~By Stephanie Piro
It was almost time for the holidays and there was a sense of merriment that permeated every corner of the Paris Opera House…save one. The corner in which lived Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, as he was referred to, much to his annoyance. Christmas was almost a month away. And yet, the staff of the Opera House busied themselves wrapping holly garlands around the banisters of the grand staircase and adding glittering glass globes in jewel colors to any and all available surfaces.
Erik sat in his large, plush velvet armchair nursing a brandy and dwelling on his sad existence. If only Christine could see inside his heart. After revealing himself to her as her Angel of Music and tutor, at first she was overwhelmed. Then delighted, wrapping her arms about him. Even kissing him with and then without his mask.
He had been horrified when she removed the mask and studied him. But then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the damaged side of his face, then on the lips, and the sensation was everything he had dreamt of and more. Why then, did it sometimes seem as if Christine wished him away behind the mirror once more? She seemed shy when he came to her dressing room to give her lessons. She would blush and stammer, which was admittedly charming, then finally get down to actually listening to him and sing for him as he instructed.
And yet, he wanted more. Antoinette Giry, Erik’s great friend and Christine’s guardian, had advised patience. Christine and Meg were the same age. Still giggling young women who dreamed of great romances. Erik felt that he was Christine’s great romance, but he listened and kept calm, though every fiber in his being cried out to sweep her up and carry her away to his lair and make a home together, filled with love and passion.
So, as he sipped his brandy, he was quite startled and surprised to hear his name called. “Who the hell can that be, at this hour?” he muttered under his breath, while grabbing the lantern from a hook near the lake. He headed towards the tunnel that led to his secret passages throughout the Opera House.
“Errrrrrikkkk!” called the distinctly feminine voice, and finally he could see the blonde hair and the snub nose of Meg Giry, or as he thought of her, Little Meg. “There you are,” she laughed upon seeing his grumpy face, her own lantern held aloft. “Mama sent me to fetch you. We have company! She wants you to meet them. You know I can’t keep a secret! So, don’t spoil the surprise,” Meg babbled at Erik as she grasped his gloved hand and started pulling him along the passage. He could only stare at her silently as he allowed himself to be led.
“Mama’s friend, Miriam, has come to visit all the way from America! She and Mama were ballet students together and then Miriam married an American she met at one of the balls here and he whisked her off to America! Isn’t that the most romantic thing you ever heard? He’s an “Oil Man,” she said. “They’ve come all the way from Texas!”
Erik could hardly get a word in, so he let Meg continue. “She’s very tall and beautiful, just like Mama, only she has red hair and is so much fun! She and Mama just laughed and laughed! And that’s not the best part! She has a daughter named Susie. Isn’t that the cutest name? Well, it was Suzette, actually, but everyone calls her Susie in Texas so she told me and Christine to call her that, too! Oh, here we are!”
And she was right. Somehow Meg knew all his secret passageways; he’d have to speak to Antoinette about that, and now they stood before the Giry’s apartments.
Meg threw open the door, pulled Erik with her, then abandoned him and went off to her room, leaving him briefly alone in the hallway removing his gloves and hanging his cloak from the coat hooks. But not for long. Antoinette appeared, embraced her friend, then took his hand and led him to the armchair by the fire. Opposite him, on the divan, sat a stunning woman, roughly Antoinette’s age, who beamed at him. He stared back.
“Why, you must be Erik. Antoinette has told me and Susie so much about you. I really wish my husband, Tony, had joined me, but he had some business he had to take care of. He adores the opera, and I understand you to be a great composer. I hope we’ll get to hear some of your music on our stay!”
Did all Americans babble this way, Erik was wondering. Her French was impeccable, but there was a hint of an American accent along with it. Then he realized he was supposed to reply. He glanced at her. “Perhaps,” was all he could say, leaving room for that request to go either way.
Antoinette returned with a tray of wine glasses filled with a light pink wine and handed them to Miriam and Erik. “Guess what, Erik! I kept Miriam’s visit secret because I wanted to surprise you. This is a special occasion! In America they have a day they call Thanksgiving. It is a day when friends and family gather together and are thankful for one another and enjoy a feast together. And that wonderful holiday is tomorrow! So I wanted you all to meet because, believe it or not, my dear Miriam and Susie have been cooking since their arrival. And no one is dearer to me than you, my friend, so I must insist you join us,” Antoinette said softly as she perched on the arm of his chair.
