Douglas Carson was a quiet old man, who had demanded nothing of her but silence. At dinner she had been expected to remain silent as he spoke over business with another man his age. The woman on his arm was older, but she'd had kind eyes that spoke volumes. Get away. Don't let this life eat you alive.
But Jada had remained silent, manners impeccable. She didn't allow herself to shake, didn't allow her feet to tap, her legs to cross. Impeccable manners, elbows off the table, always the correct silverware, and no clinking of the china. Her back was ramrod straight, and dinner was almost excruciating.
But finally it had all gotten over, and the dinner group had split up. The man and his nameless, not introduced wife had gone one way, Jada and Douglas had quietly gone the other. Gotten into the car and driven along in further silence until they had hit lights that made Jada's heart light. Douglas had taken Jada's small hand on his arm, and guided her through the crowds; he took her straight to some of the best seats in the theater, box seats, and they were now watching the Phantom of the Opera.
Le Fantôme de l'Opéra had been written in the early 1900's, and had always enchanted Jada. When she was still a child, her father had taken her to see a performance. Christine Daae inspired Jada; when she was younger she'd told herself someday she would be on stage, and she would sing the part of Christine. Someday she would be in the theater and find a Phantom of her own, a man passionate and powerful to steal her away and love her forever. She'd grown older, and realized neither Raoul nor le Fantôme were very wise decisions for any kind of woman; that hadn't stopped the magic of the play or the novel from affecting her.
Erik loved a woman so deeply he was willing to kill for her, was willing to die for her; what had stirred such passion in his heart? Was it truly only the kindness she had shown? That she could not see his face and therefore never came to fear the appearance of things? Raoul as well, enchanted with the woman his childhood friend had become. She was on the edge of her seat, mentally, straining along with the actors as they played out the tribulations of their characters.
The older man was tapping his fingers on his chair, a distracting habit, and she had to fight to keep her face straight. It was proof of her youth, apparently, that she was so entranced by the dream that came with the music.
But it was the ending, and Jada's body was starting to shake with silent sobs. She always did, and the Phantom's voice was so rich. So mournful. This Phantom was fantastic.
Masquerade… Paper faces on parade
Masquerade… Hide your face, so the world will never find you...
Christine, I love you...
No tears. She knew better than to cry. It would puff her eyes, or make her mascara run. And this was not the time nor the place for such a thing. She couldn't hide her sniff, the odd look she got from her stoic dinner partner. Still, her gloved hand clenched in on itself as she stood, the other resting lightly on the right arm of her 'date.'
He walked her out in the same silence that he'd escorted her about in the rest of the evening. She glanced at him sidelong for her place in the limousine as he pulled out his laptop; she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I am not interested in you for your chatter, child. Nor will I ever be interested in anything you have to say when we are married.”
“You take many things for granted.”
“Your mother seems certain you will not disobey her wishes.”
Jada's lips thinned, and the old man shrugged. “It matters not. Nor do I care for a childish rant on the unfairness of life. Now shut your mouth, I've work to be done.” Like hell she would submit herself to marrying someone with so little respect for her. She still remained silent, staring out the window until the limousine pulled up in front of her home.
“Will you see me in, Mr. Carson?”
“No.”
“Have a pleasant evening?”
He replied with a grunt. She stepped out of the car, moving for the front door. At least the driver waited until the door was open and she was welcomed into the bosom of the house before he drove away.
Her mother was in the parlor. “And?”
“The play was amaxing.”
“Douglas?”
“Was pleased enough.”
“And?”
“I'll never marry him, and if you have it in your head, you'd best rid yourself of it.” Jada met her mother's gaze. “I am tired of your old men. If you wish me to wed, find me a man my own age. I'll not wed to be a widow. And I won't marry anyone just to make you happy. You can stop pimping me out to old men over twice my age.” She turned on her heel, her footsteps measured as she went up the stairs for her bedroom.
She could hear the crash of china, a curse.
She didn't stop until her door was closed and locked behind her.
But Jada had remained silent, manners impeccable. She didn't allow herself to shake, didn't allow her feet to tap, her legs to cross. Impeccable manners, elbows off the table, always the correct silverware, and no clinking of the china. Her back was ramrod straight, and dinner was almost excruciating.
But finally it had all gotten over, and the dinner group had split up. The man and his nameless, not introduced wife had gone one way, Jada and Douglas had quietly gone the other. Gotten into the car and driven along in further silence until they had hit lights that made Jada's heart light. Douglas had taken Jada's small hand on his arm, and guided her through the crowds; he took her straight to some of the best seats in the theater, box seats, and they were now watching the Phantom of the Opera.
Le Fantôme de l'Opéra had been written in the early 1900's, and had always enchanted Jada. When she was still a child, her father had taken her to see a performance. Christine Daae inspired Jada; when she was younger she'd told herself someday she would be on stage, and she would sing the part of Christine. Someday she would be in the theater and find a Phantom of her own, a man passionate and powerful to steal her away and love her forever. She'd grown older, and realized neither Raoul nor le Fantôme were very wise decisions for any kind of woman; that hadn't stopped the magic of the play or the novel from affecting her.
Erik loved a woman so deeply he was willing to kill for her, was willing to die for her; what had stirred such passion in his heart? Was it truly only the kindness she had shown? That she could not see his face and therefore never came to fear the appearance of things? Raoul as well, enchanted with the woman his childhood friend had become. She was on the edge of her seat, mentally, straining along with the actors as they played out the tribulations of their characters.
The older man was tapping his fingers on his chair, a distracting habit, and she had to fight to keep her face straight. It was proof of her youth, apparently, that she was so entranced by the dream that came with the music.
But it was the ending, and Jada's body was starting to shake with silent sobs. She always did, and the Phantom's voice was so rich. So mournful. This Phantom was fantastic.
Masquerade… Paper faces on parade
Masquerade… Hide your face, so the world will never find you...
Christine, I love you...
No tears. She knew better than to cry. It would puff her eyes, or make her mascara run. And this was not the time nor the place for such a thing. She couldn't hide her sniff, the odd look she got from her stoic dinner partner. Still, her gloved hand clenched in on itself as she stood, the other resting lightly on the right arm of her 'date.'
He walked her out in the same silence that he'd escorted her about in the rest of the evening. She glanced at him sidelong for her place in the limousine as he pulled out his laptop; she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I am not interested in you for your chatter, child. Nor will I ever be interested in anything you have to say when we are married.”
“You take many things for granted.”
“Your mother seems certain you will not disobey her wishes.”
Jada's lips thinned, and the old man shrugged. “It matters not. Nor do I care for a childish rant on the unfairness of life. Now shut your mouth, I've work to be done.” Like hell she would submit herself to marrying someone with so little respect for her. She still remained silent, staring out the window until the limousine pulled up in front of her home.
“Will you see me in, Mr. Carson?”
“No.”
“Have a pleasant evening?”
He replied with a grunt. She stepped out of the car, moving for the front door. At least the driver waited until the door was open and she was welcomed into the bosom of the house before he drove away.
Her mother was in the parlor. “And?”
“The play was amaxing.”
“Douglas?”
“Was pleased enough.”
“And?”
“I'll never marry him, and if you have it in your head, you'd best rid yourself of it.” Jada met her mother's gaze. “I am tired of your old men. If you wish me to wed, find me a man my own age. I'll not wed to be a widow. And I won't marry anyone just to make you happy. You can stop pimping me out to old men over twice my age.” She turned on her heel, her footsteps measured as she went up the stairs for her bedroom.
She could hear the crash of china, a curse.
She didn't stop until her door was closed and locked behind her.
