If she had left it at that, I think they might have given consideration to her advice, but she continued in a direction that put them on the defensive.
“I don’t understand how two men of your station can be so stupid and stubborn when the Opera Ghost isn’t asking for that much. Everything here at the opera house would run smoothly if you’d stop trying to fight against his wishes.”
“Stupid?” Firmin shouted.
“Stubborn?” Armand chimed in.
“Listen, lady, we’re not stupid,” Firmin angrily shouted. “We know you’re in league with the former managers. We’ve heard about their sense of humor, and we don’t think anything they’re doing is funny. We know they’re the ones who want Box Five left open for them, and you can call us stubborn if you like, but we have no intention of falling for their pranks again.”
Pranks, I thought. Is that what they think this is all about? Well, perhaps I needed to give them a reminder along with more proof of my existence.
Christine was performing the lead in Faust that night, and, while I hated to cause a disturbance in anything related to her career, I couldn’t let my managers continue to think I was nonexistent. Therefore, I dressed for the evening and arrived in the column at the beginning of the second act. Much to my surprise, the box was empty. I entered, and after making sure the door was locked, I sat down and prepared to watch Christine for the first time from my box.
I was there about fifteen minutes when I heard a key in the lock. Instantly, I was on my feet, had grabbed my cloak, and was through the column just as the door opened. To say I was irritated wouldn’t cover what I was feeling when a young couple came in, preparing to enjoy the rest of the opera. I don’t think so, was my first thought, so, before they had a chance to sit down, I began.
“This box is already taken.”
They looked at each other and then around. The woman shrugged her shoulders, and the young man took her wrap and stood at the back of her chair until she sat down.
Shaking my head, I tried again. “Did you not hear me? This box is already taken.”
Again they looked at each other, and then the man went to the door and looked outside. When he didn’t see anything, he came back in and sat down.
I took a deep breath and silently apologized to Christine for disturbing her role as Marguerite, and then I started laughing loudly. The couple looked at each other, and I kept laughing until an usher came in and asked them to please be quiet. They tried to tell him that it wasn’t them laughing. The usher left, and within a minute I started laughing again. Once more the usher came in and asked them to please be quiet, and again they tried to explain that they weren’t the ones who were laughing. One more time, the same scenario occurred, and that time when the usher came in he told the couple they had to leave.
The young man became irate and refused to leave, which meant they were then creating their own disturbance by their arguing, and I smiled. The usher left, the man sat back down, and I started laughing again. The next time the door opened it was an inspector who literally dragged them away. Again I smiled, and there were no more disturbances to Christine’s performance. I felt it was too risky to stay in the box, so I left and watched the rest of the performance from the catwalks.
After the last curtain call, I went home, wrote a note, waited until all were gone, and then I went to the managers’ office. The note was simple, but, to anyone with half a brain, it was worth a million words.
I didn’t realize Faust was a comedy.
O.G.
The next night my box was empty the entire evening and there was a footstool for my lady friend. In addition, there was an envelope with my wages on the ledge along with my program. That didn’t take too much work, I remember thinking. During the third act, I went home and wrote a note of appreciation to Madame Giry. Then I took the note along with a box of sweets and left them on the ledge in my box for her.
After my successful performance the previous night, I think I was smiling the entire way home, and I believe I was still smiling as I sat by the fire with a glass of brandy in my hands. I still felt a smile on my lips when I heard the door in my music room open. When Christine entered the parlor, I got to my feet, still smiling, but she wasn’t. She looked extremely upset. While the disturbance to the opera had worked out well for me, it came at a cost to Christine, and that made me feel really bad.
“Why the frown, my sweet?” I asked while taking her satchel from her hand.
“Were you at the performance tonight, Erik?”
“Yes, and you were magnificent. I don’t believe there was a dry eye in the house.”
I put her satchel in her room and returned to her just when she rebutted, “Well, there was at least one. How could someone laugh during such a dramatic scene? Was I that bad? I thought I was expressing the right emotion, but he evidently didn’t. His laughter really shook my confidence. What did I do wrong, Erik?”
“Oh! No, no, no, Christine. It wasn’t you. Your performance was perfect. I have to apologize. It was my fault, but I don’t believe it will ever happen again.”
She scrunched her face. “You? How could you do that to me?”
“I didn’t. Here,” I said while motioning toward the divan. “Have a seat and let me explain.” She sat, with confusion written all over her face. “I don’t believe we’ve discussed this yet. Somehow this subject managed to get overlooked during those days when you were questioning all the supposed rumors about me. You see, I have a fondness for Box Five, and when someone else is sitting in it I get . . .”
“Oh!” she gasped and covered her mouth with her fingers.
“You’re remembering the rumors now?” She nodded slowly. “Well, they weren’t rumors. You see, for personal reasons, I literally built that box along with many other things around here. I alone worked on this place during the war when everyone else was off playing their silly war games. I even believe I alone prevented it from being destroyed during that time. I wasn’t being paid to be Garnier’s watchman—it was something I wanted to do.