He smiled up at her. They clinked their wine glasses, his heart glad that she had approached him on that day long ago, not long after his arrival. He had been Charles Garnier’s right-hand man through the years of construction, delay and completion of the Opera House. He had built himself the palace by the underground lake in the 5th cellar of that building and had wandered, hoping he was unobserved, only to run into Antoinette, who claimed him as her friend and helped fuel the Opera Ghost and Phantom legends so the managers of the Opera would pay him to stay quiet and not upset the staff. It was a win-win for the two of them.
Miriam observed them happily. Never mentioning his mask, as if everyone in America wore one. Suddenly, in a burst of laughter, Meg, Christine and… a beautiful young woman who could only be the aforementioned Susie, entered the room together. Christine leaned over and kissed Erik’s uncovered cheek bashfully, then backed away. Susie, even lovelier than her mother, eyed Erik with her green eyes, studying him, his mask, as his own yellow eyes were drawn to hers. Her mouth, a perfect cupid’s bow, so kissable, thought Erik, then reprimanded himself. Where did that come from? he pondered.
He rose, his figure standing over hers, though she was quite tall. She held out her hand as Erik took hers and then released it, wondering if she had expected him to kiss it.
“Hi there,” she said in English and then, continuing in perfect French, “I’m Susie. And you, Monsieur, must be Erik. Antoinette sent Meg to go fetch you, am I right?”
Erik had to laugh. Antoinette, Meg and Christine stared at him to see if Susie might take offense at his laughter, but instead she joined him; they both laughed until tears ran down their cheeks.
Erik had never had a stranger nor a more delightful introduction. Susie shook back her flame red hair, which hung loose in waves about her shoulders, and took Erik’s arm. He glanced down at her and she smiled back at him. He paused momentarily, then allowed her to lead him to sit beside her on the couch so that he was between Susie and Miriam, who also turned to him.
Susie continued, “I heard you live in a cellar. Meg and Christine told me all about you. You are a great musician, isn’t that right? I just love the piano. Can you play? Papa had me take lessons from the time I could walk. Also ballet. Mama insisted. I’m quite cultured, though you’d never know it if you could see me ride Betsy, my Indian pony!”
Erik smiled at Susie. “I see. The piano and ballet. Are you proficient? It doesn’t pay to do things half-well.”
“I hear I’m quite good,” she replied. “I wouldn’t know, though. My ballet mistress and Mama think I’m good enough to come study here. Antoinette thinks so, too. My piano teacher has had me give recitals in Houston. That’s near where our ranch is. I could tell you I can ride like the wind, though. I think I’d miss my pony too much to leave Texas. Maybe someday. Maybe. If I had a reason to.” And here, she boldly looked into Erik’s eyes, and once again held them.
Miriam turned to Antoinette, Meg, and a puzzled Christine and laughed, “She’s half wild, that girl. I thought bringing her here would help to tame her impulses a little. I can see, perhaps, I was mistaken. This is completely enchanting, though, and I cannot wait for us to all celebrate Thanksgiving, together! Susie…”
Susie, lost in Erik’s mesmerizing yellow eyes, turned to her mother, “Yes, Mama?”
“I was just saying you have been preparing the American desserts for tomorrow.”
“Oh! Yes, she has!” cried Meg. “She and Miriam kept shooing us out of the kitchen, so it will be a complete surprise!”
Christine nodded silently. She felt emotions she wasn’t quite sure of. Susie had been excited to meet her. She and Meg and Susie had had such fun together. Why was she upset that Erik was enjoying her company, too? Hadn’t he had to put up with her fondness for Raoul? Is this how he felt when he saw Raoul take her out for dinner once a week? Or bring flowers to her dressing room? These thoughts swirled round her head as she took in the scene playing out before her.
Erik stood and bowed. “I had better leave you ladies to enjoy your evening. It has been a pleasure and an honor to meet such lovely visitors from America, a place I have yet to visit, myself.”
