The Phantom of the Opera: Behind the Genius
Chap 5.
Entry seventy-nine.
I hope they're serving those little cocktail sausages at this thing.
Entry eighty.
Where is my other boot? WHERE is my other boot? What am I supposed to do, wear one boot of red leather, and one of black? Someone has been in here and hidden my boot!
World: ending.
Entry eighty-one.
And I hope they're serving martinis. Then I can tell that joke I know.
Entry eighty-two.
Sweet merciful death. Look at me. I'm magnificent. I am the sexiest phantom to ever phant. The hang of my jacket – the swirl of my cape. The blood red of my velvet.
No one can resist a man in a red velvet suit. I am a stone cold fox. No wonder Nadir wants me. Not even other men can resist my sexiness.
But he's going to have to be punished for hiding my boot.
Entry eighty-three.
I said get in the coffin, Nadir! Where you will stay until you learn to behave!
Hey, what's my boot doing in there?
"Now do you believe me? I told you that I didn't take it, Erik."
I suppose it walked itself in there, then! …Anyway, you look like a clown, you stupid Persian.
That'll learn him.
"I AM a clown – my costume is a pierrot."
Damnit!
Entry eighty-four.
I should wear red more often. It makes my eyes look especially murderous. Ma cherie, I smoulder.
I've always wanted to smoulder.
Entry eighty-five.
Although when you think about it 'smoulder' isn't a particularly sexy word. It is entirely too much like 'moulding'.
Smoulder. Moulding. Smoulder. Moulding. Smoulder. Moulding. Smouldering. Smoulding.
Great, now they don't even look like real words anymore.
Entry eighty-six.
"Oh Erik, your smouldering eyes have rendered me helpless! Carry me down once more to the darkness of your hidden lair - and ravish me!"
That's what she'll say.
Entry eighty-seven.
Oh my god. What if someone ELSE is going as the Red Death? I mean, embarrassment!
It's okay. Don't hyperventilate. It's too late to change outfits now. Not when you've been working on this one for a month.
Zut, is that the time, already?
Entry eighty-nine.
Okay, so I'm a little… Late. It's hard to be punctual when you have a lake to punt across. Christine could have at least waited for me like we agreed. Ah, I'll find her later.
Entry eighty-eight.
I love the Bal Masque.
…And I looked at her and said, let's get you out of that wet bustle - and into a dry martini!
These people love me.
Entry eighty-nine.
…Is that a Red Death costume I see over there? …Oh, no, that's just Satan. Quelle relief.
Anyway, I don't know why I was so worried. If do see one – we just set sail for Punjab, mes amis!
Entry ninety.
…Love me! The Red Death Stalking Abroad is too sexy for this party. Growl.
Did that woman just faint because I growled at her? I think so. Erik, aka, "The Red Death Stalking Abroad": One.
Nadir, "as a pierrot": Cowering in the corner under that huge diaphanous woman dressed as a Valkyrie.
Erik wins!
Entry ninety-one.
Though disposing of a body might be a problem in amongst all these people.
Entry ninety-two.
Gasp - Cocktail weenies!
Entry ninety-three.
I spy, with my smouldering eyes, Mlle Christine Daae. What a dress! Va-va voom! She almost looks sexier than I do.
I'd dispose of HER body any day. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
That girl she's talking with is kind of foxy, too. I'd better go introduce myself.
Entry ninety-four.
Mother of God in Heaven. That's no foxy lady – that's Raoul.
I feel so dirty. Just back away, Erik. Back away.
Entry ninety-five.
Dude! No one touches the cape! Impertinent little drunkard. Home he goes to his mama with a broken wrist. Well, I warned him not to touch me.
Okay, I warned SOMEONE not to touch me. It might have been him. It's hard to tell when everyone has these stupid masks on.
What, like you people have never seen a murderous rage before?
"It's the phantom!"
Sigh. Gee, you think?
I hate the Bal Masque.
Entry ninety-six.
I guess it's not his fault. Everyone wants to touch Erik. It's my natural magnetism. Plus, I did sort of reverse into him.
I'll just try to carry on like nothing happened.
Entry ninety-seven.
Also, I didn't mean that 'stupid masks' thing, Mr Mask. You're still the sexiest accessory in existence.
Entry ninety-eight
They're still staring at me and quivering. Better say something witty, quick.
Entry ninety-nine.
…And then I said, you keep the cow!
What is wrong with you people? That story is FUNNY! …Oh. They're waiting for me to sing. Being a musical phantom can be so very… Trying. Good thing I brought my opera to show Christine.
Entry one hundred.
I have written you an Opera! Here I bring the finished score - Don Juan Triumphant! …But before rehearsals start, le patron must get a haircut – he's such a girl he could replace Christine on stage!
Oh, zing.
Raoul looks confused.
Entry one hundred and one.
Heh. What am I saying? Raoul always looks confused.
Entry one hundred and two.
Uh oh, he's drawing his sword.
Time for me to make my mysterious getaway.
Entry one hundred and three.
Chere Mademoiselle Daae,
I apologise for my boorish behaviour this evening. I should not have been late to meet you, nor publicly ridiculed your childhood playmate, or in any way insinuated your looks were masculine. Though it WAS pretty funny. You have to admit, the look on pretty-boy's face was priceless! But more importantly, it was wrong of me. Unpleasantness aside, your gown, ma cherie, was nothing short of ravishing. Almost as beautiful as your lovely voice. Speaking of which, are we still up for your lesson on Tuesday?
Eternally yours,
O.G.
Entry one hundred and four.
Be strong, Erik.
…
…
Nope; can't do it.
P.S. Be prepared for a great disaster should you fail to meet me as scheduled.
Ah. Much better.