“I believe I was born with music in my blood, and my childhood desire was to live where I could listen to music and watch operas whenever I wanted. So, as the Opera Ghost’s persona grew, I saw that box as a way of fulfilling my dream. In my mind and heart I’ve felt I deserved to have that box for my personal use, and that’s what I’ve demanded from the management. My old managers conceded to my wishes long ago, but with the new managers in the house, I had to make it clear to them that they weren’t to sell that box.”
She was frowning at me by then, so I tried to explain my thinking in another way.
“You’ve seen the packed house. You’ve experienced my tutoring and seen the results. The reviews written about you and the performances bring in revenue. I’m partially responsible for those good reviews, so shouldn’t I be paid for my efforts? Is requiring one box too much to ask for? I’d like your honest opinion, since I know mine is twisted at times.”
She stared at me for a moment and then gradually lowered her fingers from her lips and nodded. “I agree with you. You deserve your own box, but I don’t see how you laughing during my performance would help you attain it.”
Once I explained exactly what happened, she understood. However, I didn’t go into my demands for my wages. I figured one explanation at a time was enough.
Our routine remained status quo until the first week in June, and then something happened that started a series of events in motion—a series of serious events. I can only compare that event to the onset of childbirth. Once it starts, there’s no stopping it.
The moment I first saw Christine on that stage, my love for her was conceived, and in the months that followed, it, along with our entire strange relationship, grew and brought with it tremendous pressure to have her all to myself. Most of the time, what I felt was beyond our little game of only playing the part of having her as my living wife—I needed her as a real one.
My efforts at staying busy were
honest and valiant, and, for the most part, I’d managed to keep my thoughts and emotions under control. But, during that fateful day in June, there was no stopping what finally broke through my stern resolve and fine-tuned self-control. The full expression of my love and passion for her was imminent, with only one question remaining, would it be born alive and well or impotent in death?
The morning that opened that climatic chapter of my life started much like many others. It was a dark day for the house, so we had a leisurely breakfast with light conversation about the way I sang Romeo’s lines to her after the masked ball. She asked about a certain transition I’d made and expressed her desire to use the same transition during a part of Juliette’s lines. Even though she wasn’t supposed to sing that day, we agreed a short experiment wouldn’t hurt.
We went to my piano and I sang the part she was referring to, and then to get the complete feel for that piece, we went through the entire scene together. I was accompanying us on the piano, and she was standing beside the piano when our voices began harmonizing. Then it began.
We were in the middle of the scene when we somehow merged. We were no longer only Erik and Christine—we were also Romeo and Juliette, with all their passion and love seeping from every note. All four hearts had fused and began beating as one. Soon my piano sat silent and only our voices could be heard. Then I was on my feet and facing my Juliette, which I’d already learned never to do.
I took her hand from off the piano and held it in mine, while moving closer to her. My other hand found its way around her waist, and I slowly pulled her close to me. As I gazed into her captivating eyes, I no longer questioned if it was an act or if her true feelings were showing through. I simply drifted in the incredible moments filled with music and our feelings for each other.
Our voices eventually faded into silence, but the performance continued on. Our clasped hands at our breasts were the only barriers preventing our bodies from closing the gap and embracing. I stood motionless, and for the first time I wasn’t thinking about whether I should move away or continue with the emotions that had taken me over so completely. I was merely following a course designed millennia in the past by an irresistible force much more powerful than myself.
My fingers felt the soft skin on the back of her hand, and my other hand pressed on the small of her back, registering her increased breathing. My eyes traveled the contours of her beautiful face and sensual lips, and then I gazed deeply into her eyes that were uttering that unspoken language, and my questions commenced.
Neither one of us was seducing the other, yet we were both being seduced by that invisible power. Were we merely music’s captives or had we finally reached that point in our relationship that we’d been progressively traveling toward? I couldn’t answer that question, and, furthermore, I didn’t want to answer it. I wanted to experience it. I wanted to travel that path to its end.
Therefore, I only half-heartedly called upon my learned self-control to prevent what I feared would be a catastrophe. But, the more seconds that passed, the larger the crack in my control became and the more of it helplessly slipped through that crack and beyond my reach. The result—I tilted my head and lowered my lips to hers, and she responded as if being directed. She tilted her head, lifted her chin, and prepared for our lips to meet.
Our lips were only a few centimeters apart when we received the encouragement we needed to prevent that catastrophe from happening. The tall clock in the parlor announced the tenth hour by chiming abruptly, and we both jumped out of shock. I quickly squeezed her hand and then released it just as quickly. Within the next few moments, I was back on the piano bench and running my fingers nervously over the ivory and black keys, while praising her for her excellent skills.
She didn’t respond at first, but then, while placing a hand gently on my shoulder, she asked, “Do you really think so, Erik?” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then she asked, “You would tell me if I’d done something wrong, wouldn’t you? I never want you to hold back and not tell me if my performance wasn’t what you wanted.”
With my eyes still closed and turned away from her, I questioned if she was speaking about her singing or our close encounter. Then I answered, “No, Christine. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect performance. You were excellent.” Then in an undertone meant only for my ears, I added, “You’re exactly what I want.”
