Chapter Six
Jenny woke up the next morning, once
again not knowing where she was at first; a feeling she was beginning to get
quite accustomed to. She sat up in the
bed eagerly to look around, having been far too sleepy to have done so the
night before. Several large and
ornately decorated gas lanterns illuminated the room in near-daylight hues,
although daylight could never reach five stories below the Opera House.
To start off, she was in a gigantic, four-poster bed with gauzy curtains of a sheer burgundy hanging from the canopy above, creating a vaguely harem-like chamber for her to sleep within. Satin sheets and pillows, a silk-edged blanket of thick wool, a crushed velvet comforter of gradually increasing intensities of wine complimented the rich mahogany of the bed frame. To her right, several feet away was an antique dresser of the same wood, on it resting gilt combs, brushes, mirrors, and trinket boxes of varying shapes and sizes. An armoire of the same polished mahogany took up the entire wall in front of her, it's doors intricately carved with roses and angels. To her left was a ladies' writing desk and chair, neatly occupied by ink wells, quill pens, and leather-bound books. Beyond that was a door and right next to her was the mahogany chair she dimly remembered Erik sitting in the night before. On its wine-colored cushion of velvet was a rose of a deep, deep crimson, almost black hue and a note on that familiar black-edged paper with the equally familiar blood-red penmanship.
Dearest Jennifer,
I
hope that you find your room comfortable and slept well last night. I have informed the management that you will
not be in today, so you needn't worry about rehearsal. I've noticed that you've been working very
hard since you've arrived here and I believe you will benefit from a
break. You will find the bathroom to
your right and suitable dresses in the armoire. Please make yourself at home and have no fear.
Your
obedient servant,
Erik
Jenny brought the black rose up to her cheek, gently
twirling its velvety-soft petals against her skin. What a strange predicament to be in! She was trapped stories below ground-level and at the mercy of a
man she hardly knew, for all intents and purposes. But, hell, she wasn't frightened in the least! If it had been any man other than Erik, she
would be horrified, but... It was
impossible, but she somehow knew that Erik had no ill intentions where she was
concerned. And he was so handsome, even
with that confusing mask on his face.
Those eyes... that body... surely he knew of the effect he had on her
entire self. Oh, to have him back in
this distinctly sensuous chamber of a bedroom and take her upon this bed! That would be so fulfilling... a fantasy
come true!
With a mental slap, she stopped her
thoughts dead in their tracks. What the
hell was she talking about? She was
crazy... she had to be; to let herself be all but kidnapped in the middle of
the night by a strange man she knew next-to-nothing about, letting him (no, asking
him!) stay in her room while she slept, and now fantasizing about him returning
to this harem-like room and demanding that he be allowed to make love to her!
Sigh... how many times had
she been through this particular scenario before? Every time a man showed even a little bit of compassion towards
her, she started planning the blooming wedding! And every time, the object of her affection had cruelly broken
her tender heart, citing her lack of grace and beauty as an excuse. Why should this man be any different?
Yet, despite what her mind screamed
at her heart, Jenny still felt a strong connection with this Erik. What she had seen in the depths of his eyes
was so poignant and so utterly familiar to her. Since her grandmother's death more than a year ago, Jenny had not
been touched in love or respect by anyone.
Even prior to that, the touches she'd received were restricted to
family, she'd never been kissed or caressed by a lover. And how good it had felt to be held in
Erik's arms, so sweet to be in the embrace of another... warm, comforting,
easily addictive. She yearned for that
touch again, but knew that she mustn't dare ask for it again, or she risked
losing her heart to another man who would trample it in the mud and never look
back.
Years ago, while her female peers
had agonized over which of their suitors to choose, Jenny had wished
with all of her might for just one man to accept her love and return it
freely. She could clearly remember her
schoolmates' curious questions and unbidden she replayed the entire situation.
