The whole of the Opera Populaire was lit up with blindingly warm lights contrasting the cool darkness of night. I could hear the orchestra as it faintly played in the background, telling people to head for their seats. I hoped I wasn't too late due to the long walk there.
It had taken a lot of money to buy a ticket to watch Hannibal; I was excited because of all the good things I had heard about Carlotta Giudicelli, so I couldn't wait to hear her sing. Like a beautiful songbird they said.
Nearly all my money was spent on the ticket and my dress, though the latter was still more of a working garb. I never had earnt much from being a maid and I wouldn't have been earning anymore from then on. I was fired; they were overstaffed.
I ran up the front stairs, holding up my simple grey dress. The doors were closed but I hoped that if I knocked then they would let me in. That was if they didn't have strict rules on late comers.
One last time, I checked that my hair was in place and covering the back of my neck. I had an awful accident at a very young age, just a babe, when a pan of boiling oil tipped on me and burnt all of my lower cheek and around the back of my neck. At the time it hurt, actually, it hurt a lot, but life went on and I learnt to save a little money each month for makeup to cover it. The rest of the scar I would cover with my shoulder length brown locks. Most of the time my hair stayed where it was, though it had a tendency to show a little redness due to the waves in it. Apart from that, my deception was perfect.
I banged on the front doors of the opera house, someone had to have heard, they could have been ignoring me though, either that or they were deaf. Although, I guess they never had to deal with tardiness very often as it was usually the snobby upper- class prompt type that went to the opera.
I was very careful not to bang my instrument case on the door, it had suffered many dents in its lifetime and did very well to stay in tune, but I didn't want to chance my luck. It went everywhere with me and held the little money I had left in it. It was all I had.
The door was prised open by a man in his middle ages and a curious frown set on his face. I stared him in the eyes, trying to give him my most innocent and sorry look that had saved me from many previous threats to doc pay. He merely rolled his eyes and pulled the door open wider for me to enter; he was not best pleased.
The opera house was warm and I drank in the heat as it was freezing out that night.
"In my day, if you were late you were turned away." He grumbled whilst he took my name and lead me to the audience seats.
I was going to thank him but he just turned around and walked off out the door we had come through. Frowning I carried on through the ornate doors to the seating area.
Thankfully, I was on the end of a row. This meant that I had plenty of leg room and was able to inwardly smirk at the people in the row who moaned about their aching legs. In a way, it was probably very childish of me, but I couldn't care less. I had learnt the hard way to accept whatever came one's way with a pinch of salt and so should they, no matter of their class.
The opera house was fantastic. It had the grandeur of a palace. Gold lined every balcony and box, the soft velvet material of each seat was a deep crimson. 'I could live here any day', was the only thought that passed through my head. Yawning, I sank into my chair and waited for the play to start.
People around me seemed disgusted at my slouching behaviour, 'what a terrible shame for them' I mocked in my head. I wasn't bought up in a fancy place with parents to tell me to sit up straight and the people on the row certainly weren't going to either. People like them didn't voice their opinion, they just think them. What's the point in that?
"What?" I said, looking down the row. Immediately, they all snapped their eyes forward.
The show was taking an inordinate amount of time to start. My eyelids were drooping and I was in the danger zone of falling asleep if I wasn't careful. Forcefully, I pinched my eyelids open to stay awake.
Suddenly, the orchestra stopped playing their simple melody and picked up a more substantial beat. The lights dimmed and the show began. The music was divine, I never usually got the chance to hear music unless it was me who played it and then I couldn't really listen to it because I concentrate too hard. Playing music is hard for me. I suppose I'm not a natural one for music.
I was anticipating Carlotta sweeping her way onto the stage with her powerful voice, or so I'd heard, when a smaller, frizzy brunette girl stepped on. It was Christine Daaé, I was sure. I had only had one small description of her and the girl fit perfectly, she had to be. A maid I knew described her to me as she had heard from the chef who had heard from the mistress that she was a good ballet dancer and so she took the time to find out her name. However, appearing as the main role was something I definitely did not expect to happen.
As she was about to sing, I sat up in my seat. I knew she worked in the opera house, but I didn't know that she was the Prima Donna, that was something else entirely.
Christine looked nervous and I couldn't blame her, I certainly couldn't do anything close to what she did. Her voice, on the other hand, was sweet and pure. I simply melted into each phrase of the song she sang. For a moment, for an achingly long moment, Christine made me forget that I was in a room, everything melted, merged and time froze. Her voice was intoxicating, in the best sense of the word.
Now, I knew that my sister was probably talented from even being able to snag a place performing on stage, yet nothing prepared me for a sister who was the main star of a show. I suddenly felt very small and all plans I had once had for an introduction swiftly diminished. I wasn't so sure, to be perfectly honest, I thought I would have been more of a burden to her than anything else.
Christine had the life of a star to deal with, not me. Unless, she wanted someone to be there for her, though she probably had many beautiful friends for that. A conversation was unlikely, at that time I could have just imagined how that would have gone, "Yes hello, it's me Clara Daaé, your sister who you probably don't remember because I was given up as a baby and you were a toddler. Well, enough about me, how's the life of a Prima Donna." I snorted at my thought and ignored the man next to me who looked at me, disgusted at the noise.
