Page 35 of Angel's Fall
“I have to.” The depth of regret in Christine’s voice stemmed some of Erik’s jealousy. “I’m going to sing for you tonight. Think about that. Only you.”
“I will treasure every note,” Erik whispered.
“Let it inspire you. I’m still expecting my opera on time.” Erik was sure she meant it as a jest, something to distract him and lift his spirits, so he did not say or do anything to betray the way it made him squirm to think of composing a full opera. The first one was unfinished, and she never needed to know about that bloody business, did she? HisDon Juan Triumphant...
“I will try.” Erik was glad it made her smile.
“I’ll be here. I promise.” Christine pulled him into a kiss. It was such a miracle, every time her soft, living lips met his dead ones; such a reminder of the undeserved grace she gave him every moment she allowed him at her side and in her bed.
Erik held on for as long as he could before letting her go, the feel of her fingertips lingering in his hand for a few seconds more driving away the dread in his heart. Then he watched her go back out into the world through the deserted stable. Once again retreating to a world where he could not follow.
He lingered, unsure of what to do with himself now that he was alone once again. It was such a strange thing, to be made conscious of his solitude after so many years. He had grown so used to being alone; so unknown and unseen that he forgot his own humanity and need for the world. But ever since Christine, he had been so aware of it again, and so tired of the days in the dark with nothing but his thoughts.
Erik stepped out of the passage into the stable and walked to César’s stall. The white stallion snorted in recognition before letting Erik pet his nose and scratch his flank. He’d always loved animals. Animals didn’t care about the differences in human faces and yet it was always such a precious thing when one trusted you. César huffed and nudged Erik’s hand with his snout, soft nostrils flaring as he nipped at him.
“Are you hungry? Hasn’t Jean-Paul provided your oats for the day?” To Erik’s surprise when he looked, César’s feed bag was indeed empty. “I’ll take your complaints to the management.”
Erik took the empty bag towards the storeroom where Jean-Paul liked to pass out, disappointed in the man for so quickly defying Erik’s orders to sober up. But the storeroom was empty. Erik took on the work and filled the bag. He did the same for the rest of the horses, though he stopped short of doing any dirtier work. Where could the man be? Why did it make his anxieties flare again to worry about it?
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Unlike her first daysin the Opera chorus, when Christine had spent many a rehearsal wondering if the people whispering backstage were talking about her, now she knew that the murmurs and sidelong glances of the petits rats, chorus, and stagehands were indeed aimed at the woman who had somehow become a diva in such a short time. She tried to ignore it most days, but it was hard. Today she had meant to look for Julianne, but instead found herself behind a flat listening to a discussion where she was the topic.
“She’s not even that good,” one woman was saying, in a tone of pure disgust. “She thinks she can just waltz in off the street, fuck a bass or a vicomte, and then be the toast of the town!”
“Never paid her dues, the little bitch,” another voice agreed. Christine’s eyes stung. She knew that voice – it belonged to an alto who had always been kind to her face. “Not that I mind her ruining La Carlotta, but at least that bitch knew how to play the game. Daaé just comes in here and thinks she’s better than everyone because of some witchcraft she’s managed on the ghost or the managers or whoever.”
“I want to claw my ears out when she sings the Jewel Song – too much vibrato!Andshe sings it like Marguerite has already been corrupted. It’s wanton.”
“She wouldn’t be anything without—”
“Don’t listen to them.” Christine turned at the sound of Julianne’s voice as she placed a hand on Christine’s shoulder.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Christine exclaimed, throwing her arms around her friend. “I’m so sorry I’ve been gone so much.”
“You should be,” Julianne replied with no venom. “Come on. We have to get you dressed and solve all my problems.” She pulled Christine towards the dressing rooms, leaving the gossipers behind.
“Only yours?” Christine laughed.
“Oh yes. Your problems are far too complicated for a mere mortal. And it’s my turn to be in crisis.”
“What’s going on?” Christine swallowed down the guilt of always being the one at the center of every drama. “Is it Jammes?” she asked once they were safely behind the door of dressing room thirteen.
“Of course it’s Cécile. She’s given me up for Lent, and it’s my fault.” Julianne slumped onto the chaise.
“How could her fear be your fault?” Christine countered, taking a place beside her friend. “I didn’t think she was that concerned about the rules or sin or whatever.”
“I told her I loved her,” Julianne sighed. “It was at the masquerade. I wore a suit so we could dance together, and we did! I said it when we were kissing backstage, and someone saw us and she ran away! The next day she’s claiming we’re a sin. How do I prove to her we’re not?”
“I’m so sorry.” Christine took Julianne’s hand. “I don’t know if that’s something that can be proven. If someone saw you, she might be worried. Or she could be fearful for another reason.”
“I know we can’t be together like normal, but—” Julianne lamented.
“No, I just meant love. It’s terrifying. I didn’t want to admit I was in love until I thought about how awful it would feel to lose...him. So I told him I loved him and I’ve agreed to live with him. Officially. Because I realized how much it would hurt for him to go on thinking I didn’t and how I want all the time with him I can have.”
“I think she knows – how much it hurts for me. Should I tell her more?”
“I don’t think you can force it, if she’s afraid, and certainly not if she doesn’t feel the same way. Maybe tell her you’ll wait? Or that this is enough the way it is?”