It was a warm summer day, towards
the end of the school year, and Jenny had taken advantage of the weather to
read outside, perched on the low-hanging branch of a sturdy oak next to the
schoolhouse. Nearby, a half dozen girls
about her age were gossiping and fantasizing about their many suitors. As much as she tried not to, Jenny couldn't
help but listen in with growing jealousy as her peers listed gift after gift
from their devoted men. She could care
less about silly little trinkets and such... what Jenny truly wanted was only
love... the kind that she read about in romances... complete and undying.
"How many suitors do you
have, Jenny?" asked Brittany, a nymph-like girl of seventeen, who was
reputed to have at least one suitor for every year of her life.
"Umm... none to catch your
eyes." Jenny dodged the question quickly, shyly slipping the romance book
she'd been reading between the folds of her copious skirt.
"You know, I only live down the
road from you and I can't recall ever seeing any boys around." the older
girl sneered, looking down her slender nose at the pudgy fifteen-year-old.
"Well, I-" Jenny tried to
think of a clever retort, but failed.
"I... I don't have any suitors."
"Well, that doesn't surprise
me." Brittany cooed, sounding as though for the entire world she was the
most sympathetic person on earth.
"I mean with the way you look, I'm surprised the glass doesn't break
when you pass by. I mean at every dance
or social you're at, you plant yourself next to the buffet for the entire
night. We may go for the dances...you
apparently go for the food."
She laughed and several other girls
joined her, each high-pitched crescendo piercing Jenny's heart like
poison-tipped lances. Abruptly, one
girl called attention.
"I think she should be a
nun!"
"A splendid idea, Lisa!"
agreed Brittany, tossing a lock of her honey-blonde hair over her shoulder.
"After all, chastity shouldn't be a problem for you, Jenny. A man wouldn't lay in your bed if you paid
one to."
More laughter followed, along with
some remark about a blind man for Jenny's lover.
"What's this, Jenny?"
Brittany asked innocently, snatching her book.
"Give that back! It's nothing!" Jenny pleaded
desperately.
"My, my, Jenny... this is
simply scandalous!" Brittany drawled craftily. Then, to Jenny's red-faced humiliation, she began to read aloud.
"'Tristan drew Isaude into his
big, brawny arms, sun-browned from hours of toil under Apollo's burden.
'You know I want you, woman.' he
breathed huskily, his hot breath searing her skin. 'Why must you torment me like this?'
'Torment you, milord?' Isaude
repeated, her voice strained with her own need.
Tristan felt his maleness harden
beneath his lover's visual caress and together, they celebrated the wondrous
difference between man and woman."
The girls' hysterical laughter added
insult to injury and Jenny snapped.
Without warning she seized Brittany's arm and twisted it savagely,
forcing her to stop the literary torture.
All laughter immediately ceased.
"Give... me... the damn...
book... now." Jenny growled slowly.
"Do it, or so help me... I'll break your arm."
"All right! Here!" Brittany, a physical coward,
yelped in pain.
Jenny relaxed her grip as soon as
the book was safely back in her hands.
"You little brat!"
Brittany shrieked, her copper eyes virtually glowing with outrage. "Just you wait!"
"Leave me alone, you
witch!" Jenny ordered in a low deadly voice, turning on her heel and
heading home.
"I hope those stupid romances
warm your bed at night, pig! God knows
you're too fat and ugly for any man to
ever want you!" Brittany yelled
after her.
God knows you're too fat and ugly...
Too fat and ugly...
Fat and ugly...
Christ, what in hell was she
thinking?! Jenny cleared her
thoughts. Why on earth would a man as
innately desirable as Erik even consider wanting her?
You are a friend to him and
nothing more. You can never even hope
to be anything more than a friend.
Nothing but a friend...
Just a friend...
Friend... friend.. friend...
"Just... a... friend." she said aloud,
fighting back sudden tears as she put on a simple pale-green dress from the
well-stocked armoire. She wouldn't
cry! She just wouldn't! Erik could return at any moment and if he
saw her tears... he would ask her what was wrong in that angel's voice of his,
like a caress of sound on her soul. And
what could she possibly tell him? She
could never let him know of her newly awakened love for him! Whenever she'd walked that path before, her
heart had paid the price... and dearly.