I would have been smacked up the back of the head and sent off with my tail between my legs. I thought I should probably try though, who knew, she might have believed my story that sounded like a lie.
Christine was on stage alone, she was wearing the most elegant white dress. My sister really was a sight to behold, unlike me. She began to sing a song about thinking of her. Once again, I was swept up in the musicality of it all.
At the end of her song I felt a tear drop on my lap, I quickly wiped it away. Crying was weakness on the streets, people exploited weakness. Granted I was not on the streets at that time but I didn't want to get into bad habits. Don't cry, do not cry, I kept repeating it to myself.
In my self- controlling mantra, I didn't realise that the lights had switched back on and people were trying to squeeze past my outstretched legs. Sheepishly, I stood up and allowed people to leave the row, avoiding their odd stares as they passed, but raising a challenging eyebrow at one particularly snobbish woman.
If I was lucky, I could wait until the room emptied and then ask one of the stagehands the way to Christine's room. Whether that was deemed creepy or not, I didn't care at all. People think what they want to think and I generally went along with it. If not then I had a pretty good kick in my right leg, although that may not have gone down well with the opera house.
I watched the last few stragglers mill around, some people talked amongst themselves. One man still sat in his chair asleep and a woman was trying to shake him awake but her efforts were futile, he was deep in snoozeville. I hand to cover my mouth to not snort out loud, it really was a funny scene to watch, trust me.
After half an hour, I decided it was time to ask. As I wandered up to the stage I had to dodge the brushes of the cleaners, I swear they were trying to trip me up. Brooms are lethal. If there was anything to teach someone something about an opera house it was that.
There was one plump man on the stage, he was folding up one of the backdrops to put it back in its position for another time. His clothes were ragged and dirty, he stank of alcohol. When he noticed my presence, he turned around to look at me.
The man had wispy brown hair, which looked as though it hadn't been washed it weeks and a beard hung limp from his face.
"What can I help you with Missy?" He raised his eyebrow at me. I didn't like the way he looked at me and I pulled a disgusted face without thinking.
"The directions to Christine Daaé's room s'il vous plaît." I asked as politely as I could muster with the man, he really looked unpleasant. Although, I had met worse.
Instead of speaking, the man pointed to the left wings and then bent his finger to the right. I understood what he was saying, down and right, but couldn't he have been more polite and said the directions.
I left him with his backdrop and made my way into the wings. It was actually easier than I had expected, I didn't think they would let anyone see Christine unless she knew them and that did not categorize me.
Behind the stage was dark and it smelt of old alcohol and sweat. In other words, there would never be a perfume called the Opera Populaire Backstage. No one paid attention to me as I slipped around, nearly tripping on some ropes that were left. Seriously, it was like the opera house tried to kill people by tripping them, first the brooms and then the ropes, probably the reason why they didn't mind showing the directions to the Prima Donna's room. They should have had a sign that said stragglers beware.
I did linger slightly as I made my way up to the corner, I wasn't so sure on my plan. There was a lot banking on Christine being someone who had a nature to comply to what people asked of her and for her to easily be swayed by heartfelt pleas. That was just about everything that I wasn't. Great. What could have gone wrong?
As I was approaching the corner, I heard many male voices. They were all shouting over one another to be heard and it was very annoying, but also very tempting to shout shut up at them.
Upon closer inspection, they were all holding some token of admiration, many held flowers though. Every now and then I heard one of them ask for Miss Daaé. I snorted, all those men were wanting my sister, wasn't she a lucky girl.
It was hard work to try and get to the door, all the men were pushing and shoving to get to the front and didn't care who they trampled in the process. At one point I will admit that I stomped on one's foot on purpose and pretended it was an accident, but no one needs to know that. He was the loudest of the lot and it made him quiet.
At the front of the group there was a stern ginger lady pushing the men back and telling them that 'Miss Daaé will see no one!' Some weak ones walked off sulking at this remark, whilst others kept on coming up with reasons as to why they needed to see her.
I stopped trying to shove my way through and just waited for the crowd to disperse instead. Only one man was left and the woman couldn't seem to rid herself of him. She called out for someone to come and drag him away, which they did because he still didn't leave of his own volition after seeing them walking towards him.
Leaning against the wall, I laughed at him being dragged down the corridor. When I turned around I was met with cold eyes. Oops. Inwardly, I berated myself for forgetting where I was.
I was determined to see Christine so I told boldly, "My circumstance is slightly different. I will congratulate her of course but I'm," I blew out a breath as I tried to find the words, "someone she hasn't met in a long time?"
The words sounded dodgy even to me and she looked even more dubious of my excuse. She crossed her arms over her chest as she thought of what to do with me.
"I will give you a chance, but if she turns you away then you go." The woman stood aside for me to try the door.
I knocked on it hard so she would hear and then I wouldn't have looked like an idiot.
A muffled shout came from within the room, "Who is it?"
What does one respond to that? Should it have been 'your sister' or 'a friend'. I had one shot or I was out.
Hesitantly I replied, "Clara?"