive the fire, Madame Giry?" the man asked as he placed the bottles of ink into a paper bag.

Madame Giry. I narrowed my eyes, wracking my brain in search of where her name fit. Truly, it was on the tip of my tongue.

She turned her head and looked at me from the corner of her eye again, which indicated that I had been standing in the same place for far too long. I didn't need anything from Bloom's but still grabbed a small canvas and approached the desk.

"Nothing survived," she said quietly.

I stood behind in her line as she counted out her bank notes, turning every few seconds to look at me again.

"My apologies, Madame, but are you from the Opera Populaire?" I asked.

She whirled around to face me, gazing up with a peculiar look on her face. For a brief moment she stared at me as if I were familiar to her, but I was certain we had not met face-to-face.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Forgive me, but I am a patron of the theater and I teach at the university," I answered. "My students finished the backdrops for Don Juan Triumphant. I am very sorry to have witnessed the disaster Friday night."

"As am I," she said.

"You were at the theater, if I am not mistaken?"

"I was employed," she warily replied, holding her cane closer to her body.

Once we stood in close proximity, I was absolutely certain she had been on the stage with my brother. I remembered quite distinctly that she had run out and asked to speak to Erik.

"You were on the stage," I said.

"I was the ballet mistress," she said. "Of course I was on the stage."

"You were–"

She shot me a look and I held my tongue.

"I was employed by the theater and nothing more." She snatched her bag from the counter and started to walk away, cane thumping the ground with each step.

"Madame Giry!" I called out. "A moment of your time, Madame!"

"I have nothing else to say. Please, Monsieur, leave me alone."

I left ten francs on the counter and snatched up the canvas, fully intending to follow the former ballet mistress. "Kimmer," I said over my shoulder to the clerk. "Apply what's left to my balance, please."

Fortunately for me, Madame Giry was short and unable to walk at a swift enough pace to gain distance from me. I swiftly approached and managed to step in front of her, blocking her path.

Unfortunately for me, she wielded her cane like a club and struck me in the left arm, inches above the scar tissue.

"Get away from me or I will scream and strike you again," she threatened. "Much harder than the first time, you wicked man."

By the look in her eyes, I knew she was serious and I took a step back, holding my right hand out.

"I merely wish to speak to you and nothing more," I said. "Please, Madame, my intentions are not nefarious in nature."

"Step aside," she ordered.

"Madame Giry, that man on the stage Friday evening, the ghost as they call him–"

"Step aside," she said through her teeth, raising her walking cane above her head.

"Do you know where he is?" I blurted out. "Do you know if he survived?"

"I do not know of whom you speak, Monsieur."

"Yes, you do, you were on the stage with him. You were speaking to Nadir Khan and Raoul de Chagny regarding his whereabouts. Please, Madame, I merely wish to know if he survived."

Her eyes narrowed, nostrils flared. I stepped closer and she gnashed her teeth together. Sucking in a breath, she pummeled me several times with her cane; once in my right shoulder and then again directly across my left forearm at the crook of my elbow and again in the center of my arm where the damage was the worst, which incapacitated me immediately.

I slumped over to my right, up against the wall with my eyesight immediately blurring from the immense pain that roared through my arm. My stomach tightened, every nerve afire from the two consecutive blows.

Barely able to breathe, I muttered a curse and saw her standing before me, appearing horrified by the way I crumpled.

"Do you know Erik?" I asked, barely able to hear my own voice through the ringing in my ears. My tongue felt heavy and large in my mouth. "Please, that is all I want to know."

She took one last look at me and walked away, dropping her bag in the middle of the street as she crossed, the bottles inside breaking. Ink flooded the cobblestones, bleeding in between the crevices, while Madame Giry disappeared from my sight.