Michael... he'd refused her like the
garbage she was. He'd read her
heartfelt "secret admirer" letter without batting an eye. Then had passed it around to the class, each
person sliding furtive glances in Jenny's direction, all knowing that it was
her. She hadn't bothered to disguise
her handwriting, she'd wanted Michael to know it was her! She's been stupid enough to think that maybe
he would see that she was a woman too, that he'd give her a chance.
She should've known better... he'd
caught her after school and gave her a sound rebuke, yelling at her to keep as
far way from him as possible. He wanted
nothing to do with a fat, pimple-faced, four-eyed, repulsive cow! What made her think that she could ever even
dare to dream about an encounter with any mildly sane man, let alone handsome,
wonderful him? What, indeed? She knew full-well that she was considered
unattractive on her own and downright ugly when compared to women like
Brittany. And if a man should ever find
that her unwanted heart was set on him...
Not this time, she vowed. Erik would never know. She would never again open herself up to
that kind of pain again. Not as long as
she lived and breathed. How could she
after incidents like those? She was
destined to die an old maid, with no children or husband to mourn her
passing. She was not a bad person, she
knew... everyone agreed that she was kind and generous. In her own opinion, she wasn't that
bad-looking either; true, she had acne and glasses and was out-of-shape... but
she thought her eyes quite pretty and her entire family had envied her long,
thick hair with its red highlights. Her
features were classical, if not striking, and she had been told that she
carried her weight well, with a certain dignified air at times. But she was the only person who saw these
things. Everyone had always told her
that she was ugly, unworthy of romantic attention... friend material but never
ever a prospective wife.
What on earth made her think that
Erik would be any different? He was an
artistic man, a composer and teacher, artists always sought after the exquisite
and beautiful. He had a heightened
concept of beauty; Jenny was certain that even Brittany would've failed under
Erik's discerning eyes. Besides, he'd
said himself last night that only her personality was attractive, although he
hadn't said as much directly. How could
she possibly hope to win his heart?
She couldn't... that was the whole
problem. She loved Erik deeply, would
give anything to be his... but knew that it could never be. With a silver-handled brush, she began to
brush out her tangled hair, wondering why Fate had been so cruel as to grant
her a passionately romantic imagination and the ability to respond to a
lover... but not the beauty to attract one in the first place? Would it have been too much to have
both?
The resounding notes of the pipe
organ coaxed her from her melancholy reveries.
Erik was awake or back from wherever he'd gone. For a moment, she forgot her pitiful state
and lost herself to the music; it was from no opera she'd ever heard, but it
was breath taking all the same. A
beautiful culmination of her exact thoughts and feelings, she fancied, humming
it once she'd pinned down the main tune.
It changed along with her mood; sad and despairing at first, but growing
into a dream. There, all was possible,
Erik could love her and did with a passion and lust that matched hers. Soon she was incapable of continuing her
humming, her voice being reduced to soft, incoherent moans as she imagined
things that were anything but the standard for a good, Catholic girl. She could barely restrain herself from
running into the next room and throwing herself at Erik, certain that if he was
playing like that, he had to be in an impassioned state himself. But, no... she remained sitting on the bed,
her hips thrusting back and forth slightly in time with Erik's music, her
breathing deepening to audible gasps for air... what was he doing to her?
Slowly, the music receded, leaving
Jenny to collapse on the bed, willing her breath to slow to a normal pace. Her entire body felt as though it were
throbbing and crying out for satisfaction.
Perhaps they were not a dependable witness, but Jenny could only compare
this feeling to the aching arousal that the heroes and heroines in her books
experienced. Good God! she
thought, sitting up abruptly. How
many people are aroused by mere music? It
dawned on her that only Erik himself could've composed that music, only the
emotion she'd seen in his stunning eyes came even close to the sort of
lust-induced misery that music expressed.
She didn't know how she knew this, but it was the sanest thing she could
think of.
Oh, Erik... why do you
compose music that can sear a woman's soul?
Perhaps you too are alone and aching for love? I swear, my beloved... should you ever ask for my love, in
any way, shape, or form... you will have it without restraint.