“Erik,” Miriam, also standing, spoke. “You would be welcome in our home, anytime. It’s not a fancy, sophisticated life like y’all (she slipped into English for that word, as Erik blinked at her) have here, but we like it. And I think it’s time for Antoinette to pay me a visit, as well, and you two, Meg and Christine. What a treat that would be for me.”
“And for me,” said Susie, giving Erik a smile.
Erik returned the smile. Then turned to Antoinette. “Thank you, my dear. I look forward to tomorrow and this American celebration. I feel, these days, even I have things to be thankful for.”
Coming to her senses, Christine stood up from her perch on the arm Meg’s chair. “Um, Erik, could you walk me to my room? I better rest before tomorrow.”
Erik looked back at Christine. At her huge brown eyes and her lovely face. And those lips. Those lips that had kissed him. And he felt his heart melt at the sight of her, though he was aware of Susie’s eyes on him, and he felt a heat rise throughout his body and a sense that he had to be very careful at dinner tomorrow.
After their goodbyes, Erik and Christine turned and walked together down the hallway to Christine’s room, which was really just across from the Giry’s, but Erik didn’t question her. He thought of his great love for his pupil. How he had found her as a small girl weeping for her dead father and just taken in by Madame Giry as her ward, and truly a second daughter and sister to Meg. He comforted her and over the next ten years had shaped and guided her voice, watched over her, showered her with gifts (he had acquired quite a fortune in Persia and working for Garnier of the Opera and other projects). He had fallen in love with her as she begged him to reveal himself. When he did, it was with trepidation. And yet, she had accepted him for all his flaws, listened to his confessions of his dark past. Acknowledged that he had changed. And embraced and kissed him. Those kisses! How he longed for more. He wanted Christine to be his, and only his.
Raoul had been in love with her since they were children, and him finding her again was a plague to Erik, yet he stood back and didn’t threaten or try to harm Raoul. He felt, in the end, the boy was no competition. Still, he felt she was holding back. Afraid of his feelings for her? Or perhaps…of her own feelings for him. She was a beautiful young woman, but still in many ways a girl. She could command the stage with her thrilling voice, the audience rising as one to cheer and applaud her. But she never played the Diva. And that was one of the things he cherished about her. He sighed, and stood by as Christine unlocked her door.
“Will you come in?” she queried.
He nodded and followed her inside and closed the door behind him.
“You can take your mask off, Erik. You don’t need to cover yourself for me,” she said shyly. “Not when we are alone.”
She sat on the bed. He stood, overcome with the desire to pounce on Christine and kiss her passionately. Suddenly, though, a vision of Susie and her green eyes and confident manner swept through his mind. He shook his head to clear it away.
“Please come sit with me,” Christine said.
He paused for a moment, then sat beside her. She turned, reached for him, slipped her arms around his neck and… removed his mask herself. Always feeling vulnerable when exposed like this, he kept still. Then Christine leaned forward and softly caressed his deformed cheek. Then wrapping her arms around him, tilted her face to his and leaned in and kissed him. Chastely at first, then as if a fire were lit within her, more passionately than she had ever done before. He pulled her closer and returned the kisses, aflame with his desire for her. He caressed her hair, paused as they gazed into one another’s eyes, then kissed again and again until… Erik had to pull away.
“Be careful what you do, Christine,” he said gently, “I am only a man. One who has longed for this moment for many years. I better go. Until, or should I say when, or if…we are ever connected in the way I have longed for, then, then I will take you to Paradise.” Christine, out of breath and her face flushed, looked so beautiful that Erik didn’t think he could stand it.
She nodded, then watched as he left, reaching to lock the door behind him as he went. Christine flung herself backward on the bed, and smiling, hugged herself and whispered, “My Angel.” And it was with thoughts of him that she drifted off to sleep without even undressing.
The next morning, Christine awoke to knocking at her door. Realizing the state she was in, she replied, “One minute.” But it was Meg who was insistent. Christine let her in.
“Oh!” Meg said, looking at her friend. “Come back with me, wait.” She perused Christine’s closet, pulled out a cranberry-colored velvet dress, grabbed some grey kid boots, took Christine’s hand, and ignoring her protests, slipped back into the Giry’s apartment. There she led Christine to the large bathroom and started to run water for her friend. “Bathe and then I’ll do your hair. This is going to be such a fantastic day!”
