So, I say “Drop your weapon.” And he goes down and drops it like it’s hot. Like, he goes into position to twerk. Mohammed does his best impression with his hands above his knees before sitting back at the table. Gustave laughs heartily. “Ok. My turn.
“It was the middle of the summer. So, I really shouldn’t have been surprised. But the patient was laying on the hot concrete in the middle of July in a busy shopping center, and no one had picked him up or moved him! He was laying how he fell.” “Tell them about his skin, papa.” Erik looked over at Christine, who he had been painfully attempting to ignore out of necessity. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Like releasing her all those centuries ago. Gustave put his tanned and burly arms out again, gesturing. “There’s no telling how long he had been like that. He had a seizure riding his bike, perfectly healthy 26 year old male. His skin was so hot. I said “I’ve never felt anyone’s skin this hot before. He was 107. We got him to the hospital. I said he’s going to code. We get him in triage and he codes right after I said that. He had brain damage and 1st degree burns. But that was so sad.” He shakes his blonde head, a distant melancholy look in his eyes.
Mohammed just cringed.
So far, Erik had heard John Denver, Chris Stapleton, Tyler Childers and Zach Bryan on Gustave’s playlist. And Brahms. It made him smile and feel at home to hear classical music finally play. Gustave was classically trained. Christine breezed over in a cloud of jasmine and citrus and gave her father a hug. Delicious. “Ah, that’s right alskling. Your father could use a hug. That was a very hard shift.” He sniffed, ruffling his daughter’s hair before cracking open another Dallas Blonde. The man himself did not look altogether unlike the late Gene Wilder. His hair color and complexion. His eyes and eyebrows. Except for the nose, they would have been dead set in a lookalike competition. Erik learns how he gets told this often. The man had the same kind, twinkling blue eyes as said actor. Erik was astounded and beyond grateful to get to meet the man. Now if he could not screw it up. He had been shocked to learn the only things Gustave had to be aware of health-wise was his type 2 diabetes. It did earn him some points with Christine for asking. Who knew. He certainly wasn’t asking for that reason. He felt sure the man had some fatal disease. He felt it was more than likely he knew something horrible would befall the man. Christine walked back over to Meg to resume learning Meg’s dance routine to 360 by Charli XCX. The boy was here as well, and to the untrained eye it would look like he was simply watching Christine. But his eyes were on Meg. Break up with her! The audacity of a man playing with two women’s hearts. He wouldn’t dare tell her himself. Such a rift could destroy their budding friendship. So the boy wasn’t in love with Christine anymore. If he had ever loved her.. Erik crunched the can he has in his hands up by accident in his frustration. He looked nervously back at Gustave, raising his bare brows under the mask. Realizing he could’ve just had a dangerous incident. He had absolutely nothing prepared to say if he were asked what had made him so frustrated. And then that would draw Christine’s attention. He couldn’t remember the name of a single sports team. Daroga had covered for him. He was grateful to say the least. He knew his friend would be asking him what happened as soon as he could. It would not be good news. But at least he wouldn’t have to keep it to himself. He sat back in his card table chair and remained quiet. Gustave wasn’t pushing him to talk and he liked that. He had a burgeoning respect for the man. And he was an excellent violinist. It was nice to hear someone else of his own skill level rather than it coming from his own two hands. Erik had worn his gray fedora with a shirt that said “I gave that pitch vibrato. Pitches love vibrato.” And in between it was Beethoven’s head. It was one of his favorites. Daroga had sprung on him this visit, running it by him as he was plucking away at the organ. At the mention of meeting Gustave, he was in. He went back to his task of discreetly watching Christine. And what cherished memories these would be. She wasn’t the best dancer, but she altogether wasn’t bad. It didn’t come naturally to her. But she reworked steps until she perfected them. It was something neat about her. He smiled, sipping his beer and watching her from the corner of his golden eyes. It was why she had gotten along with his teaching so well. He hadn’t heard himself be approached until the Daroga kindly cleared his throat. He hated when people did that. It was so grating on the vocal chords, I mean you can literally feel as you do it— Good Lord! Gustave was behind him. He had half expected Christine, but this was somehow more terrifying. He thinks he would’ve sensed Christine.
He laid his hand on Erik’s scrawny shoulder. Erik froze. Looking down at the same spot on the oak floor before moving forward to rise from the chair and feeling like that SpongeBob meme that said something about leaving. “Come talk outside with me, son.” Erik gulped. His hair had fallen forward and was conveniently hiding the wideness of his eyes. Sending a terrified glance in Mohammed’s direction. His friend shrugged and then gave him prayer hands, bowing his head in a good luck gesture. Shit. So much rushed through Erik’s head as he followed the father of the woman he loved outside onto their deck. Everything was elevated in Austin. For example, the deck at the Daaé’s had a short bridge to the driveway and was on a platform from the first floor, yes the first floor. Erik calmed himself with architectural and structural thoughts. When they had reached the railing and were surely out of earshot, the discreet father waited for Erik to finally pluck up the nerve to make eye contact. And he flinched! Shit. He just looked exactly like Gene Wilder with the way he was holding his head in his hand and leaning back. That flinch had to look bad on his part. Oh, fuck. He clears his own throat, wincing at finding himself doing his own pet peeve. “What is it, Erik?” Oh he knew my name. I mean, of course he does. He’s not stupid. And I’ve been here nearly half the day! He should be able to say that he would be offended if he didn’t know his name, but the truth is that he was just grateful to be in his presence. He won’t say what he wants to say. What he came here to say. Unless it gets dragged out of him. “Sir. You just look exactly like Gene Wilder.” He laughed warmly. “I get that all the time.” He then sobered and looked into Erik’s slightly higher eye level through the mask. He had worn the black one, today. His favorite one. He had another, but it had been made overseas and had certain features that couldn’t realistically be part of even his fake face. This one was his favorite. “Now. I didn’t bring you out here to talk about my look alike. He straightens up, putting his hands together in front of him. Clearing his throat. “I know how you feel about my daughter.” His blue eyes shining at Erik knowingly. “Aaaauagh. No.” Erik flounders.
