aLe Danseur et le Fantôme
Two years after the fateful night at the Opera Populaire
The young woman ran up the steps of the great Opera House, her flaming hair fluttering behind her like a banner in the afternoon breeze. Her heart thumped against her chest like a baby rabbit before the slaughter; she was so nervous she thought she might faint and crack her head open on the stone like a melon.
She pushed the tall oak doors open and walked into the grand foyer hesitantly, smoothing down her hair with one hand. I can't believe I'm doing this. But I have nowhere else to go…
She wandered aimlessly in several small circles before heading up a wide, elegantly carved staircase. She hoped this would lead her to the stage, and eventually it did.
She entered the richly decorated theater and gasped at the splendor. Crimson hangings and gold leaf adorned the boxes and seats, and the wooden stage was polished to a high sheen, creaking as stagehands and workers tread across it. She knew about the great fire that had occurred several years ago, but it was plain to see that they had done a wonderful reconstruction job. She began to move down the aisle, hoping she could speak to someone about her purpose.
"Pardon me, what are you doing here?"
She whirled around to see a short, stocky man with a bristly gray mustache eyeing her.
"Me?"
The man looked a bit startled at first, and the girl knew why, but he resumed his composure quickly. "Yes, you. Are you a dancer?"
The girl was used to people staring at her eyes. She had expected this man to turn her away at the sight of them, but he hadn't and her heart leapt with hope. "Yes, yes I am!"
"Then why aren't you practicing with the others?"
The girl was confused for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… that is to say, I'm not a dancer here. But I'd like to be."
"I see. Are you here to audition?"
The girl swallowed. "Yes, I am."
The man seemed to perk up, as if he had nothing better to do than to watch dancers try out. "Well, there are no auditions being held currently, but I'll see what I can do."
The girl bobbed her head. "Thank you, sir."
"I am Monsieur Andre, the manager of this opera." A tall, dark man materilized next to him. "And this is my co-manager, Monsieur Firmin."
"A pleasure to meet you!" Monsieur Firmin said to her. "I always love to see aspiring young dancers wander randomly through our doors. What is your name?"
"Aphrodite Ange la Fleur." As she said her name, she met his eyes. He blinked in surprise, then coughed. Aphrodite felt cheeks tinge pink. She was used to the stares, but somehow it always caused her to blush.
Monsieur Firmin coughed agin awkwardly. "Well, mademoiselle, are you ready to audition now?"
"Yes, I am."
Aphrodite walked up to the stage and slipped on her dancing shoes and practice dress, then took her place in the center. The orchestra began to play the ballet from the beginning of Hannibal. This opera had been released just a few years ago, but Aphrodite knew the steps well.
Grand jeté, grand battement, promenade… grand jeté, pirouette, pas de bourrée, pirouette, fouetté…
In a few minutes, the dance was over, and the managers were clapping, along with several of the workers who had paused to watch. Aphrodite felt herself blush, but she also couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face.
"Well done, mademoiselle!" Monsieur Andre cried. "Where did you learn to dance like that?"
"In a small school in my hometown," Aphrodite replied with a smile.
"Well, I believe it is needless to say that you are hired." A slim older woman in black appeared by the side of the stage.
"I am Madame Giry, the ballet mistress here at Opera Populaire," she said in a firm voice. "If you will come with me, I will show you to the dormitories."
Aphrodite gathered up her clothes and hurried after Madame Giry. She could hardly believe it! She was hired! She had expeted them to turn her away, but they hadn't. They had given her a chance, and she would not let them down. She would work so hard, she would –
"What is your name?" Madame Giry's voice cut into her thoughts.
"Aphrodite Ange la Fleur," she replied. She was aware of Madame Giry looking at her oddly.
"Pardon me for saying so, but you have unusual eyes," Madame Giry commented.
Aphrodite wasn't sure how to respond, but the ballet mistress didn't give her time to. "But nobody is paying attention to your eyes when you dance, are they?"
Aphrodite let out a soft sigh of relief.
She followed the older woman through a series of both narrow and wide corridors and up a set of circular iron stairs, passing workmen and stagehands as they did so. "Through there are the ballet dormitories," Madame said, crossing the landing and opening a door. "The other girls are at practice, but it is nearly time for dinner and so they are nearly finished. You can join us at the meal in an hour."
Aphrodite nodded and murmured her thanks, and Madame Giry disappeared back down the stairs.
She moved hesitantly into the room. It was quite large, with rows of simple cots lined up neatly. Several dressers and vanity tables sat against the wall, scattered with all sorts of accessories; hairbrushes, ribbons, powder, creams, pots of makeup, small hand mirrors. A wad of tulle was spilling from a drawer, with a small fur wrap tossed casually on top of it. Newspaper clippings of dancers were pasted on the walls, along with dried roses and little trinkets that Aphrodite assumed were from the girls' men friends.
She glanced into the mirrors as she passed them, appraising her reflection. Her cheeks were pink from exertion – the difficult dance had been no small feat – and her dark crimson curls were escaping from the bun. She had always thought herself to be at least decent-looking; well shaped lips, a nice nose and a smooth complexion. But it was her eyes that ruined any prettiness she might have had.
Her right eye was a dark but brilliant emerald, dusted with the barest hint of gold and amber flecks. The other was pale lavender, ringed with a darker violet. These eyes had been a curse on her existence, and she could hardly bear to look at her reflection without cringing at the sight. The town that she had grown up in had been full of superstitious folk, some who would blatantly cross themselves when she approached. It had been Madame Paillasson, the ballet teacher, who had started a small school and through her instruction had given Aphrodite a dream, a goal, a passion. Madame had never judged her for her eyes, or for her lack of father, or for the scandals that began surround her as she grew older…
Aphrodite pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She was here now, in the great city of Paris, and she would do her best to forget about her past.
Aphrodite had brought only a small valise with her and instead of putting it in one of the wardrobes, she tucked it underneath a narrow bed that seemed to be unoccupied – she could tell because where all the other beds were unmade with clothes scattered across them, this one was tidily made. She sat down on the bed with her hands clasped, ready to wait until dinner. She sent up a quick prayer, impossibly grateful for the opportunity she now had.
She had been given a second chance, and she would not waste it…
A/N: Okay, so that was the end of Chapter One. What do you think? Please review, especially you, bardintraining!