Christine smiled at her dear friend and closed the bathroom door. Turning the lock, she slipping into the luxurious, steaming bath that Meg had scented with rose water.
Within half an hour, Christine, looking breathtakingly beautiful, was helping Meg set the table. Something wonderful was going on in the kitchen. There was definitely a turkey roasting; she knew that delicious smell, only reserved for special occasions. But there were other aromas. All mouthwatering, as Christine had had nothing to eat since the night before. Intuitively, Meg realized this, and returned with a platter of cheeses, French bread cut into rounds, butter and a small glass of sherry. She set it on the little table next to the armchair by the fire and encouraged her to eat, grabbing a bite herself as she placed glasses, napkins, silverware and other items around the table.
“Mama invited Nadir, too. I do love that man. He is so funny,” Meg rattled on as she worked and Christine ravenously wolfed down several bits of the bread with butter, followed by bites of cheese.
Christine almost choked when Susie dropped herself down on the arm of the chair and helped herself to some bread and cheese. “I’m absolutely starving,” she laughed. “I could eat a buffalo!”
Christine laughed, too, and soon all three young women had moved to the sofa and were talking away, sharing confidences.
“Tell me, Christine, have you ever been to Erik’s home in that cellar? I’m just dying to see it before we go. We have to leave for London in two days. Mama wants to continue my education and visit the ballet there and maybe attend some recitals.”
“I’ve been there, “Christine said softly, a secret smile on her lips.
“Oh, me, too!” Meg interjected, but only when Mama sends me to make him come and be sociable. He’s such a recluse sometimes!”
All three laughed at this. Dinner was to be served at 2:00 that afternoon. Antoinette was sure Erik would forget, so she asked Meg to go fetch him. Susie stood up, excitedly. I want to come, too – come on, Christine, let’s all go surprise him and make him come with us!”
Christine sat a moment and looked at Susie, seeing her as Erik might. She was stunningly beautiful with skin that was tan and a sprinkle of freckles on her nose, and her red hair caught up and tamed into a chignon. She wore a deep emerald dress, not quite a gown, maybe something in fashion in America. Then she glanced at the feet peeking under that beautiful dress… she was wearing boots! Cowboy boots! How could Erik not fall in love with this captivating, outgoing person? Christine could almost fall for her, herself! How could she compete? Wait! Why was she thinking this way? Were they in competition? For her Angel?
Meg took a lantern from a small shelf over the coat rack and lit it. “We’ll need this,” she explained to Susie.
“Oh! Can I carry it?” Susie asked excitedly.
“Of course, you may. Just keep your other hand at the level of your eyes,” Meg said seriously.
“What? Why?” she asked in disbelief. Christine burst into laughter and Meg joined her. “Oh, you’re joshing me,” she said in English, and laughed, too.
As they traveled the dark passageway, Susie commented on everything they passed, including an old crypt where several skulls lined the walls. She exclaimed and held her lantern over it to see better while both Meg and Christine pulled her away.
“I hate that part of the journey,” said Meg. “Eeeeerrriikk!” she cried, and then her voice was joined by Susie’s and finally Christine’s.
“This won’t be a surprise, then,” Susie complained. “He knows we’re coming. Darn!”
“This part’s a tricky bit,” Meg told her. “Trap doors!”
Susie held the lantern over her friend to see if she was serious, but saw that she was and within moments, a shadow stood before them, holding its own lantern.
“Shall we continue?” Erik asked.
“Wait! Erik!” said Susie. “Could you please let me see where you live? Just a quick look? I’m so curious. I never knew anyone who lived in a cellar, a fifth cellar, at that!”
Erik seemed to consider her request. “Very well. Meg, please take Christine and tell your Mother we will be slightly delayed.”
Meg nodded. Christine was tempted to stay behind. She trusted Erik. Did she know Susie well enough to trust her alone with her Angel? She saw Erik through Susie’s eyes. He was a tall, handsome – well, one side was very handsome. A magnetic figure. She could tell the American was curious to know what was behind the mask. Would she act on her curiosity? Christine turned towards Meg and together they made their way back up the winding passages and steps.