“What?”
I took another deep breath and turned toward her. “You’re exactly what the public wants. Now it’s time to rest your voice. You don’t want to overexert it.”
“It feels fine, Erik. I’d like to continue.”
“We can’t chance it, Christine. We can’t task your voice any more this day.”
Then I added silently, and we don’t dare task my will power any more this day.
I left quickly for the kitchen and a much-needed glass of water, but, while it cooled my lips, it did little to cool my thoughts. Each encounter we had brought us closer to what I feared was a great disaster. I knew myself well, and the pressure mounting within me was giving me a clear signal. There was definitely danger on the horizon if she didn’t make her decision soon, but I’d promised her I wouldn’t force her to make that decision prematurely.
I felt trapped and was actually thankful that most of the days she was rarely in my home. If I could make it through that day, then maybe the pressure would subside, and I could gain my control back.
I set the glass in the sink at the same time that Christine asked, “Erik, what is this?”
She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding two small boxes, wrapped in red paper and tied with black ribbons. They were the gifts I’d bought for her the day before. I’d placed them on one of the shelves in my music room, intending to give them to her at breakfast, but I’d completely forgotten about them.
Trying to lighten my mood, I teased her while walking toward her. “Oh, my Christine, you’re so inquisitive. One of these days you’re going to let your curiosity get the better of you, and you just might find yourself somewhere you didn’t intend to be.” I took the boxes from her hand and put them behind my back. “These were supposed to be a surprise. So call upon that excellent acting skill I just saw and be surprised, all right?”
She smiled and nodded, and I handed them to her. Without moving from the doorway, she quickly opened them. Inside the one box were two matching gold hair combs in the shape of a base clef. They were inlayed with onyx stones and adorned with diamonds. She squealed with delight, and her eyes danced with glee as she started to run to her room, but I stopped her.
“Wait! Open the other one first.”
With the largest smile, she opened the second one and found a companion piece made with the same gold, onyx, and diamonds, only it was in the shape of a treble clef and hung from a gold chain.
“Oh, Erik. You somehow always manage to outdo yourself. These are breathtaking. Where did you find them? They’re so perfect, with the music clefs and all.”
“They were hiding somewhere in my imagination, waiting to be released. Again, my dear, you’re a great inspiration.”
She stared down at them, shaking her head. “I say thank you so much that it hardly seems to mean anything anymore. What more can I say?”
“You’ve already said it. Now, go try them on.”
She nodded and nearly ran to her room, while I walked there slowly, still uneasy after our close encounter. I reached her room and leaned in the doorway, watching her sitting at her dressing table and trying to put the necklace on.
Huffing, she asked, “I can’t seem to work this clasp. Can you help me, please?”
Against my better judgment, I stood behind her with the necklace across my fingers while she lifted her hair off her neck. Trying to concentrate on the job at hand and not the nearness of the neck I desperately wanted to kiss, I hooked the clasp and stepped back away from her. She looked at it in the mirror, fondling it with her fingers, and then she looked at my reflection in the mir
ror and thanked me again.
I nodded, and she began brushing her hair in preparation for the combs, while I watched on just like another member of her captive audiences. The entire time, she was chattering about something, but I didn’t hear what. I was too engrossed in watching her adorable expressions change as she talked and her fingers moving gracefully through her hair. I was mesmerized as I watched her hair repeatedly fall softly over her shoulder.
Then, without thinking of the consequences, I reached over and replaced a few strands of hair that she’d been missing, and, in so doing, I let my fingers linger on her bare neck for a few moments. After I realized what I was doing, I quickly removed my fingers and looked at her eyes just in time to see her open them wide and look up at my refection. Then my heart began to race while she continued talking. She gracefully, and, seemingly without forethought, pulled back the sides of her golden locks and slid the combs into place.
“Erik! Erik!” she had to repeat to get my attention. “Are they straight?” she asked while trying to adjust them properly.
“Yes,” I replied breathlessly. “They look perfect.”
I remained standing behind her, watching her reflection in her mirror, and she was looking at my reflection and speaking relentlessly. How I wanted to silence those chattering lips with mine, and when I looked beyond her reflection to her bed, I ached to take her there.
But I could only watch and admire from a distance, barely coming close enough to reach out and gently touch the outline of those soft curls. Any amount of strength I’d gained since we sang, which wasn’t much, was gone, and I suddenly became painfully aware of my idle hands that appeared to be too large and conspicuous, like some foreign and strange appendages that had no purpose or assigned place on my anatomy. It was as if they’d stuck themselves to my body without permission.
I knew what I wanted to do with them, but I didn’t know what I should do with them. However, I did know I had to put them somewhere out of harm’s way, and I started fidgeting with them. I ran them through my hair, I laced my fingers on top of my head, and then put them in my pockets where they remained until they became much too warm; in fact, my entire body became too warm. So I pulled my sweaty hands from my pockets and put them behind my neck, trying to find someplace to put those unwanted attachments.
Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine Page 56