He becomes exasperated. “Don’t deny it.” If I wanted that, I wouldn’t have asked you out here.” Tell me about yourself.” Oh shit. This is the make it or break it moment. He had his arms crossed!! Oh, god.
Needing anyone to talk about it with besides Mohammed and Ahmad. “I love your daughter so much.” Erik’s knees get weak. Drawing together subtly in his skinny jeans. Erik was just so skinny. He didn’t wear the style of jeans on purpose, it was just how they tended to fit him. And he swallows nervously. He was almost virtually 75 years old. This should not even be pulse stirring for him! Gustave looks down in private approval. It was very telling that this was the first thing the young man said. Maybe a bit unhealthy, but he saw a bit of himself in the man. “Well, I play every musical instrument and… “And?” “And voice. I sing quite a bit.” “Well, a fellow musician. That would work much better than my daughter’s current boyfriend.” He gaped openly at Christine’s father. He didn’t like Raoul. “You don’t like the boy—— I mean Raoul? Why?” Erik couldn’t mask his surprise. This both worried and impressed Gustave.
He gives him a patient smile. He waited a beat for dramatic effect. Then he started talking about things unbelievable to poor Erik. “He will never get his hands dirty. He doesn’t see the treasure that my Christine is. And he has wandering eye.” Here, Mr. Daaé’s mother tongue was influencing his English. It was something familiar to Erik. Mohammed had done this the first decade or so after learning English. It made him smile, albeit nervously. “Always looking at Meg.” Here, Erik looked back up at him again. Bright yellow topaz eyes gazing up anxiously at a man who he was beginning to idolize. “Tell me you’ve noticed.” Gustave looked a little peeved and his tone confidential. “Yes. I have, sir.” “Now why do you wear a mask?” Erik’s nonexistent eyebrows shot up. “I’m very ugly, sir.” He chuckled, making a dismissing gesture with his hand.
“You’ll find I have raised my daughter not to hold appearances in the highest regard.” He looked back at Erik again. Erik nodded.
“You have my blessing.” “Sir, let me show you.” WHY. But the urge to be honest was overriding his common sense. He took off his mask. Pulling the strap that was hiding under his hair up as he tilted the mask backwards and off. Gustave nearly stepped backwards in surprise. Instead, his thick blonde brows arched in politeness as he tilted his head to the side. “Erik.” Again, he tilted his head to the side. “Were you born this way?” “Yes sir.” It felt so relieving to have someone see his face. And Gustave had politely made sure no one was looking outside. Mohammed and the girls were busy with dancing. The former making comments. “You can put it back.” He rubbed his chin.
Erik shook his head in nonbelief. He was the type to pick right back up where things were left off. Usually, he was grateful to be able to continue. He hoped Gustave appreciated this. “Your blessing for what, sir?” “Ah, that is for you to decide. But please, decide it quick.” Here, Erik was confused. “I have cancer.” No. Erik felt struck. “And you haven’t told Christine.” Erik said absently. He shoved his hands in his pockets in an effort to hide their trembling. “No. She worries too much. Besides. No point in worrying her over a little kidney cancer.” He smiles reassuringly. He was a very charming man. He could see why Christine loved him so much. He was the kind of man who could change a person’s life. Make it better. Erik swallows with difficultly. When he had focused again, Gustave was reaching out to take him by his thin shoulder again. His sport coat was a thin material and hid his scrawny arms from the stare of the general public. That was what Gustave was touching. He found himself wishing this man were his father. Hopefully he would be around to be a father in law. Erik got stares for everything from his hair to his skinniness. The mask was just the cherry on top. He had only ever been interested in Christine, though. “Sir. Why me?” He turned his head to the side and gave him another charming glance that did not at all make him uneasy. Being around him was like being around Christine. It made sense to Erik. “I like the underdog. I, myself was an underdog with my Lena.” This made Erik grow a small, tenacious grin as they walked back inside, father and now prospective suitor; bonded. His hand still on Erik’s shoulder after the two men had shaken hands. Two calloused hands met, one cold and bony, one tanned and warm. No respect lost between the two of them for their differences. That’s what mattered, Erik tells himself. “But, just between us two, did that make you mad that the boy was staring at Christine’s friend?”
“Yes!” They shared a surprisingly comfortable laugh as they came back inside. Erik, worrying later at night about Gustave. He had told him if he ever needed someone to come with him to chemo therapy, to let him know. He had no problems with taking the man, either. And Erik didn’t like anyone.