Susie followed alongside Erik, pestering him with questions as they went. She was so amusing that Erik forgot to be annoyed. When he lit the candelabra as he went, she oohed and aahed over everything. His furniture, his music room with the pipe organ that covered an entire wall, the “guest” bedroom decorated especially for Christine, though he’d never mentioned it. She loved his study lined with so many books of all subjects. She noticed everything. She was very observant. There were several paintings he had done. Of the Opera House and other buildings, and several of Christine at various stages of her life. He had painted them from heart.
“You’ve known Christine a long time, huh?” she asked, picking one up and admiring it. “I wish someone could do a painting of me so beautifully. You don’t take commissions, do you? I know my papa would pay you a small fortune to have one of me like this in his office!”
Erik laughed. “Sorry, no.” They continued her tour of his home.
“What’s in here?” she asked, opening a door.
Before he could reply, she had opened the door to his bedroom. She eyed the huge bed and the décor all in shades of red and black, looking so lush and comfortable. There was a small writing desk with paper neatly stacked, and a pen and ink. Books on architecture, and…one of love poems! Her green eyes took in everything. She looked back at Erik. She noticed how elegantly he was dressed. He was so handsome. But what was he hiding?
She turned around, facing him. Her face tipped up towards his, that cupid’s bow mouth smiling at him. “I know this is a personal question, Erik, but why, exactly, do you wear that mask? It isn’t just to be more mysterious, is it? Because, you know, you’ve got me intrigued from the get go.” She said that last part in English.
“I wear it because I have to,” he spoke quietly. “Believe me when I tell you that you would not want to see what lies beneath it. We have a dinner that you and your mother have spent many long hours to prepare. I would not want to spoil your dinner for you.”
“Erik, you don’t know me very well. I am not shocked very easily. I like you. I might already have a little crush on you.” She held his eyes.
He felt unsure of what to do. Except for Nadir, Antoinette, Meg and now Christine…no one had ever looked upon his face without fear and shock and revulsion. Well, once there was a girl, Amalia. She died young. That was more than a lifetime ago.
Sighing, Erik spoke, “If you insist. But, as I said, I gave you fair warning.” He reached around and removed the mask.
Susie stood looking at his face, her eyes going from one side to the other. “It’s not that bad, you know.” She stepped closer. Her hand reached out and gently stroked his face.
“I know you are in love with Christine,” she said, moving away again and allowing him to replace the mask. “I don’t blame you. She’s darling, and I hear she will be world famous someday. I heard it was thanks to you, too. Meg said you are a musical genius. I believe her, and that is without ever hearing you.”
“We should go,” Erik said gently. “The others will be waiting for us.”
She nodded. “I could love you, you know. If you were free.”
Americans, thought Erik. They were so blunt with their feelings. It’s actually a trait I admire, he told himself. In another lifetime, he could have loved her back. But in this one, there was only one woman in his heart, and she had been there from the beginning, his heart learning to love all the Christines, from the tiny girl to the beautiful seventeen-year-old woman who had embraced him the night before.
“I am sorry, my dear,” he said quietly. “I am very much taken. Had I never met Christine, my life might have followed a very different, much darker path. Perhaps you would have been another beacon to lead me away from my darker impulses.” He took her hand and kissed it. Then, releasing it, he bade her to follow him and they soon found themselves back at the Giry apartment.
“Did you get lost?” Nadir joked as he came to clap Erik on the back, and Susie went to join her mother in the kitchen.
Christine came to take Erik’s arm and led him to sit at the table beside her. She squeezed his hand and he returned it, smiling at each other as the food was brought and shared among the friends, old and new. Afterwards, at Miriam’s insistence, Erik seated himself at Antoinette’s piano and played something so beautiful that it brought tears to the eyes of the listeners. He glanced at Christine, who joined him, standing beside the piano and singing an aria he had written for her. It was so exquisite that Erik almost wanted to stop playing so he could watch her. As they readied themselves for dessert, Erik felt a hand clasp his arm, and followed it back to see it was Susie.
“I feel I’ve died and gone to Heaven, now that I’ve heard you. Heard both of you. Remember to invite me and Mama to your wedding!” she said, and with that, turned and went to help set out the American pies she and Miriam had baked for dessert.
Erik could not believe the happiness he was feeling. Indeed, Thanksgiving was his new favorite holiday.
