Installation 19: The Underworld previous
For a few moments, Phoebe and the owner of the voice stood quietly in the dark together. Then she felt the hand again and was pulled forward.
“Come over here,” the voice said. “Let me get the lights.”
There was a flicking sound and a feeble light partially illuminated the space. Phoebe looked around. They were standing in some kind of storeroom full of wooden packing crates, furniture and an upright piano. A person stood by the fusebox. He wore the same black suit the museum guards wore except with a top hat and a ski mask.
“Why are you wearing a mask?” Phoebe asked.
“Because I’m hideous,” the man said. “And because it's very cold down here.”
Phoebe decided to take this statement at face value and not argue. She looked around.
“This is a cool space you’ve got here,” she said.
“This? This is nothing,” the man said. He walked over to Phoebe, took out handcuffs and cuffed the two of them together.
“What are you doing?” Phoebe asked.
The man put his finger to his lips, which protruded through the mouth hole of the mask. He led her to a back corner of the storeroom to a spiral staircase that went down, deep into the earth.
“Try to keep up with me,” he said before beginning a rapid descent.
Phoebe hurried to keep pace as they went around and around. She thought it would never end. They seemed to be in some kind of silo; all around them were thick cement walls curved to accommodate the staircase and nothing else. Finally, they reached bottom and stepped out into an enormous cavern.
The cavern was filled with art and furniture. Close to the stairway silo was a four-poster bed with rumpled sheets and a small television set up on what looked to a crumbling Greek column. Next to the bed there were paintings propped along the wall - Francis Bacon, Picasso, Goya. The entire space was a labyrinth of art with skinny pathways threading through elaborate sets made with the furniture and art.
“Would you like to lie down?” the man said in his melodious voice.
He led Phoebe to the bed and uncuffed her, allowing her to melt down onto the mattress. It was the most comfortable bed she’d ever been in. There was an ancient tapestry strewn across it which she pulled to use as a quilt. The man laid down next to her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He stroked her hair and started to sing. Phoebe closed her eyes. She couldn’t move but she also didn’t really want to.
“Phoebe,” the man crooned. “Has there ever been a woman as beautiful as you?”
Phoebe struggled to open her eyes. “There’s Corey Reeves in Special Projects.”
“Bah!” the man said. “Corey Reeves is roadkill compared to you.”
“Thank you, I guess,” Phoebe said.
“A woman like you should be treated like a queen,” he said. “And I can make sure that happens. What is it that you want most in all the world?”
“Nice clothes?” Phoebe said.
“What is your heart’s desire?”
“It would be nice…” Phoebe started and then stopped herself.
“Yes, Beautiful Angel, tell me. You can say anything to me.”
“It would be nice not to be an assistant anymore,” she said. “I don’t know if I’d want Carlotta to leave, but maybe I could be Marketing Director someday. I understand I’m still new. I have to work my way up…”
“Shhhhh,” the man said and stroked her hair. “We don’t talk about things like working one’s way up. There is no working one’s way up when one is gorgeous and perfect and a queen.”
“Or maybe I could have Julia’s job,” Phoebe said softly.
“Hmmm... What if you were the star of the entire museum? What if you were the director?”
“Well, I’d have to get at least a master’s in something, probably a PhD,” Phoebe said.
“Tut, tut… What did I just say?”
“We don’t talk about working one’s way up?”
“Credentials mean nothing,” the man said and turned to a beautiful cabinet designed with inlaid ivory and gold. He opened the door and took out a packet of Oreos. “Would you like a cookie?”
“Yes, I would like a cookie,” Phoebe said.
“It gets lonely down here,” the man said. “And I’ve been watching you.”
As Phoebe ate her cookie, she was suddenly overcome with fear. It was the first time she felt afraid since walking through the door at the end of the hallway and it occurred to her that she was perhaps a bit late in beginning to feel apprehensive. And yet the man had such a beautiful voice and such gorgeous hands.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I want a bride,” the man said.
“That’s a tall order,” Phoebe said.
“I want to hold you in my arms,” the man said. “And feed you grapes. But I’m not a fool. I know women like you come at a price. I’m prepared to help you achieve your heart’s desire and in exchange, you will give me mine.”
“Listen, we just met,” Phoebe said. “I don’t know about giving you your heart’s desire. Where would we live?”
“Here,” the man said. “In storeroom 2B. No one ever comes here. We’ll be safe. You’ll never have to pay rent again.”
This gave Phoebe pause. Or maybe it was something in the cookie. She felt so sleepy. She tried to focus on the man’s ski mask but her eyes fluttered. The man saw that she was drowsy and moved in for a kiss. His lips were soft and as he pressed them to hers she heard the beautiful piano music again. It was glorious to be lying on the soft bed, wrapped in the decaying tapestry, kissing a stranger. She tried to pull at the mask but the man caught her hand.
“No one takes off the mask,” he said.
“Not even me?” Phoebe slurred.
“Not even you,” the man said.
“But who are you?” Phoebe whispered, stifling a yawn.
“I’m the Phantom.”