Chapter 17

When Catherine found Carlotta in the dorms, she insisted upon finding her a dress for the masquerade. The costume seemed to be something straight from ancient Greece, and Carlotta fell in love immediately. She had to corset herself more tightly than ever, since she still retained about ten pounds from her pregnancy. However, since it just made her luscious breasts fuller and pushed them farther into sight, she endured it.

This is how Piangi first met her, on the way to the ball. She had shoved Megan at Monsieur Reyer's sixteen-year-old wife, and gone to be announced at the head of the golden stair. Piangi stood there, a white-clad chorus girl with breasts larger than Carlotta's hanging onto his arm with a death grip. She was a little poodle of a girl, her age perhaps fifteen or sixteen, but her bust was obviously filled out, her figure perfect under her dress.

A shiver flew down her spine the way it always did when around Piangi. She could close her eyes and picture him as he had been before the baby; warm and loving, even if he was a little overstuffed.

Carlotta opened her eyes to find him staring at her. She saw him mumble to his date, noticed when he patted her on the arm and began to stride over to her. Her heart was racing, saliva building up in her mouth. “Please, please, don'ta do dis to me,” she whispered, unable to calm the tingling sensation that was spreading throughout her body. He kept approaching.

“Carlotta,” he murmured, kissing her hand and bowing slightly. The feathers on her head jiggled as thought they were dancing. Was it just her, or did Piangi's hands and lips feel hot? “As undeserving as I am, Madame, may I have this dance?”

She was speechless, for one of the first times in her life. She nodded, a flirtaceous grin coursing over her lips. She took his waiting hand, and he led her to the floor. “What about your date?” she asked nervously.

“It's just Meg. She'll live.” Carlotta gasped, and threw a look over her shoulder at retreating girl. Was it just her, or was Meg smiling, even if it was a little wistful?
At another entrance, Christine watched silently on Raoul's arm, feeling the cold metal of their “secret” engagement ring thud against her neck. The ring was extravagent, even for her. Five small diamonds flanked a large one, one that weighed at least three karats. Raoul probably spent at least a year's worth of her income on it! All for an engagement ring she wasn't even sure she wanted.

Christine didn't know what she really wanted anymore. The bright spotlight onstage thrilled her, made her voice soar like it never had before. At the same time, though, the deep, dark, dank lair that she knew lay hidden behind her mirror tantalized her, and knowing that there was a man behind it didn't help. Erik was dazzlingly handsome in his porcelain mask and black clothing, almost like a pirate's. Every time she thought of him, her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. Wild abandon overtook her, and she wanted to do nothing more than sing what he so poetically called “the music of the night.”

Raoul's voice startled her from her daze. “Come, darling, let's dance.” She smiled and nodded, Raoul's large hand engulfed her small one, and the other one held her close to his massive chest. She closed her eyes and imagined that as they twirled in time to the waltz, it was really Erik that held her. The dance ended, Raoul kissed her, and she kissed him back, still imagining.
The music stopped. They broke apart. Christine stared at the steps. Everyone else looked at her. Then at Raoul, then at the steps. “Why do silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera.” Christine felt Raoul tap her lightly on the arm, but she didn't move. It was like she had been frozen to the spot.
He was still speaking. The Opera Ghost. “Here I bring the finished score... Don Juan Triumphant!” The score flew to the floor in its leather bag. Erik's silver sword slashed the air. “Fondest greetings to you all,” he nodded to Carlotta, the managers, and Catherine Giry. “A few instructions just before rehearsal starts. Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting 'round the stage.” Carlotta's eyes glittered and flashed angrily. Ubaldo Piangi stepped forward, looking will but not quite able to defend her. Erik smiled slyly and poked the tip of his rapier at the jewels on Piangi's stomach.

“Our Don Juan must lose some weight. It's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age.” Piangi tried to draw himself up, but just ended up looking pudgier. Erik smirked and turned to Firmin and Andre, pointing his sword at each in turn. “And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts.” Catherine laid her hand on Firmin's arm, squeezing it gently. An ice-cold stare met her eyes, but she mirrored it perfectly in her ice-cold gray eyes and Erik had to turn away.

“As for our star,” Christine's heart pounded wildly, “Miss Christine Daae.” He was approaching her. The velvet costume clung to him in places that she could only see in her mind. “No doubt she'll do her best. It's true, her voice is good; she knows it. Still, should she wish to excel she has much still to learn, if pride will let her return to me, her teacher, her teacher.” His fingers grazed her breast. She closed her eyes, felt his fingers encircle the ring around her throat.
Erik yanked the ring away, shrieking, “Your chains are still mine! You belong to me!” Christine opened her eyes, startled, to a flash of light. Then he was gone.